Sanditon: A Sisterhood Forms

57

Something stirred behind them, cutting through the rain; an unsteady lumbering as a door rotated on its hinges, carried by a gust of wind until it met the side of the carriage with an abrupt crack!

"Townshend," Charlotte all but gasped the word as Sidney felt the cold envelop his body, invading wool and cotton, through to his skin; to the very place she had been resting against. The warmth of her breath subsided, replaced by the sting of raindrops, as he opened his eyes to find Charlotte an arm's length away.

He felt the raindrops travel down his face as he worked to catch his breath, to gain control when his body wanted nothing more than to be nearer to her, close enough to breathe her in again.

"... Townshend?" he repeated, the informality enough to make his jaw clench. Such a degree of familiarity had not existed before.

His heart beat in defiance, heat emanating from him as if to draw her in again. And with it, an unsettling grew.

But she had looked away, her attention seized by the figure next to the carriage. "I..." she wavered, her brow raised in apology, "Sidney, I must check on him." And she communicated silently a message he already knew. They had to leave.

A suppressed feeling rushed back, pelting at him like the rain. So similar to the very night he had been left standing at the edge of a ballroom, forced to watch her look into the eyes of another man. Of this man.

It lingered as he stared after her — stared until he registered the flush at her cheek — eyes following as she stepped away.

He broke his gaze, looking down to the lane, her voice distant as she approached the carriage, and recognised the feeling for what it was. Not jealousy. No, it was far worse than that.

It was fear.

In truth, he did not know if he was ready to face the man.

He scanned the landscape, the fields, looking anywhere but the carriage as he tried to quell the amalgam of feelings that coiled together dangerously, persisting until he wanted nothing more but to lash out, to release their hold on him. His eyes fell upon the body that lay not metres away. The threat had been alleviated, at the very least. He had no idea what might await them at the house, but Bridges could not bring harm to anyone in his state.

And yet, Bicknell's warning loomed. Eliza had hired this man. He had thought her capable of any manner of deceit, but this. A chill ran through his body as his mind turned back to Georgiana, to Arthur. And he knew, then, that he would not feel right again until they were found.

A carriage door creaked on its hinges as Sidney turned to walk back. He recognised the fear in Charlotte's voice instantly as she called out to Lord Townshend again and Sidney brought his attention to the figure hunched over before her, as Lord Townshend lifted himself into the light.

A hand passed over his face, revealing the cut at his cheek, a weeping trail of blood. His forehead had gone a bluish hue, appearing swollen, almost disfigured as he brushed the hair from his eyes. Lord Townshend, nearly unrecognisable.

"Good God, what happened to him—" Sidney murmured, his thoughts washed aside instantly as he took in the state of a man who looked injured beyond repair. But Townshend did not take the hand that Charlotte offered him, in another world as he looked beyond, as his eyes landed on what he sought.

He stepped toward Sidney, weaving slightly to the left, as if half-sprung, and stepped again. Sidney moved forward, heart pounding as he extended an arm out to steady him, so focused on tamping down his own emotions that he overlooked Lord Townshend's next move. He felt a jolt as his arm was pushed aside with surprising force as Townshend moved past, his sights focused on what lay beyond. The force of the impact ran through him, making his breath catch as he turned, affronted.