CHAPTER 18
Charleston 1793
Scarlet was happy, her heart was full and life was pleasant. She and Gabriel spent nearly every day together. Nathaniel was pleased with her health and rarely stopped over to check on her anymore. And the only socially-unacceptable thing Scarlet was guilty of were her fighting lessons with a Frenchman named Pierre.
She hired Pierre in secret, insisted they train in the forest where no one would see her, and had slowly begun collecting weapons for these occasions.
Gabriel never questioned her fascination with blades and bows, but he did raise a suspicious eyebrow every now and then when Scarlet returned home claiming to have enjoyed a brisk walk through the property. For three hours.
She refused to give her secret away. She wanted something that was just hers, and fighting in the trees suited that purpose.
Other than the fighting, Scarlet had become a true lady; curtsying, taking tea, and managing not to spew sarcastic comments at pompous men who annoyed her at parties.
The fiery girl she used to be was dead, replaced by a polished lookalike. She barely recognized herself, but perhaps this was a good thing.
She loved her life, she loved Gabriel, and she had almost completely rid her heart of Tristan.
But then she misplaced her dagger.
This was not such a grave dilemma, for she had several other weapons and could easily replace the dagger if she chose to, but this was her lucky dagger. Its handle was unique and heavier than most and it fit her hand perfectly when she was sparring with Pierre.
It was because of this that Scarlet found herself prowling on hands and knees behind the sofa in the front room—where she had last remembered sheathing the knife—and heard Nathaniel’s voice in the adjacent dining room.
“Tristan is not well,” was all it took for Scarlet’s ears to perk up and her thief-like senses to keep her on her knees and hidden.
Nathaniel’s voice came again. “He is in a great deal of pain and, might I add, dreadful company.”
Scarlet crept along the sofa and crawled through shadows to stand behind a tall cabinet, where she could see Gabriel and Nathaniel seated at the dining table.
“Yes, well. Nonstop pain does that to a person,” Gabriel said.
Scarlet’s heart started to pound.
Nonstop pain? Tristan was hurting without reprieve because of her?
Well, that was unacceptable.
“He hasn’t been able to sleep for months.”
Gabriel scratched his chin. “Should we take Scarlet to him, just to give him a break?”
Yes. Yes, they should take Scarlet to them.
“No,” Nathaniel said.
Damn him.
Gabriel nodded. “You’re right. We shouldn’t risk Scarlet getting sick. She’s lived for so long this time.”
“Yes, that. And also Tristan would kill us if we brought Scarlet to Hilldoor. He would actually kill us,” Nathaniel said.
Hilldoor.
Just like that, the fiery girl rose from the dead.
“He would not kill us,” Gabriel scoffed.
“He would try to.”
“I doubt that.”
Nathaniel said, “You didn’t just spend a fortnight in his manor filled with weapons and his tendency to punch things.”
“True. What shall we do with him?”
“I think,” Nathaniel sighed, “that you should suggest he move closer to us. Not anywhere Scarlet would know, but just close enough to keep them both healthy.”
“And why should I suggest this and not you?”
“Because it’s your turn to suffer his miserable mood.”
“My turn? I went to him last week.”
”Yes, but you’re his brother. He is less likely to hit you.”
“You’re his doctor and he actually likes you. You go.”
“No. You go.”
No, I’ll go, Scarlet thought, already planning a trip to Hilldoor Manor, wherever that was. And all because she had misplaced her dagger.
It was her lucky dagger after all.
The next night, Scarlet bustled out the front door and tried to act like she had pertinent and very-much-approved business to tend to as she approached Jensen.
“Good evening, Miss Scarlet.” Jensen tipped his hat in the moonlight as he stood beside the carriage.
She gave him her best smile. “Good evening, Jensen. Lovely night, is it not?”
“Lovelier with you under the stars.” Jensen was always good for a compliment. “Where can I take you this evening, Miss?”
Gabriel and Nathaniel had been invited to a gentleman’s dinner, leaving Scarlet under the scrutiny of only the household staff. Which, based on the interrogation she’d just endured by Beatrice, was almost as detouring as Gabriel himself.
“I need to get to Hilldoor Manor.” Scarlet kept her smile in place, knowing this was the critical moment.
Jensen rubbed at his chin. “I seem to recall Mr. Archer insisting on you never traveling alone. I believe my job—and quite possibly my life—was threatened at the thought.”
Scarlet waved a hand. “Gabriel would never harm you, Jensen. I know he adores you and he really is nothing but soft.”
Jensen looked at the ground with a knowing smile. “Gabriel was not the Mr. Archer I was referring to.”
Scarlet dropped her flirty act and scoffed. “Well, that Mr. Archer is a pain.”
“That Mr. Archer insists that your presence is unwanted at Hilldoor and I have no intention of angering him.”
Scarlet rolled her eyes. “Why does everyone fear Tristan so? He is more harmless than Gabriel, I swear. Take me to him.”
“I’m afraid that will not be possible, Miss Scarlet.”
“Jensen.” She set her mouth straight. “Tristan is in severe pain, is he not?”
“I am not supposed to know about any such pain.”
“And I am not supposed to know where Tristan is.” She smiled. “But sometimes we know things we shouldn’t.”
The driver looked unmoved.
“Jensen,” Scarlet complained. “Tristan is hurting. Do you wish for him to continue to live in agony?”
“My wishes are not important. Mr. Archer’s wishes, however—“
“I have his cure.” She was desperate now. ”I can take away his pain.”
Jensen said nothing, but Scarlet saw the indecision in his eyes and knew she had won.
With full lips and all the charm she possessed, she said, “Take me to Hilldoor, Jensen.”
He sighed. “Very well.”