Townsend exhaled, steady as ever. “Then we’ll know just how far they’re willing to go.”
Silence stretched between them before Barrington gave a reluctant nod. “Be careful. If anything feels off, don’t play the hero. Get out.”
Townsend let out a quiet chuckle. “I’ll try to restrain myself.” He clasped Barrington’s shoulder, his expression losing its usual humor. “We’ll see this through. Together.”
Barrington gave a small nod, saying nothing, but his grip tightened briefly on Townsend’s arm before letting go.
*
Across the courtyard,Bridget noticed Thomas stood motionless, his eyes fixed on Townsend. There was something in his stillness, calm on the surface, but a coiled readiness beneath it all. It made something tighten in her chest.
But before she could make sense of it, Townsend swung into the saddle. The gathered household fell silent, as if the unspoken fears held them all. Bridget’s stomach twisted. She told herself it was nothing, but the unease lingered.
The horse’s hooves struck against the damp earth, the sound fading into the night as Townsend disappeared down the road.
Across from her, Thomas didn’t move.
*
Bridget crossed thethreshold to find the room already full, though no one truly seemed present. Conversations flickered and faltered, everyone pretending not to feel the tension thickening like mist before a storm.
Bridget sat near the window, her gaze fixed on the garden, though her thoughts were anywhere but the quiet scene beyond the glass. Barrington stood near the mantel, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.
The hushed clinking of teacups and the occasional shuffle of playing cards filled the space, a poor attempt at maintaining the appearance of normalcy. Lady Worthington sat primly in her chair, her embroidery hoop resting in her lap, still without her bodkin.
Lady Carlisle, never one to tolerate prolonged silence, set her cards down with a flourish.
“This won’t do at all,” she declared, glancing around the room with an expectant look. “We cannot simply sit here, wringing our hands like nervous schoolchildren. We need a distraction.”
Miss Hathaway hesitated, then offered a tentative smile. “Perhaps a riddle game? Something to keep our minds occupied.”
Lady Carlisle considered this, then shook her head. “Too somber. What we need is something to lift the spirits.” Her gaze flickered to Miss Gray. “A song, perhaps? Music always restores the mood.”
Miss Gray blinked in surprise, glancing around as if hoping someone else would protest first.
Lord Davenport, leaning back in his chair, chuckled softly. “Music or no, I suspect you’ll have trouble rallying enthusiasm for a proper evening of entertainment, my lady.”
Lady Carlisle sighed dramatically. “So we are to sit in silence all evening? How utterly miserable.”
Miss Hathaway smothered a smile. “I think we have little choice.”
Lord Blackwood, seated near the corner with a glass of brandy in hand, watched the exchange with mild amusement. “If you’re set on amusement, Lady Carlisle, might I suggest a wager? Something to make the evening less… tedious.”
Lady Carlisle’s brows lifted with intrigue. “Oh? And what do you propose?”
Before he could answer, the door opened.
The hush was immediate.
Townsend strode into the room, his expression unreadable. Whatever had been said before no longer mattered. The room stilled around him.
Lady Worthington’s fingers stilled on her embroidery, her surprise obvious in the tight grip she had on her needle.
Bridget felt herself tense. He wasn’t supposed to be here. Her gaze swept instinctively across the room, searching for some reason behind his return—some sign of what had changed.
Barrington stood. “What are you doing here? I thought you’d be halfway to the meeting by now.”
Townsend shook his head, stepping further into the room. “I was stopped.”
