But for some reason, she doubted the Finches held the same view of the world, and in confirmation of her suspicions, she found the front door unbarred and unlocked.
Silently she stole from their trusting home feeling like a veritable thief.
The moon shone a brilliant path down the drive. She smiled at this rare bit of luck and made her way toward the road at a fast clip, the gravel crunching beneath her booted feet, her valise bouncing against her leg.
As she got closer to the gatehouse, she slowed her pace, moving as silently as she could.
When they had returned from their shopping trip, Lady Finch had pointed it out, explaining that it was Jemmy’s refuge from the world, from his family. In fact, the lady had told her quite a bit about her son without Amanda even asking. Laments about his injuries, his lonely years of self-imposed exile.
“If only he had something to live for,” Lady Finch had said sadly as they’d driven past his bachelor residence. The lady’s comments had explained much about the changes in James Reyburn, and left Amanda at sixes and sevens over the enigmatic man who scorned life, but kissed with a boundless passion.
To her disappointment, the house was dark and quiet. He hadn’t even bothered to wait up for her, for surely he knew she wasn’t going to sit around and wait for calamity to strike.
Drat the man, she thought. Some hero he turned out to be. Obviously her kiss hadn’t meant as much to him as it had to her, for if it had he would have—
“Good evening, Miss Smythe,” his deep voice called out, just as her foot was about to cross the sanctuary of Finch Manor. “Or should I say, good morning?”
She whirled around to find Jemmy perched on one of the great stone lions that sat on either side of the gate. He struck a match and lit a small lamp resting on the feline’s head. The steady flame illuminated the night, imprisoning her in a circle of light.
But before she could reply, another voice rose from the copse across the road.
“And I would say the same to you, sir,” came the voice of Bramley Hollow’s persistent constable.
Holmes! Amanda’s head swung in that direction.
“Now, now, now, what have we here?” he said, walking out from his hiding spot, casting a large, looming shadow. “You wouldn’t be trying to escape, now would you, miss?”
Amanda glanced over at Jemmy, silently beseeching him to come to her rescue. He just couldn’t let her be hauled off to jail. He wouldn’t!
The wretch grinned at her. “Yes, Miss Smythe,” he said, “do tell the good constable what you are doing out at this ungodly time of night.”
“I was…well, I thought to get …what I mean to say is, that I needed…”
Jemmy carefully eased himself down from his perch and caught up his walking stick. “There you have it, Holmes. A logical explanation if ever there was one.” He took Amanda’s arm in his and swung her toward the house. “I suppose you’ve had enough air for tonight, haven’t you, Miss Smythe?”
“Why yes, Mr. Reyburn,” Amanda offered, her heart skipping a traitorous beat at the heat of his touch.
“Just a moment there, sir,” Holmes called out, catching up Jemmy’s lamp and holding it high enough to cast the light in their direction. “The lady was escaping, and that’s against the law.”
Jemmy stopped and turned around. “Do you think, Mr. Holmes, that if she were escaping she’d be so foolish as to go out the front door and down the drive?”
Holmes scratched his chin. “Suppose not.”
“Exactly,” Jemmy told him, tapping his cane to the ground. “Miss Smythe was doing nothing more than soothing h
er bridal nerves with a little fresh air. Isn’t that so?” He squeezed her arm, sending a reckless thread of warmth through her limbs. Why, he made her feel as if she could outwit the devil himself.
“Uh, yes. A walk,” she told the constable. “I was taking a turn in the garden and …and I…”
“Became lost?” Jemmy suggested.
“That’s it exactly,” she said. “I became terribly turned around. I fear I have the most wretched sense of direction.”
Holmes’s lips drew into a skeptical line. “Then I would ask, miss, do you always take your traveling bag with you when you go for a walk?”
Leaning forward, she cupped her hand to her mouth and said in a loud aside, “I didn’t want to leave my belongings unattended. I don’t like to speak ill of Lady Finch’s staff, but I would hate to lose my poor and meager possessions to thievery.”
Jemmy coughed and sputtered, and she couldn’t tell if it was from indignation or ill-concealed humor at her poor lie.