Page 157 of A Modest Independence

Jenny wasn’t immune from the wonder that lay before her. The Sphinx was beautiful and majestic. The pyramids were breathtaking. But she had no one special to share them with. No one who belonged only to her and to whom she belonged in return.

She was alone.

It was what she’d always wanted. To be free and independent, accountable to no one but herself. And she was all of those things now, as much as any woman. Free to go where she wanted and do what she wanted. Free to live in the manner of her own choosing.

But Tom wasn’t here. He was gone, possibly forever.

And she loved him.

She loved him.

North Devon, England

August, 1860

Greyfriar’s Abbey had a strip of private beach below the cliffs, only accessible by a steep—and rather treacherous—footpath. . During his brief stay, Tom had taken to walking there alone. Well, not entirely alone. Justin’s dogs, Paul and Jonesy, usually insisted on accompanying him. Their intermittent barks were the only sound outside the roar of the wind and the sea and the screech of circling seagulls.

A lead on Alex Archer had brought Tom back to Devon three days ago. He had anticipated learning something new. Instead, he’d found himself right back where he started.

Finding his former friend was proving to be more difficult than Tom had imagined. Wherever Alex had gone after he broke his apprenticeship, he’d somehow managed to cover his tracks with extraordinary efficiency. He’d simply vanished, leaving behind no trace of himself at all. As if he’d never existed in the first place.

For all Tom had been able to discover, he might as well not have.

There were no orphanage records any longer. No one alive outside of Justin, Neville, and Boothroyd who seemed to remember him.

Even Tom, with his better-than-average memory, wasn’t certain whether he could accurately recall what Alex looked like anymore. He’d been tall, like Justin, with raven-black hair. As for his face…would Tom recognize it if he ever saw it again?

He thrust his hands into the pockets of his trousers as he strolled farther down the beach. The wind off of the sea rustled his hair. He was in his shirtsleeves, his black cravat loosened at his neck. Ahead of him, Paul and Jonesy frolicked in the sand, running and jumping at each other as they tussled over a large stick.

The cliffs of Abbot’s Holcombe loomed in the distance. As a boy, this had been the extent of his world. From the orphanage and down the coast to Greyfriar’s Abbey. He’d wanted nothing more than to have control of that world. To be safe from the whims of fate and the cruelties of men.

His world was bigger now. It stretched across London. Across England. Wherever he went within its boundaries, he could navigate with confidence and authority. It was a variety of power, he supposed, to have such control over one’s surroundings.

It was something he hadn’t had when he’d been traveling with Jenny.

Had keeping that control meant more to him than she had?

You don’t have to go away tomorrow, she’d said. You could stay here a little while longer.

But he hadn’t stayed. He’d left her there.

Tom rubbed the back of his neck, muttering an oath at his own stupidity.

She was safe, at least. He still had charge of her accounts. And Ahmad sent the occasional wire. According to him, Jenny was settled and happy. She wasn’t in any danger. And she certainly wasn’t fading away of unrequited love.

Tom wished he could say the same for himself.

Ahead of him, Jonesy sprang to attention. He dropped his stick, raising his great black head to look up at the cliffs beneath the Abbey. And then he gave an enormous baying bark, the likes of which would have done a bloodhound proud. Paul soon joined in the cacophony, the pair of them charging across the beach.

Tom turned to look after them, his face to the sun.

Justin and Lady Helena were gone for the day. Tom hadn’t expected them back until dinner.

But it wasn’t Justin or Lady Helena. It was someone else. A lady, making her way down the cliff path, her voluminous skirts clutched in her hands.

It was Jenny.

Tom’s mouth went dry. For the barest instant, he lost the capability of rational thought. He could only stand there, frozen, as if he’d seen a ghost.