Raven (Gentlemen of the Order 2)

“Should I have an inclination to move to the country,” he said, impressed by Blent’s skill, “remind me to hire him to design the gardens.”

“Had I known he possessed such talent, he could have had free rein here. A peaceful, pastoral landscape might make Jessica feel less confined.” She offered Finlay another sketch. “Talking of Jessica, I fear you will have something to say about this one.”

Finlay accepted the drawing, albeit reluctantly. It was a pencil portrait of Jessica. With her head bowed, she looked lost in thought. Blent had captured the innocent beauty of her face, contrasted that by exaggerating the fullness of her mouth, ripe and plump, almost erotic.

“He’s in love with her,” Finlay said. He knew what it was like to worship a woman from afar, to fantasise about the feel of her lips, the warmth of her mouth, the smoothness of her tongue. “From the tatty corners, it’s obvious he’s looked at this a hundred times since putting pencil to paper.”

“Perhaps he has a brotherly interest.”

“He has romantic desires,” Finlay reiterated. “Based on this drawing, he’s the only one who truly sees beyond Jessica’s erratic behaviour.”

“He’s employed to be attentive to her needs,” she said, disbelief clinging to every syllable. “But I’ve never suspected he held her in such high regard.”

“Perhaps because you’re so preoccupied with her illness you can think of little else.”

A gnawing unease settled in his stomach. If Jessica came to the cottage to play chess, she did so without a chaperone. Blent accompanied her on her daily walk, always came to her rescue. How long did he spend with her in the woods before carrying her home?

Was she ever missing at all?

“What was it Jessica said about Blent before we made the journey to London?” Finlay recalled it verbatim but sought her interpretation.

“Oh, just that she hated the thought of not telling him where we were going. That she feared something might happen to him in her absence.”

One might have presumed she’d show concern for Anne, but she hadn’t mentioned the maid, nor the cook or housekeeper.

“What do you think she meant?”

Sophia frowned. “I thought it was a case of her overthinking. Since she’s started sleepwalking, she fears for everyone’s safety.”

“What if she’s not overthinking? What if she cares for him?”

“But how can she care for anyone when her mind is in such turmoil?”

Finlay sighed. “I don’t know. What I do know is that we need to find Blent and ask a few pertinent questions.”

Sophia nodded. She took the sketches, placed them back inside the leather case and returned it to the table. “I believe the key to the house hangs on a hook near the front door.”

Four keys hung on the brass hook near the coat stand.

Sophia was about to unhook the small iron key when the sound of the hounds barking captured their attention. “They only ever bark when someone passes by the kennels. Blent trained them to frighten intruders.”

“Then let’s visit the kennels and discover what has the dogs spooked.”

They took the lit lantern, hurried from the house and followed the path past the dovecote to the small brick building. As they neared the kennels, Finlay heard a gruff male voice snapping commands.

“Wait here,” he whispered, handing Sophia the lantern.

“Yes. Be careful.”

Finlay crept closer to the closed door.

“Are they always so damn rowdy?” came the terse question. “Quieten down you wretched beasts. A good beatin’, that’s what they need, and I’m of a mind to give it to them.”

“Hush, Tom. Mr Blent paid you to feed the dogs, not beat them with a stick.” It was Anne. The wobble of her voice mimicked her skittish gait.

Finlay yanked open the door and glared. “When you’ve finished arguing, perhaps you’d like to explain what the devil you’re doing in here.”

“Oh, Lord!” Anne clutched her chest. “Mr … Mr Cole! Oh, d-dear. You’re b-back.”