all, gestured at the invitation. “A. Fairwether. We had a son once named Adam.”
Adam stared at the old man’s face, trying to transform his features into those of a younger man. Had he known the son when he’d walked these hills before?
“He died in the wars.” The old man nodded to a rock structure at the edge of the yard. “We built that sheepfold together, but he never came back.”
“We lost many good men in the wars.” Adam felt his shoulders loosen. If he’d known the son, it wasn’t from his work in the region. “I’m proud to share his name.”
The old man nodded, the glint of tears in his eyes. “Follow the ridge until you see the chapel’s steeple, then take the market road down to the river. From there, you can curve around to the front chapel yard. Or you could take the straight path, but it leads through the family cemetery.”
How appropriate it would be for him to arrive through the cemetery. A dead man come to haunt the wedding. The thought almost amused him.
“But stay out of the forest. The only men you’ll find there are up to no good.”
“Highwaymen?” Adam prompted, unable to resist.
The man grimaced. “Stay to the path. If you get lost, tell people you left your horse with Michael.”
Adam shook Michael’s hand, then in long strides ascended the hill he’d walked a dozen times with Em.
Attending the wedding carried risks. Since he’d been so foolhardy as to embark without a plan, he needed to think for a moment about what might happen when he arrived.
Lord Colin wouldn’t be surprised to see him. He had in fact almost begged Adam to attend: “How can I marry without the man who helped me survive the wars by my side?” Colin knew Adam better than almost any man alive, so it would take only one misplaced glance for Colin to suspect some history between his fiancée and his best friend. And it wouldn’t do for Colin to wonder why or how well.
Colin didn’t know Adam knew Emmeline. Emmeline didn’t know Adam knew Colin.
While he could anticipate Colin’s response to his presence, Lady Emmeline was the wild card in his not-plan. She believed him—or, rather Adam Locksley—to be a criminal, a rabble-rousing dissenter intent on overthrowing the government. She likely thought him dead. The newspapers had been well paid to report Locksley’s trial, verdict, and execution. If that were the case, her engagement to Lord Colin felt like less of a betrayal.
The problem of attending, then, rested with Em. If she saw him, what would she do? Would she ignore him? Or would she swoon to see her lover come back from the dead? No, more likely she’d point one of her dratted pistols at his brain, declare him a fugitive, and march him to the nearest magistrate. Or, she might catch his gaze with those perceptive dark eyes, then give him the cut direct. He’d prefer the swoon or the pistols: either one meant she’d once felt something for him. He’d believed she had, but, as he’d expected, class and rank ended up mattering to her as much as to anyone else.
His old hurt, fed by the whiskey and lack of sleep, breathed back to life as a quick anger. Adam shook his head, wishing he’d never taken the assignment that had led him to the neighboring cottagers . . . and Emmeline.
Adam crested the hill on the edge of the Hartley property. He paused, giving his breath time to catch up with his anger. The winter landscape was barren, the tree branches stark lines against a clouded sky. Em would tell him it was beautiful, the sleep of spring. Suddenly he could see her again, her face turned upward to catch a snowflake on her tongue. He pushed the memory away. He needed his anger. Without it, he had only despair and recrimination.
But the landscape was filled with her. The rocks where they sat, quietly watching a rabbit eat its dinner—the animal had eyed them suspiciously, but not suspiciously enough to hop away. The tree where she’d insisted he return a fledgling robin to its nest, or she would do it herself. The fox hole where Em had stood defiantly, gun in hand, protecting the exhausted animal from neighbors’ dogs. “My land, my fox,” she’d insisted to the disappointed hunters, her knowledge of the game laws indisputable. Somehow she always surprised him.
Adam raised his collar against the brisk December wind and forged forward. He’d started off so well, holding himself together with anger and drink. But with each step, the drink faded, and his anger turned to something like sorrow. He hoped that with Em firmly married, he could convince his heart to let her go.
From the rise of the hill, he could see Hartshorne Hall’s stables and the dozens of carriages that lined the avenue to the house.
Adam wanted none of the hubbub. He’d wanted to arrive at the precise moment when all the other guests were seated, but the service had not yet begun. Though he was also friends with Lord Colin’s brother Lord Edmund Somerville, and more distantly with the duke, he had no wish to be part of the festivities. He hoped that seeing Em marry would make living without her easier. If it didn’t, he would take another assignment and another, until he didn’t have to worry about living at all.
He had only one regret: he had never told her the truth. One more conversation would not have mattered; a civil servant and a lady had no future together. But he had hoped for her understanding, even forgiveness. But he’d waited too long after she’d sent him away that night, pistol in hand. Unable to imagine a conversation that didn’t begin—or end—with gunfire, he’d delayed the visit to her estate over and again.
Then, when having overcome his objections, and he had finally stood outside her ballroom, he’d arrived in time to see her accept another man’s hand.
Adam had always known Em would marry, but he hadn’t expected it to happen so soon or to his best friend. Even if she could never have been his, that part was too much to bear. If he opened his shirt, would he find only a gaping hole where his heart once had been?
Yes, he needed the brisk walk on a cold day to see her wed. And he would likely need a bottle of whiskey afterward to live with her loss.
Chapter Four
Only two seats at the back of the chapel remained, both behind a large column. But Adam didn’t mind. He didn’t need to see Emmeline marry. He only needed to hear her speak her vows. Surely that would convince his heart what his head had known from the first: she could never be his.
Before he slipped into the pew, Adam looked to the altar at the front of the chapel. There his best dreams would soon be sacrificed. It was a morbid thought, but, as a dead man, he allowed it.
“Is this seat taken?” A woman in a violet-blue dress stood beside his pew.
He rose, allowing her the inside seat with the slightly better view.
He’d met her before. But her face, thin and wan, looked much different now. Knowing who she was explained why she’d come to the wedding.
She folded her hands demurely in her lap, but her knuckles clenched white. He understood the feeling, and he wished to offer her (and himself) a little distraction before the service began.
“Lady Fairbourne? Lucia?” he whispered. “Am I correct?”
She looked startled, almost even afraid. “Do I know you, sir?”
“We met at a lawn party when your great-aunt was still alive.”
