“Grandfather wasn’t much for entertaining.” Jasper grimaced. “There’s not even a ballroom. If you’d prefer, we could stay—”
“I love it here,” Annabel said, meaning every word. Ramsbury House was a home. She could imagine raising a family here—a rowdy gang of laughing, tow-headed boys.
“You can decorate however you’d like.” Jasper took her hand and led her from the room, talking as he pulled her along. “Paint, wallpaper, whatever furnishings you want—but there’s one last room I want you to see.”
They walked to the back of the house, away from the street. The door opened to an empty library. At the far end of the narrow room, a large bay window with a deep seat overlooked a small, private garden—or what would be one eventually. The scent of new paint hung in the air. The green walls would match the view.
“Do you like it?” he asked.
“I do.” She ran her fingers across the top of a crate, wondering what was inside. “Are these your grandfather’s books?”
Rather than answering her, Jasper lifted the lid. A beloved marble face, shrouded in straw, stared back at her.
“Plato?” Annabel ran her finger along the base, finding the divot Rachel and Rebecca had caused while playing tag. Mother had heard the crash and flown through the house, terrified the immortalized philosopher had killed one of her daughters. Novels filled the remainder of the box, their titles like the names of old friends.
Aristotle was in the second box with the geography books. Annabel’s vision blurred so that she couldn’t read the titles. Tears filled her eyes as she looked up at her husband.
He was to her in two long steps. Annabel leaned into his arms.
“I remembered your face when you were in the library at Ramsbury.” He pulled her closer. “And thinking you must have loved the library at Chilworth—this library. It belongs with you.”
“You are a constant surprise.” She cradled his heavy jaw in her palm and let his soft hair tickle her fingers. “Thank you, Jasper.”
“That look makes me wish the bed upstairs wasn’t in pieces.”
She stood on her tiptoes to reach his ear. “Then perhaps we should go back to Lambourn House.”
“In the middle of the afternoon?” Jasper gave a mock gasp. “Lady Ramsbury, you shock me.”
Annabel evaded his grasp and stepped to the third crate. “Far be it from me to scandalize such an upstanding—”
Jasper snatched her hand and dragged her to the door. “I’ll show you upstanding.” His laughter tumbled up the stairs. “Get your hat.”
At the coach, she turned back to look at the gracious, unique home which now held something other than tempting promises. She missed it already.
“Ramsbury?”
She turned but got only a glimpse of a tall man in a black coat with his hat pulled low over his eyes before Jasper stepped in front of her. The man brushed past at a brisk pace, pushing Jasper aside.
Trapped between his back and the coach, Annabel reached to steady him before he crushed her. He doubled over with a gasp.
“Get in the coach,” he said. “Now.”
Annabel reached for the door and stopped. Her glove was soaked in blood.
She spun to stare at Jasper. His lips were set in a firm line, matching the hard curve of his jaw. Blood seeped across his side, staining his waistcoat with alarming speed.
“Frederick!” She’d meant the word to come out as a command. It was more a shriek.
The footman came to help, but Annabel pushed him away. “Find that man. Dark coat, dark cap. He went into the park.”
He followed her instructions without pause or a backward glance.
“Lawrence, take us to hosp—”
“Home,” Jasper rasped as he urged her into the coach. “We’ll be safer at home.”
Annabel’s arguments died on her lips. His blond hair was dark against his pallid, sweaty face. “Home, Lawrence,” she barked. “As fast as you can go.”
Jasper fell into the seat, eyes closed. His every wheezing breath twisted Annabel’s own lungs. She pushed her shawl against the wound, but the useless fabric was more a sieve than a bandage.
“It will be fine.” Jasper’s fingers slipped from hers. “Don’t let Mother worry.” His eyes drifted closed.
Tears blurred her vision. “Hurry,” she whispered, willing the horses to go faster, though the motion of the carriage added to her sick stomach and spinning head. At the next turn, Jasper slid against her like a rag doll. His forehead was cool against her lips.
“Faster, Lawrence,” she screamed. “Hurry!”
Chapter Twenty
The house was too quiet.
Annabel wanted nothing more than to run through the halls and wake everyone just so she wouldn’t be alone in her worry, but Jasper’s last words—his last coherent words—had stuck in her head as Travis and Lawrence had wrestled him up the back stairs and to his room, after Stapleton had rushed the female staff into the front of the house for hastily invented tasks.
Only Barnes knew anything, as she had stripped off Annabel’s bloody clothes, and she’d been as tight-lipped as the grave.
Annabel shivered. She would not even think that word in this room.
