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James’s stomach plummeted at Miss Riley’s words, and in spite of them, he looked around the room for his friend, hoping to see him among the crowd.
“Oh, Meg.” Miss Breckenridge put an arm around the young lady’s shoulders. “Come, let’s find somewhere quiet, and you must tell us what happened.”
James agreed. He produced a handkerchief for the weeping Miss Riley and escorted the women from the ballroom.
As they walked, he watched Miss Breckenridge closely, hoping that she had indeed recovered from her spell. Seeing her flushed and shaky had been unsettling, and he worried that in her desire to help her friend, she would neglect her own health. What if she’d contracted a fever? He rubbed his eyes, his concern for the young lady and Matthews making his muscles tense.
They descended the staircase and came to the inn’s dining area. The room was nearly empty, with only a few patrons here and there enjoying a drink. James searched the faces, but he was disappointed again when Matthews was not one of them. Where had he gone?
The three sat at an empty table, and seeing them, Mr. Owens came from another table to join them.
Miss Breckenridge scooted her chair close to Miss Riley’s and took the young lady’s hand. “Now tell us what happened, Meg.”
Miss Riley glanced at the others through her teary eyes. “Everything seemed to be going so well,” she said, wiping her nose with the handkerchief. “Mr. Matthews and I danced and ate refreshments. He appeared to be happy. I didn’t mean . . .” She shook her head, sobbing.
James tapped his fingers on the table, forcing himself to be calm.
Miss Breckenridge must have seen his impatience because she gave Miss Riley’s shoulder a gentle shake. “If we are to help Mr. Matthews, we need to know what happened.” Her voice had a calm firmness to it.
Miss Riley nodded, gathering in a deep breath. “We went for a walk. The assembly room was so warm, and—”
“And where did you go?” James asked.
“We stopped near the churchyard.” She fidgeted with the handkerchief. “At the wall.”
“Go on,” Miss Breckenridge urged. “What happened next?”
Miss Riley glanced at the men, then back down at her handkerchief. “Mr. Matthews . . . he— Well, he and I . . . we kissed.” She looked up at Miss Breckenridge, apparently too embarrassed to meet the eye of either of the men. “Then he just left.”
“Oh my,” Miss Breckenridge said. She looked at James, confusion and worry playing over her features
“Did he say anything?” James asked Miss Riley.
“He said he was sorry,” Miss Riley whispered. Her chin trembled.
“Which way did he go?” Mr. Owens asked.
Miss Riley sobbed again, pressing the handkerchief to her face. “Toward the bridge.”
James’s mouth went dry. He jumped to his feet and started for the door.
“Wait, Captain,” Miss Breckenridge said. “We’re coming with you.”
“Absolutely not.”
The young lady didn’t pay any attention. “Fetch our coats, Meg.”
Mr. Owens hurried out the door, but James stopped. “Miss Breckenridge, there is no time to spare.”
“You intend to go toward the bridge,” she said. “We will search in the other direction.”
“It is too dangerous for young ladies in the darkness.” His words did not hold the unequivocal tone he’d intended. She was right. More searchers gave a better chance of finding Matthews. He frowned. “Do not go past the town limits,” he said. “And stay with Miss Riley.”
Miss Breckenridge gave his arm a push. “Go, Captain. Your friend needs you.”
James felt a swell of gratitude. He hesitated one instant longer, trying to find the right words to express his appreciation, and to admonish her to be safe, but she gave another push, and he spun, rushing out the door into the cold night.
The high street curved past shops and houses and the stone wall of the churchyard. James squinted through the darkness. The moonlight was dim, and he cursed himself for not bringing a lantern. There were too many shadows and darkened pathways. Matthews could be anywhere, and James had no idea of his mental state. His stomach felt ill as he thought of what the man might do in a deep melancholy.
He came to the arched bridge and took a deep breath before looking over the edge. The banks were steep, shadowing the water beneath. “Matthews!” James yelled. He slipped down the muddy slope to get a better view. Beneath the bridge, he could scarcely make out anything in the darkness. He climbed back up, crossing the bridge and sliding down the slope on the other side. He could see no better on this side.
A cold feeling of despair wrapped around his lungs, squeezing. He felt helpless. And with every minute that passed, he worried it was one more minute he’d been too late to find his friend.
He climbed back up the riverbank, slipping in the mud as he did. When he came to the top, he considered walking farther along the road. He looked up and down the river in both directions, wishing he knew which way to choose. If he selected one, was he getting farther away from his friend or closer? He finally decided to follow the water’s current and tromped through the reeds and tall grass until the brambles became too thick to move through. Even the moonlight couldn’t pierce the shadow of the trees, and if not for the sound of the water, he would have lost his way in the darkness.
He turned around and followed the river back to the bridge, trying to judge how long it had been since he’d left the inn. An hour at least. With each step, he felt heavier. How had things gone so wrong? A week ago, his plans had been so simple: deliver a message to the colonel’s daughter and bring Matthews home to a place he could feel safe.
Somehow, he’d botched everything. He peered over the bridge again and sighed. He was wasting time trying to see anything in the darkness. He started back to the town, holding on to the shred of hope that Matthews had returned to the inn. Or perhaps the ladies had found him. But James did not feel confident with either scenario. Matthews was his responsibility. And he’d let his friend down.
When he returned to the inn’s eating area, he found Miss Breckenridge there, speaking to one of the servers.
Seeing James, she broke off her conversation, hurrying toward him. Her mouth was tight. “You had no luck either?”
He shook his head.
“Meg and I walked up the high street to the edge of town and returned,” she said, rubbing her arms. “We looked down side roads and between houses, but it was just too dark. I’m so sorry, Captain.” She glanced at his trousers and boots, and following her gaze, he saw that he was covered in mud. “You searched by the river?”
James nodded, pulling off his soiled gloves and moving to stand by the hearth. “I’m going back,” he said, rubbing his hands together before the fire, “with a lantern.” Images of his friend in the dark, cold waters came into his thoughts, but he pushed them away, hoping desperately that the man was somewhere safe.
“I’m going with you,” Miss Breckenridge said. “I put Meg to bed, and a drink is being delivered to her room to help her sleep. She was very upset.”
“Out of the question,” James said. The very idea of Miss Breckenridge climbing around the muddy riverbank in the dark was preposterous. And if they discovered Matthews while she was there . . . He shook his head. “I’m going alone.”
Miss Breckenridge’s eyes narrowed. “Captain, I am perfectly—”
Her words cut off when the door opened and Mr. Owens entered. Mr. Matthews followed behind him.
“Oh!” She put her hands over her mouth, gasping.
Relief flooded through James, making his muscles feel weak.
Miss Breckenridge rushed to the door. “Mr. Matthews, come in.” She took his hand and led him toward the hearth. “Your skin is like ice. Sit here by the fire. And you as well, Mr. Owens.”
The men did as they were told.
Matthews leaned forward in his chair, staring at his hands.
“I am so glad you’re safe, Mr. Matthews,” she said. “We were so worried.”
“Didn’t mean to make you worry,” the man muttered in a quiet voice. He didn’t look up.
Mr. Owens patted Matthews’s shoulder.
Miss Breckenridge glanced at James, her eyes still worried. “I’ll fetch you men something warm to drink,” she said.
He gave a grateful nod, and she left to find a server.
James sat at the table next to his friend. “You all right?” he asked.
Matthews nodded. “Mr. Owens and I talked.”
James looked up at the older man. “How did you find him?”
Mr. Owens shrugged. “Just ’ad a feeling. Thought he’d just keep walking. ’S whut I’d have done. Found him on the road, halfway to the next town.” He patted Matthews’s shoulder again, resting his hand on the back of the younger man’s chair. “Know what the lad’s going through. Wasn’t myself for a good while after Guilford Courthouse.”
James nodded, recognizing the name of one of the bloodiest battles in the war for the American colonies. He was immensely grateful for the old man’s wisdom.
Miss Breckenridge set three mugs on the table.
Mr. Owens took a sniff and scowled at the drink but gulped it down anyway.
James took a sip and let the warmth from the buttered toddy spread through him. He’d never have ordered the drink himself—especially in a public place—but found it soothing. And he enjoyed the feeling of being taken care of by the young woman.
Miss Breckenridge sat at the table with them. “Do you feel better now?” she asked in a soft voice.
For an instant, James thought the question was directed at him, and he felt a bit of disappointment when he realized she was talking to Matthews.
“I just . . . shut myself away for so long after . . .” Matthews began, then swallowed hard. His voice was so soft that James had to strain to hear it over the crackle of the fire. “So much easier than feeling the pain.” Matthews glanced up at Miss Breckenridge.
She nodded and gave a compassionate smile.
“Then Miss Riley and I . . . It all came back, all that pain.”
Mr. Owens put the drink into Matthews’s hand, motioning for him to drink. “Have to let yourself mourn, lad. Let yourself hurt for whut you’ve lost. Or you’ll never move past it.”
Matthews drew in a jagged breath and nodded, taking a sip of the toddy. “So much easier to hide from it,” he whispered.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Matthews,” Miss Riley said. She stepped to the table, moving so quietly that none of them noticed her until she spoke. “I didn’t mean to upset you tonight.”
Matthews looked up, and James saw that his eyes were red. He’d wept, which, according to Mr. Owens, was a good thing.
“I’m damaged, miss,” he said, dropping his chin to his chest.
“Damaged, but not worthless,” Mr. Owens said. “You’ll just have to be patient with ’im, Meg. He’ll be all right. But healing takes time. And there will be setbacks.” He turned to Matthews. “You’re a new person living a new life. Might take some work to find where you fit in it. Do ya understand?”
Matthews nodded.
Miss Breckenridge wiped her eyes. When she saw James looking at her, she gave him a sad smile.
“Mr. Matthews,” Miss Riley said after a long moment.
He lifted his head, looking up at her with nervous eyes.
“If there’s room for a friend in your new life, perhaps it might be me?” She bit her lip, eyes wide and hopeful.
Matthews bent his head back down, rubbing his eyes, and nodded. “I’d like that very much, miss.” He spoke in a creaky voice.
James and Miss Breckenridge left the table quietly and moved to the other side of the room. He wanted to give the couple privacy but remained close enough to keep an eye on his friend.
Mr. Owens watched Matthews for a moment before he departed as well. The man seemed hesitant to leave, and James didn’t blame him.
Miss Riley moved to sit beside Matthews.
Miss Breckenridge yawned. Her hair, which had been arranged so carefully earlier tonight, hung messily around her face, and the hem of her dress was dirty. She looked exhausted.
“Shall I order you a drink, Miss Breckenridge?” James asked. “A toddy?”
She shook her head. “No thank you. It will make me too sleepy.”
“You should sleep,” he said. “I will see Miss Riley safely to her room.”
“Perhaps in a bit,” she said. She looked pensive, running her finger along the wood grain of the tabletop. “You were worried for Mr. Matthews, weren’t you?”
James nodded, the feeling still too raw for him to speak about it easily.
“You thought you might not find him, or if you did, it would be too late.” She spoke slowly, in a quiet tone as if still considering the thoughts she was putting into words. “That is why you did not want me to accompany you to the river.”
James nodded again.
“You are a good man to care so much for your friend,” Miss Breckenridge said. “He is fortunate to have you.”
“Matthews saved my life,” James said in a low voice. “Such an action is not something one soon forgets or takes lightly.”
Miss Breckenridge studied him for a moment, then glanced across the room to where Miss Riley sat quietly beside the discouraged young man. “Then I owe him my gratitude as well,” she said. Her cheeks turned pink, and she stood.
James stood with her.
“Please tell Meg to wake me when she comes to bed,” she said.
“I will.” He studied her, feeling as if he should say something significant. Tonight had felt different—dancing with her, worrying about her, and then later, worrying with her. Something had changed between them, but did he dare put into words the transformation that was taking place in his heart? Not yet—not when he didn’t fully understand it himself.
A sick feeling roiled around inside. He still hadn’t told the young lady about her father. But would the truth be too much for her after the strain of this evening? Or was he finding another excuse to avoid a conversation he knew would cause her pain? In the end, he decided that more than anything she needed sleep. They had another day’s journey tomorrow. He would surely find the opportunity to talk to her then.
“Good night, Miss Breckenridge.”