She smiled wryly. “Which time?”
“There was more than once?” He chuckled.
“I would ride astride whenever I could convince the grooms to forego the sidesaddle,” she explained, “which was quite often.”
“That does not surprise me.”
She grew nostalgic at that memory. “What I wouldn’t give to have my father here to scold me one more time.”
“I apologize for—”
Speaking over him, she replied, “You did nothing wrong. The more I speak about them, the better I feel.”
“In that case,” he began, then hesitated before asking, “can you tell me what happened the day they died?”
Emmeline lowered her gaze to her horse, and her voice became strained. “It is not a day that I like to revisit.”
“If you would prefer not to, I understand.”
“No, it is time that I shared the events of that day with someone,” she said, bringing her gaze back up, “and I would like it to be you.”
Oliver nodded his understanding, his eyes holding sympathy.
With a shaky breath, she said, “My father had business in Town, and my mother decided to join him to do some shopping. I would have gone, but I was not feeling up to it that morning.” She hesitated. “Three days later, my uncle arrived at our country estate and informed us that my parents were killed by highwaymen.”
She adjusted the reins in her hand as she continued. “They were attacked about an hour outside of London, and the highwaymen left no survivors.”
“They killed the driver and footmen?”
“Yes, they were merciless,” she replied. “The constable believes my father tried to fight back, based on the wounds on his hands, which may have aggravated the highwaymen.”
“How terrible.”
“My whole life turned upside down that day. I went from being a carefree maiden to a grieving orphan.”
With compassion in his voice, he asked, “Were your aunt and uncle unkind to you?”
“Not intentionally, but I always felt like an afterthought to them,” she admitted. “They were always focused on Charlotte and ensuring that she married well.”
“I’m sorry you felt that way.”
“Charlotte was not only my cousin, but my dear friend, as well.” She sighed. “I suppose their deaths have tainted me in a way.”
“May I ask how?”
“I have learned that everything that has been given to me can be taken away in a moment. Frankly, I now expect bad things to befall me, and if they don’t, I am genuinely surprised.”
Oliver considered her for a moment, then said, “That is a sad way to live.”
“I disagree,” she replied. “It makes me grateful for what I do have in my life.”
“Which is?”
She smiled. “You.”
“Me?”
“I must admit that I’m pleased you traveled all the way to Lockhart Manor to bring me home,” she said.
“I thought you would be upset.”
Emmeline shook her head. “No, it makes me appreciate that you won’t ever leave me,” she replied.
Oliver shifted his gaze to straight ahead. “What if I have to leave Town for business?” he asked, his voice hesitant.
“Then I shall go with you.”
A barely discernable frown came to his lips. “What if that is an impossibility?”
“I suppose I would stay behind at Hawthorne House and await your return.”
Oliver grew quiet, and they rode the rest of the way in silence. As they entered the village, Emmeline saw the vicar standing on the pavement speaking to an elderly woman with a basket in her hand.
She dismounted and held the reins loosely in her hands as she waited for Mr. Lawson to acknowledge her. His round face was framed with short, thinning grey hair, and he had a small bald spot on the top of his head. He glanced up as the woman resumed walking down the pavement, and a smile spread across his face.
“Lady Oliver,” he greeted. “What a pleasant surprise to see you this fine morning.”
Emmeline gestured towards Oliver, who had come to stand next to her. “Mr. Lawson, allow me to introduce you to my husband, Lord Oliver.”
The vicar tipped his head politely at Oliver. “It is a pleasure to meet you, my lord.”
“Mr. Lawson is the vicar,” Emmeline explained.
“It is true,” Mr. Lawson replied. “I have been the vicar in Whitstable for nearly twenty years.”
“That is an impressive feat,” Oliver acknowledged.
Mr. Lawson waved his hand in front of him. “It is an honor to serve the patrons of my parish, and to do so in such a serene village.”
Oliver grew solemn as he asked, “Where may we find the constable?”
“If you are looking for Constable Philmont, then you will need to continue down this road to the mercantile to find him,” Mr. Lawson said.
“He owns the mercantile?” Oliver questioned.
Mr. Lawson nodded. “He has for the past five years, and he was just sworn in as the constable last year,” he shared. “We don’t have the crime to justify a full-time constable, especially since we have a night watchman that roams the streets after dark looking for any petty offenders.”
“What happens if a serious crime is committed?” Emmeline asked.
“I’m not sure. The most serious crime committed around here is being inebriated in public,” Mr. Lawson remarked, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
“We thank you for your time, Mr. Lawson, but we need to speak to Constable Philmont about an urgent matter,” Oliver said.
Mr. Lawson stepped back and offered them a polite smile. “I wish you luck, my lord, and I hope you will consider spending additional time in Whitstable.”
As they walked their horses down the street, Emmeline saw a worn sign hanging above the door that read “Mercantile”. They were about to secure their horses when a tall, broad-shouldered man walked out of the shop. He had blond, curly hair and a square jaw.
“Welcome to the mercantile, milord,” he greeted with a slight bow. “I am the constable of this village.”
With a questioning look, Oliver remarked, “It would almost seem as if you were expecting us.”
Constable Philmont chuckled. “My apologies, but I saw Mr. Lawson gesturing towards my shop through the window. Since the sign outside makes it easy to find
