Dariell rose slowly. He helped Mr Guthrie cradle the cup. “Sip the tea until you have drained the contents.” He jerked his head to the door, indicating that Lydia and Greystone should follow him.
Once outside in the courtyard he clasped his hands behind his back and simply stared at them.
“What is it?” Greystone asked. “You’re looking at me as if I’m a boy of ten and have ripped a hole in my best breeches.”
“I have watched you weave the most intricate plots to avenge your mother.” Dariell’s expression remained impassive. “I have seen you fight with the courage and strength born from a clear and focused mind. Yet here, you cannot see what is so obvious.” A smile touched the corners of his mouth. “Love is a blessing and a curse, no?”
Lydia glanced at Greystone.
Whenever their eyes met, she felt such an intense euphoria it almost knocked her off her feet. These powerful emotions played havoc with one’s mind. Greystone occupied her every waking thought. She had given herself to him—a decision born out of love, not logic.
Dariell’s words flitted through her mind.
It occurred to her that she might be the intended target.
“Perhaps Cecil had a hand in staging these incidents.” The words left her lips, but she struggled to believe them. But then her brother always looked for the coward’s way out. Yes, had he not said Gilligan was coerced into confessing? “Cecil is far too craven to meet you on the common. Perhaps Arabella forced him to make the challenge, and he’s turned to other methods to serve his end. Had there been a fire here, I would have had no choice but to go home.”
Dariell inclined his head. “Miss Lovell’s logic is at least heading in the right direction,” he said cryptically. “But Fate intends to lead you on a merry dance.”
Greystone clenched his jaw. “Then Gilligan must be closer than we think.” He rubbed his chin while lost in thought. “Close enough to receive communication from someone. Whether it be your brother or either of mine.”
“Close enough to cause mischief here and disappear into the night,” Dariell added with a hint of intrigue. “There must be somewhere you have not yet looked. Somewhere that would not be an obvious choice.”
Greystone shook his head but then his eyes widened. “There’s the old gamekeeper’s hide north of the stones, though few know of its location. It’s a ramshackle of a place. No sane man would spend the night there.”
“I think any man capable of theft and arson is not of sound mind,” Lydia said.
“Then I shall head there immediately.”
“And I shall accompany you, monseigneur.”
Lydia’s pulse raced. “I shall come, too.”
“No.” Greystone clasped her elbow. “It’s not safe. Wait here with Mr Guthrie. I would like someone to sit with him until we’re assured he’s out of danger.”
“But—”
“Lydia, please,” Greystone begged. “I cannot leave here unless I know you’re safe.”
“But my brother would never hurt me.”
“Not intentionally. There’s every chance the shack is empty. In which case, I shall meet your brother on Blackmoor Common as planned and learn of his intentions then.”
“No.” Panic flared. She had to prevent the meeting. “We have hours until dawn. See what comes of finding Mr Gilligan first.”
“Then check on Mr Guthrie and I shall return posthaste.” Despite Dariell’s keen gaze, Greystone kissed her cheek. “In case you should be in any doubt, I love you,” he whispered in her ear, and then turned on his heels and strode away.
Lydia watched him go, her heart leaping about like an excited child.
Lord above, there were so many thoughts flitting through her mind she didn’t have time to think about what the declaration truly meant. All it took was for one of Cecil’s pathetic pranks to go wrong, and someone could well lose their life.
But was Cecil really behind these foolish antics or had Arabella badgered him until he had no choice but to bend to her will? It would serve Arabella’s purpose if Cecil met Greystone on the common. As a widow, she could do as she pleased.
And what of poor Ada? The maid must be beside herself with worry.
After taking a moment to bring order to the internal chaos, Lydia went to check on Mr Guthrie. “How are you feeling?”
“My head’s still a little sore, Miss Lovell, but I’ll be right as rain.”