Jonathon felt the yearning to return to Virginia as profoundly he felt the surge of the sea beneath the Destiny. Somehow he would discover a way to return to Brentwood Manor, for he could no longer bear to be parted from Emily. Calling for full sails, he sent men scrambling up the riggings to ensure their fastest speed. Gates watched him with amusement tinged with caution for he knew how deep Jonathon’s passion for Emily was, and he knew the many obstacles they had overcome thus far.
“The wind is teasing us, Gates. One minute a gale from the west, the next a zephyr from the south,” Jonathon groused. He was in ill temper today as the early June winds seemed to play tricks.
“We are ahead of schedule, Captain. We should arrive in Yorktown within the week,” Gates replied grinning. “If the winds had the power of your lust, perhaps we would be there this evening,” he teased since no crewmen were within earshot. “In any event, Captain, what can you do once we reach port? It is far too dangerous for you to return to Brentwood Manor, and Mrs. Brentwood should not travel all that way to see you.”
“I will find a way, Gates. I must return to her. Besides, I promised I would be there for the birth of our child, and I hold that as a sacred vow.”
“Your child is not due to arrive for two months, Captain. We will probably be called upon to sail again before that. It would be impossible for you to make such a dangerous journey and return to—,”
“I will find a way,” Jonathon avowed, his eyes flashing.
“Aye, Captain,” Gates replied, tipping his cap. Jonathon watched his friend stroll away and regretted the harshness that he had used with him. He turned and looked out to sea. The churning water mirrored his emotions. Gripping the rail, he cast his mind back to the last time he held Emily, watched her tease him, felt the silkiness of her skin. He burned to know that she was safe and that their baby was well. Despite Deidre’s promise, he didn’t trust her for a minute; the look in her eye was unlike any he had seen before. The memory of their encounter caused his stomach to turn over and the blood to run cold in his veins. Squeezing his eyes shut he rubbed them and shook his head to rid his mind of that memory, but he knew it was useless. It came to him in the darkness of the night bringing shame and regret. But what could he have done? He was convinced that had he refused Deidre, she would have harmed Emily and their child.
“Blasted witch!” he cursed into the wind. He had to see for himself that they were safe and in no danger from Deidre’s jealous scheming.
• • •
As the morning sun streamed in, Emily sat beside the window embroidering the edge of her baby’s gown. The crisp linen felt cool against her fingers, and the needle slid smoothly through the fabric. Soon she would put this very garment on her child, hold him in her arms and kiss his sweet face. Would she have a boy or a girl? She vacillated from day to day believing the child to be one sex one day and the opposite the next. While she dreamed of a son who would resemble Jonathon with warm brown eyes and thick brown hair, she also dreamed of a petite girl, perhaps with blue eyes and tawny hair like her own. She loved playing with Will and laughed at his boyish rough-housing, delighting in his imagination that turned every object into a toy drum. But a girl would be gentle and long for poppets. While Will allowed cuddling as he drifted off to sleep, usually he wished to be exploring and running. Perhaps a girl would allow more cossetting, which Emily would love as much. Sighing, she gazed out the window knowing that it mattered not the sex of the child; she would love the baby utterly. This child was a part of Jonathon and a product of their loving. Glancing down at her rounded middle, she smiled and ran her hand along the curve of her belly.
The parlor door opened and Andrew entered. Seeing that Emily was alone, he crossed over to her, bent to kiss her forehead and sat beside her.
“Emily, may I ask you something?” he said softly.
“Of course, Andrew.”
“Emily, when you and Jonathon discovered your feelings for one another—that is when you knew you were special to each other—what I mean to say is . . . ” he paused.
Emily waited and took his hand in hers.
“Andrew, I love you, and I long to help you in any way I can. You can trust me to keep a confidence and to withhold judgment of any kind,” she said, smiling at her younger brother.
“Em, Jonathon was quite a bit older than you, and he had experienced many . . . um . . . experiences in his life before he met you. He knew things that . . . uh, you perhaps did not know yet . . . ” his voice trailed off.
His meaning began to dawn on Emily. Of course, Andrew did not have the benefit of his father’s advice about matters of the heart, for he had been only fifteen when George Wentworth died at sea. Jonathon was not here to mentor him in the art of wooing at a time when the attraction between Andrew and Jenny was obvious to all, and since David was Jenny’s uncle, it would be unseemly to ask his counsel. Emily smiled and patted his hand.
“Is this about Jenny?” she asked.
Andrew blushed furiously and nodded.
“How can I help?” Emily asked.
“Em, I do not have any . . . well, experience in courting a woman. I do not know even where to begin. How do I—that is, where do I—I mean to say . . . ” his voice trailed off.
“Andrew, when two people care for each other, they often travel this journey of discovery together,” Emily said.
“Is that how it was for you and Jonathon?” he asked.
It was Emily’s turn to blush as she recalled how skillful a lover Jonathon was from the beginning of their relationship. Andrew dropped her hand.
“I see,” he said.
“But, Drew, had I married Michael Dennings, it would have been so!”
“But you did not marry Michael. You chose Jonathon over him,” Andrew said looking at the floor.
“Because I did not love Michael, not because he lacked experience,” she countered.
“But you hated Jonathon when you refused Michael’s proposal,” he exclaimed.
Emily smiled wryly. “Well, I was trying to convince myself of that, Drew, but I think I fell in love with Jonathon the first night I met him.” She took his hand again and turned his face to hers. “And I knew nothing about his experience or lack thereof at the time.” She smiled at him. “Do not risk love because of self-doubts, Andrew. Finding love is worth any humbling incident that may occur. Believe me, I know!
Andrew’s face brightened. “Thank you, Em. Your counsel is sound and I shall take it to heart.”
As he kissed her cheek, the door opened and Deidre entered. Her turquoise gown heightened the golden shades of her hair. Her skin seemed translucent against the lace trim that followed her neckline plunging deeply to reveal the swell of her breasts.
“Good day,” she said brightly.
“Good day, Deidre,” Emily answered.
Andrew mumbled a reply and stood to leave.
“Stay, Andrew, I do not mean to shorten your visit with your sister,” Deidre said walking to him and taking his hand. Her touch sent a charge up his arm and into his gut and her breathing affected the rise and fall of her breasts. Wanting to retain her touch, yet despising it, he stood transfixed, dizzy from her scent of musk.
“Andrew, I believe David is looking for you; he is in the back of the manor right now,” Emily said returning him to reality, wondering at his discomfort. “He wants you to run an errand for him today. Perhaps you should go talk with him.”
“Thank you, Emily,” he said. “Good day, Deidre,” he said bowing slightly.
Emily looked at Deidre curious at her slight smile as she watched Andrew leave the parlor. Joanna’s warnings about Deidre came to mind.
“I see you are making progress on the gown’s trim,” Deidre said.
“Yes, it is coming along nicely,” Emily replied, smiling as she held it up for inspection.
Deidre smiled sweetly and then looked out the window. She sat beside Emily on the settee.
“Have you heard any news of Jonathon?” she asked.
“No,” Emily said trying to concentrate on the garment to keep her mind off her longing for Jonathon.
“Do you not wonder every day, every minute about him?” Deidre cried.
“Of course I do, Deidre,” Emily said turning to the woman.
Deidre looked at the garment in Emily’s hand then at her eyes.
“Should you not be doing something to help your husband? Should you not send someone to find him and bring him to safety? What are you doing to help him, Emily?” she demanded as she clasped Emily’s hands.
“I—ow!” Emily cried out. “Oh my goodness, I have stuck my finger. I must not get any blood on the baby’s gown!”
Deidre sneered at the distraught woman, her sneer quickly transforming to a look of concern when Emily looked up.
“Oh, let me help you, Emily,” she said taking the gown from her. Reaching into her bodice, she brought out a handkerchief and bound Emily’s bleeding finger. She pressed the cloth against the wound.
“That will staunch the bleeding and keep it from staining the gown,” Deidre explained.
“Thank you Deidre,” Emily said.
“Let me get you a glass of wine, Emily. You look pale,” Deidre said. She walked over to the side table and, with her back to Emily, poured the wine. Bringing the glass to Emily, she watched her drink it. “Oh look, you did get blood on your own gown, Emily. You must go and change.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” Emily replied. The room seemed suddenly very warm, and dizziness overtook her making her swoon. Deidre rushed to her side, grabbing her arm to support her.
“What is it, Emily?” she cried out.
“I—I feel so faint,” Emily quivered.
“Let me help you to your room,” Deidre offered leading her to the door of the parlor.
Emily stumbled through the door and into the hallway. The staircase was swimming before her, undulating and swaying. They reached the staircase and began to climb.
“There, Emily, I have you; lean on me,” Deidre reassured her.
Emily’s head felt heavy and though she tried to respond, she was unable to speak. Losing her balance, she lunged and grabbed for the step ahead of her. She felt Deidre’s grip tighten and the woman pulled her forward up the stairs.
Emily’s mind kept echoing, I feel so dizzy, but she could not say a word. She leaned against Deidre, grateful for the woman’s support.
“Just a bit further, Emily. We have almost reached the top. We need to get to the top,” Deidre said. She hefted Emily up, feeling her weight become heavier as she began to lose consciousness. “A few more steps . . . ”
At that moment Andrew and David appeared in the hall below them. Looking up, David halted.
“What is this?” he shouted as he took the steps two at a time. Andrew stood below staring up at the women, trying to make sense of the scene.
David reached the women and gently took Emily from Deidre lifting her in his arms. He glared at Deidre and demanded again.
“What is this?”
Deidre stepped back as if slapped, her eyes bright and wide. Looking at David and then at Emily, she began to cry.
“Emily pricked her finger as she was embroidering the baby’s gown. Some blood fell on her dress, and she was coming upstairs to change. I believe the sight of the blood made her faint. I was helping her to her room,” Deidre said.
Andrew had reached the top of the staircase by now and was softly talking to his sister who was unable to respond.
David moved Emily away from Deidre and looked at Andrew.
“We will take her to her room. Thank you, Deidre,” David said, dismissing the woman.
Deidre pulled herself up, raising her chin, her eyes glittering. She looked at Andrew who appeared confused at this confrontation. With a swirl of skirts, she turned and retired to her own room.
“Andrew, let us get her to bed quickly. Then we must send for Dr. Anderson,” David said.
“But, David, why? Deidre said she fainted at the sight of her own blood. Surely she will revive momentarily . . . ” Andrew replied.
“Look at her, Andrew! Does she look as if she is going to revive?” David demanded. He carried Emily to her bedroom and gently laid her on the bed.
Just then, Joanna entered. Seeing Emily’s ashen face and limp form, she rushed to her bed.
“David, what happened? What is wrong with Emily?” she cried out. She looked from Emily to her husband whose mouth was set in a grim line. He stared at Emily for a moment and then glanced at Andrew’s serious face. Emily stirred and opened her eyes.
“What happened?” she whispered. Joanna sat beside her on the bed and Andrew stepped over to stand beside her. Joanna brushed her hair off of her forehead and smiled.
“You had a bit of a fainting spell, Emily,” she said.
“I was in the parlor . . . ” Emily said.
“What happened in the parlor, Emily?” David asked quietly.
She looked over at him and frowned, trying to remember.
“Oh, I was embroidering the border on the baby’s gown, and I pricked my finger. Oh dear, some blood fell on my dress,” she said trying to sit up and find the stain. Joanna gently pushed her back down.
“Just rest, Em,” she said.
“Deidre was with me, yes, she got me a handkerchief to stem the blood so it did not soil the gown. Then she poured me some wine because I felt dizzy . . . ” her voice trailed off.
David’s eyes met Joanna’s, but Andrew was focused only on his sister. He took her hand and smiled at her.
“You need to rest, Emily. We shall send for Dr. Anderson to check you over and make sure everything is all right,” David said.
“I shall stay with Emily, dear,” Joanna said smiling at her husband. “Perhaps you and Andrew can send someone for the doctor.”
“Yes, that would be fine,” he replied.
The two men left the room, and Joanna covered Emily with a light shawl. Emily’s eyes were heavy, and soon she was dozing. Joanna stared at her sister-in-law whose lashes lay dark against her ashen face. Her breathing was even, and she seemed to be sleeping peacefully. Joanna lifted her hand and turned it over. There on her finger was a mark where she had stuck herself. Emily’s embroidery skills were far above her own; how strange that this mishap had occurred. Joanna’s suspicion grew, and she thought of the look on David’s face. She knew her husband well enough to recognize he had been holding in some strong emotion. Initially, she believed it was concern for Emily, but that assumption was beginning to change. She thought about Deidre who had been a part of their lives since childhood. Their families had been close, socializing and supporting each other over the years. At one time, Deidre was Joanna’s dearest friend, but as they grew older, they drifted apart. Yet, Deidre had always seemed like a family member, and Joanna assumed, as did most, that Jonathon would marry her one day. Something changed in Deidre after her father forced her to marry Robert Manning—a hardness, sharp-edged and cutting came over her. Joanna remembered a sense of foreboding the night Deidre arrived at Brentwood Manor asking for help, and she wished that Emily had never allowed the woman to move in. A chill went through her and she pulled the shawl up around Emily’s shoulders.
• • •
Deidre’s slippers beat a hard rhythm against the floor of her room as she paced. She dug her nails into her palms in an effort to contain a scream of frustration. How close she had been to eliminating what was standing in her way of happiness with Jonathon. If only David and Andrew had not appeared at that moment. It would have appeared as if Emily had simply fainted at the top of the stairs and tumbled to her death . . . and the death of her child. Deidre pounded her fists into her thighs as she walked. So close, so close.
Next time she would not fail.
• • •
Jonathon kicked the horse’s flanks urging it to accelerate. The mount was no match for Neptune, and Jonathon fought the desire to whip it into compliance. In the distance, he heard horses behind him closing fast, and his heart sank as he heard the baying of hounds. Heart racing, he zigzagged through the woods trying to throw the dogs off his scent. Dusk was falling, and trees became shadowy forms reaching out to claw him from the horse, but he was on Brentwood Plantation now, familiar with the lay of the land. He continued calling commands to the horse, galloping through the wooded property he had known all his life.
The hoof beats were drawing closer and he cursed and reined in his horse. Jumping down, he wrapped his jacket around the saddle horn and slapped the horse’s flanks. As the horse took off in a northerly direction, he slipped into the shadows heading south. Running through the woods, he was rewarded when he smelled the fecund swamp. Branches slapped at him as he broke through the underbrush and heard his feet hit the water. His pursuers were growing closer, and sweat broke out on his upper lip as he searched for what he needed. Darkness had fallen, and the moon was still low in the sky. Using his hands he reached out feeling his way until he felt a stand of reeds. He took out his knife and slashed one of the sturdier reeds and waded farther out in the water. Closer and closer he heard the yelping of the dogs, intent on finding their quarry. Sticking the reed in his mouth he sank into the water completely submersing himself and breathing through the stalk. He forced himself to remain calm and breathe through the stem, not stirring the water, not making a sound.
Racing up to the pond, the dogs started to whine, trotting back and forth along the water’s edge. The riders reached the water and dismounted. Cursing, they walked along the perimeter stabbing into the water with their bayonets. They stepped into the water just yards from where Jonathon lay hidden. Steady he thought to himself. Just breathe. The soldiers’ feet were coming closer, their bayonets getting more forceful with their frustration. Jonathon winced as one blade rippled the water around his head. Suddenly, they turned and waded to dry ground. Through the water he heard the muffled voice of one soldier call out.
Feet tromped out of the pond and in a few moments, the sound of hoof beats started up and faded away. Jonathon waited a full ten minutes to ensure it was not a trap, and then slowly began to rise out of the water. Still he waited, sitting in the fetid water, listening for any incongruity in the night sounds. Finally, satisfied, he rose to his feet and sloshed to dry land.
He shivered despite the mild June night, more from relief of escaping certain capture than from cold. He turned toward the manor and began his trek through the Brentwood forests.
• • •
Emily slowly woke and gazed, bewildered, around the room. How did she get here, and why was she napping in the middle of the day? Lids heavy, she succumbed to the tug of drowsing, aware that her limbs felt thick and cumbersome. Confusion held her and she struggled to open her eyes again, struggled to make sense of her lethargy.
“Mrs. Brentwood, are you awake?”
Emily turned toward the voice of Dr. Anderson, her confusion deepening. She gasped and dropped her hands to her abdomen, fear overtaking her.
“Your baby is fine, Mrs. Brentwood,” the doctor said patting her hand. As if to confirm this diagnosis, the baby gave a hearty kick. Emily smiled in relief.
“What happened; why are you here, Dr. Anderson?” Emily asked.
Joanna approached the bed and sat beside her sister-in-law. Emily tried to assess the look that passed between the two. Joanna took her hand and held it lightly.
“You had a fainting spell, Emily. We were concerned and sent for Dr. Anderson,” Joanna said.
Emily fought the fogginess that trapped her mind trying to recall what happened.
“I was in the parlor, with Deidre . . . ” she mumbled. She felt Joanna’s grip tighten at her words. “I think I pricked my finger, and Deidre wrapped it for me so I would not stain the baby’s garment.” She held up her hand and examined her finger as if to substantiate it for herself. “I cannot remember anything after that.”
Dr. Anderson felt her forehead and checked her pulse.
“You just need to rest for a while, Mrs. Brentwood,” he said gently. “It would also be beneficial for you to eat a hearty meal,” he winked at Joanna.
Emily’s bewilderment grew at the apparent relief they communicated to one another, but her muddled mind prevented her from concentrating enough to make sense of their behavior. She closed her eyes, sighing. As if from a distance, she heard their conversation.
“Will she be all right, Dr. Anderson?”
“Yes, she and the baby were not in serious harm from what appears to have been a sleeping draught. How did this happen, Mrs. Sutton?”
“We are exploring that question, Doctor.” Joanna’s voice sounded harsher than Emily had ever heard before.
“The effects of the sleeping draught should be wearing off, but it will be gradual. Encourage Mrs. Brentwood to eat and, when she is steady on her feet, to walk a bit. That may help dissipate the drowsiness more rapidly.”
Their voices drifted away as Emily sank into sleep once more.
• • •
Quiet sounds that usher in summer evenings surrounded Brentwood Manor. Cicadas rhythmically predicted a warm tomorrow, workers returned to the outbuildings to replace implements and have supper, and leaves rustled in the soft breeze. The peacefulness that enveloped the exterior of Brentwood Manor belied the tension within. Like a rope held taut to fraying, the group gathered in the parlor barely contained the brittle anger beneath their civility and effort to protect Emily.
Still groggy and bewildered, Emily sat propped on the settee with her feet resting on a footstool. She watched David pace the length of the parlor, hands behind his back, scowling. Joanna watched him, a crease between her brows. Her hands were idle, leaving the embroidery in her lap untouched.
“David, I think we should . . . ” Joanna began.
“No, Joanna, not yet,” he cut her off, looking at Emily. He went to her and knelt beside the settee. “How are you feeling, Emily? How is the child?” he asked gently.
“I still feel a bit tired, and my brain is full of cotton. My baby has been quiet, but as is often the case, seems livelier as the day winds down,” Emily replied with a smile.
David squeezed her hand and rose. Resuming his pacing, he seemed lost in thought.
Emily looked at Joanna. As muddled as her thoughts were, her mind was clearing enough to realize that something was amiss. And the time it was taking to recover convinced her that this had been no ordinary fainting spell. With the supper she had eaten, and the short stroll, leaning heavily on David’s arm, her senses were returning and with them, suspicion. Sitting up and pushing the footstool aside, she spoke convincingly.
“I believe it is time for you to be truthful with me.”
David looked at Emily, then Joanna, who nodded. He again approached the settee and knelt beside Emily taking her hands.
“Emily, we are not certain of what transpired today. Dr. Anderson believes you ingested a sleeping draught. We are trying to sort out why and how you were given it.” Trying not to alarm her, he looked to Joanna for help.
“Emily, do you remember what occurred when you and Deidre were talking this morning?” she asked.
Emily cast her mind back to the ordinary encounter with Deidre. Vague images emerged, but nothing extraordinary had happened.
“I was embroidering a gown, Deidre came in and we were talking. Oh! I pricked my finger, and she kindly wrapped it in her handkerchief so I would not soil the gown. And wine, she gave me a glass of wine . . . ” her voice trailed off as the images disappeared.
“I was attempting to help Emily, David. Just what are you implying?”
Golden hair loose and flowing, eyes flaming with indignation, Deidre stood at the door of the parlor.
• • •
Perched above the trees, the waxing moon lent a silvery glow to the forest. With the aid of this light and his own cherished memories of the land, Jonathon navigated smoothly through the trees. Animals scrambled through the undergrowth, and the mournful call of an owl eerily echoed on the night breeze. Jonathon was oblivious to all of this, his heart beating a tattoo of home and Emily.
In the weeks of sailing to New York and back his physical health had improved rapidly, but the gnawing guilt of his encounter with Deidre incessantly ate at his gut. Long conversations with Gates had helped assuage the shame he felt, but imagining Emily seeing the proof of his infidelity scratched across his chest thrust him back into despair. Despite his trepidation, the unremitting longing to be with his wife drove him on. He would face the consequences of his actions and beg her forgiveness. If it meant spending the remainder of his life somehow atoning for this, he would do it. He would do anything for his beloved.
Spurred on by thoughts of seeing Emily, Jonathon persisted on his journey. He had scrabbled together meals from berries, roots and fruit he found along the way. Fleeing from the British guard that had pursued him the previous night had sapped his strength, and the little food he had scavenged barely sated his hunger; it was his determination to see Emily and know that she and their baby were well that drove him on.
His clothes were still damp from his swim that afternoon. After hiding in the swamp, he could barely stand his own reeking smell, and he had deliberately taken the route past the Manning Manor so he could wash in the river. Standing at the bank, he had felt loath to dive in knowing that nearby Robert Manning had been murdered by Deidre. The odor he emitted had overcome his reluctance, and he had surrendered to the cool waters, emerging refreshed.
His heart pounded as he climbed a knoll and caught his first view of Brentwood Manor. Candlelight softly glowed from many of the windows, and the familiar sounds of days-end floated up to him on the evening air. Soon he would see Emily; soon he would beg her forgiveness.
• • •
As if frozen in time, the scene in the parlor hung suspended. Each person grappled with emotions that threatened to explode. Deidre stood with her hands on her hips, chin lifted, eyes defiant.
David rose and stood in front of Emily as if to protect her.
“You have not even bothered to listen to my account, David. You have not even bothered to ask it,” Deidre said.
“I think I know your explanation, Deidre,” he snarled.
Deidre sauntered into the room looking at each in turn.
“So quick to judge, so misguided,” she said over her shoulder as she poured a glass of brandy.
David clenched and unclenched his fists. His knowledge of what had transpired between Deidre and Jonathon gave him a very clear picture of Deidre’s intentions, but to reveal that would betray Jonathon. Jonathon’s deepest wish was that Emily never discover that he had lain with Deidre.
Deidre half-turned and slid her eyes over David, then turned to them all.
“I was trying to help Emily,” she stated.
David snorted and Joanna looked at him, brow furrowed.
“She has not been sleeping and I feared her health and the health of her baby would suffer. I thought if she had something to relax her, she would finally get some much needed rest.” She crossed the room toward the settee, but David would not move away from Emily.
“Deidre, you must leave Brentwood Manor,” David said flatly.
Deidre stepped back as if struck. Emily’s head was spinning; none of this made any sense to her.
The silence in the room was broken when the terrace door opened and Jonathon stepped in.
“Jonathon!” Emily cried struggling to get up from the settee.
He rushed to his wife, kneeling beside her and gathering her into his arms. Burying his head into her hair he fought back sobs that pushed to the surface.
“My love, my love,” he repeated against her cheek.
“You are trembling, Jonathon! David, pour him some brandy, please!”
David had already poured a glass and was bringing it to him. Joanna knelt beside her brother, crying and laughing at the same time. Only Deidre stood off to the side taking in the scene.
Jonathon covered Emily’s face with kisses, and she returned them, tears of joy streaming down her face. Emily’s hands swept over his back, his shoulders, pulling him closer, unable to satisfy her need to hold him. Jonathon wept into her neck, embarrassed by his tears yet unable to stop them.
Finally, releasing their embrace, they drank each other in with their eyes, laughing and crying and touching. Jonathon sat back on his heels and took in Emily’s form. His hands stroked her abdomen and the baby gave a hearty kick. His eyes held hers in a gaze of pure joy. He threw his head back and laughed.
“Our baby!” he chortled. “Our baby just greeted his father.”
Emily’s eyes shone with happiness and tears. She could not believe her beloved was right before her. She leaned forward and pulled him into an embrace. Jonathon held her, but when she turned to kiss him full on the mouth, he pulled back and looked away feeling unworthy of the boundless love she offered. Shame stabbed at his heart as he realized that, finally, he must confess to her. She looked at him quizzically, and he stood.
“Jonathon, it is too dangerous for you to be here,” David said. “British troops have been patrolling Brentwood land for weeks looking for you.”
“I had to come back. Emily, I had to see you, to know you were all right . . . ” his voice trailed off as he noticed Deidre standing nearby.
“Jonathon, your return is perfectly timed. Something has occurred that has been terribly misconstrued,” Deidre said, her eyes soft and pleading.
“Nothing has been misconstrued, Deidre, and you know it,” David countered.
Emily listened to this exchange trying to comprehend it, her mind still muddled. Why was David so angry at Deidre? Awareness dawned on Emily, and her bewildered expression turned to anger as she looked at Deidre.
“What is going on?” Jonathon asked stepping toward Deidre.
David recounted the events of that morning, and as he listened, a knot tightened in Jonathon’s stomach. He knew full well what Deidre was capable of, and had no doubt that David’s version was the truth.
“I just explained that I was trying to help Emily . . . ” Deidre began, but David cut her off.
“Save it, Deidre. Jonathon, I just told her that she had to leave Brentwood Manor. I defer that decision to you, however, since you are here.”
Jonathon trembled with rage. Even though she had promised, her intent had been to harm, no kill, Emily and their child all along. He fought the urge to strike her, clenching his fists at his side.
“David is correct, Deidre. Gather your things; you will leave Brentwood Manor in the morning,” Jonathon said.
Emily rose and stood beside him.
“I do not think I shall leave Brentwood Manor, Jonathon,” Deidre smirked.
“Yes, Deidre, you will,” he replied.
“I believe not, Jonathon, for I carry your child.”