by Mia Vincy
“You are very kind, but I’m sure he and I will reach an agreement.”
Avoiding the questions in Sally’s eyes, Thea wandered to the open doors under the staircase. From here, she could see that the house was shaped like a horseshoe around this courtyard garden, all manicured lawns, sculpted shrubs, and colorful flowerbeds.
She turned back to Sally. “There is no need to go to any trouble. I am easy to please, and it is such a lovely house.”
“Everything is in excellent condition, and the rooms are ready for your use. Guest rooms, nursery, and schoolrooms above and… Although Master Rafe—I mean, his lordship—only uses his study and occasionally the library. Shall I show you to your apartment first?”
Without waiting for a reply, Sally started up the stairs and Thea followed her. The staircase emerged into a long portrait gallery. The housekeeper turned left and continued without pausing, but Thea lingered to scan the paintings.
“Where is Lord Luxborough’s portrait?” she called.
“He never sat for one. Your rooms are this way,” Sally prompted her from one end of the gallery.
Thea looked toward the dark doorway at the other end. “What’s through there?”
“That leads to the other wing of the house, and his lordship’s rooms.”
“I see.”
Thea followed Sally out of the portrait gallery and around a corner to a long corridor lined with doors on one side and windows on the other. She stopped to push open a window and looked out onto the courtyard garden and the opposite wing. So, her fake husband’s bedroom lay over there. How odd aristocrats were. They made such a fuss about who married whom, but once they were married, they slept so far apart, they might as well be in different villages.
Turning back, she saw Sally disappear through a doorway, so she slammed the window shut and dashed after her. But once inside the door, she skidded to a halt and laughed, despite everything. These rooms were quite the loveliest she had ever been in. They were decorated in peach and yellow, with thick carpets, elegantly carved furniture, fresh flowers, and whimsical paintings. She wandered through the apartment, amazed it was all for her: a dressing room and bathing area; a bedroom dominated by a canopied bed so enormous it had its own staircase; an even larger sitting room, which was fitted out with a daybed under the window, settees by the fireplace, and a dining table.
For her meals. Alone.
She would not be silly about this. For three years she had dined alone; another few days hardly signified. Being a fake countess would provide her with plenty of pleasure, and she would not complain.
Resolutely, Thea crossed to the window to take in its spectacular view over the gardens, and the woodlands and fields beyond.
“None of this is as I expected,” she said.
“What did Luxborough tell you to expect?”
“He didn’t tell me much at all.”
“He never was one for talking.”
Thea whirled about. “Ooh, what was he like as a boy?”
“Quiet, solitary, thoughtful.” Sally’s face softened with a fond half smile. “Always going off on his own. He preferred to roam the woods than be in anyone’s company. By contrast, the rest of his family were gregarious and loud and could not bear to be alone for an afternoon. Eldritch, some called him. Said there was something wrong with him.”
“But there isn’t!” Thea protested. “That’s simply how he is. Although I cannot imagine him giving a flying farthing for anyone’s opinion. And I suppose…” She trailed a finger over the window frame. “In turn, he does not label people or judge them, but rather accepts people as they are. It’s one of the things I most like about him.”
“He always was impervious like that,” Sally said. “He let people talk, and then did as he pleased. No one was surprised when he ran away to America to avoid joining the army. Although it was a surprise he took Katharine.” She stopped short and added quietly, “I ought not have mentioned her,” her tone not apologetic so much as regretful.
“You must have known Katharine,” Thea said.
Sally’s eyelids flickered and she turned away. “You’ll want to see the drawing room and library, first?”
Without waiting for an answer, she left the room.
Chapter 10
By the time Thea caught up with Sally downstairs, she was already throwing open one of the doors leading off the foyer. Thea peered past her at a drawing room as lovely as the rest of the house. The bright, airy room was decorated in cream and gold, with blue carpets and upholstery. A glossy pianoforte beckoned from one corner, an ornamental fire screen covered the empty grate, and the furniture was arranged to make the most of the light and view.
Despite the room’s air of expensive elegance, it felt welcoming and lived in, as though all it needed to be complete was for Thea to come in and sit down.
“Is it to your liking, my lady? We’ll start lighting fires again soon, and will arrange the furniture accordingly, but we can easily make changes now.”
How peculiar that they rearranged the furniture for best use in a room that was never used. The previous earl—Luxborough’s elder brother—never married, so this house had had no mistress in the years since Luxborough’s father died and his mother moved away. Yet looking at this room, one would think its mistress had just now stepped outside.
“This room is perfect,” Thea said. “All I shall ever require is to take afternoon tea here.”
“Of course. Bread and cakes are baked fresh every day, and the farms provide fresh butter, cream, jam, and honey. It will be a pleasure to see the countess taking afternoon tea. And if you have guests… The house is always ready.”
Thea could almost see it, this room full of friends and family, chattering, singing, competing to entertain each other. She blinked away the alluring image and faced Sally with a bright “Where to next?”
Next was the door on the opposite side of the foyer, behind which lay the library. Thea needed only one look to fall in love.
Rich red carpets and curtains created a warm atmosphere, and the oak shelves lining the walls were stuffed with books. Two large bay windows overlooked the lawn and the lake. In one window was a cushioned seat, perfect for reading. In the other was a massive desk, with a large chair covered in supple green leather.
Thea was drawn to the desk helplessly. She smoothed her hand over its surface, thinking almost fondly of the little desk in her bare room in Mrs. Burton’s house, where she had passed her spare hours, writing until her bum grew numb from the hard seat and her fingers stiffened with the cold. Only during those hours had she felt anchored to her real life; the rest of the time she felt horribly adrift. Soon, she promised herself. Soon I will get home and no longer be exiled to strangers’ houses.
“And you say Luxborough does not use this desk?” she asked.
“He prefers his study.”
“Ooh, I want to see his study. Is it through that connecting door?”
Before Sally could answer, Thea yanked open the door and tumbled into a large room holding a billiard table a good twelve feet long, with a dozen or so ivory balls scattered over the green baize. Through the next door she spied a small parlor. It looked to be very much in use, and not by the earl, judging by the workbasket of sewing and the neat stack of books.
Back in the billiard room, the housekeeper stood by the table, absently spinning a ball in one hand, her expression guarded.
“Let us continue the tour,” Sally said. “We have become accustomed to using that parlor in the evening, but we shall stop if your ladyship desires.”
“We?”
“Martha Flores and I.”
Two friends who passed the evenings together in a parlor. Thea would not be welcome to join them. They were employees and she was the countess, so they could be friends and she could not. How silly it was, that such rules prevented even a countess from doing as she pleased.
Well, a plague on all the rules. Thea knew better than to form attachments anyway. Her fam
ily had moved so often, as her father’s fortunes rose and fell, that Thea learned early that nothing lasted. Even her faith in her family, the one thing she had been sure of, had been wrenched away from her. Soon she would set the world right and start her life anew, and then she could find more friends. For now, the only rules that mattered were her Rules of Mischief, and they demanded that she enjoy herself. So enjoy herself she would.
With that, Thea pulled the door to the friends’ parlor shut.
“What her ladyship desires,” she announced, “is to learn to play billiards. I am sure I shall excel at the game.”
Ignoring Sally’s bemusement, Thea lifted a stick from the rack and approached the table, but there her pride failed her, for she hadn’t the slightest idea what to do next. She poked at a ball with the unwieldy stick.
Across the table, Sally winced. “You’ll tear the baize if you’re not careful. Use your other hand to steady the cue while you line up your shot.”
“What do you mean?”
Grabbing another cue, Sally demonstrated, making a bridge with one hand and sliding the cue into the furrow between her thumb and forefinger. She deftly struck a ball with the tip of the cue, sending the ball slamming into a second ball, which spun across the table and into a pocket. Without pause, she did it again and again, before standing back, holding her cue upright like a soldier resting his musket.
Yet again, Thea found herself envying the other woman’s confidence and competence. Her dress and behavior were scandalously improper, of course, but who cared, when one was as assured as that? If Thea could learn that during her sojourn here, it would have been time well spent.
“And the aim is to hit the balls into the pockets?” she asked.
“Yes.” Sally tapped a book on the corner table. “A Practical Treatise on the Game of Billiards. You can read more here.”
It took Thea a few attempts to gain sufficient control over the cue, but when she finally struck a ball cleanly, it was so satisfying that she immediately did it again.
“Luxborough said you’ve been attached to the estate for years,” Thea said, as Sally gathered up all the balls and used a wooden frame to form them into a triangle. The housekeeper had dropped her deferential manner, and Thea was glad of it.
“The previous countess—Luxborough’s mother—hired me to teach letters and numbers to the younger servants and tenants’ children, so I came to live in the house.”
“And did you live here at the same time as Katharine?”
“Katharine never lived in this house.”
Sally bent over the table and slammed her cue into the triangle of balls, scattering them over the baize.
“A zealot in London made the strangest claims.” Thea affected a breezy tone to cover her curiosity. “That Luxborough killed her with sorcery.”
“She died in a riding accident. He told you that, didn’t he?”
“Of course,” Thea lied, her mind racing as she lined up her cue. “I thought aristocratic ladies rode so well they always held their seat.”
“Anyone would have trouble keeping their seat if they’re riding away recklessly in the middle of a storm.”
Thea’s arm jerked and the cue missed the ball completely.
“Too many Gothic novels and too much imagination,” she said, repeating one of Ma’s recurring scolds. Her cheerful tone sounded false to her own ears. “When you say it like that, I picture some Gothic heroine wildly frightened and fleeing for her life.”
But Sally did not laugh. Instead, she went still. Too still. Her knuckles where she gripped the cue were white, and her sudden tension sent a shiver up Thea’s spine.
“That…that isn’t what happened, is it?” Thea asked. “She wasn’t…fleeing?”
Silence blanketed the room, broken by the ominous ticking of a clock. When Sally finally spoke, it was only to say, “Katharine liked Gothic novels, too.” She met Thea’s eyes for one tick of that clock before looking away again. “You had best address such questions to your husband.”
“To my…? Oh, yes. Right. I forgot. My apologies. I ought not put you in a difficult position.”
Sally gave a derisive snort. “Why not?” she muttered. “It’s the position with which I’m most familiar.”
They played on in silence, and soon Thea was so engrossed, she forgot about Luxborough and his late wife. Each time she sank a ball in a pocket, a heady confidence spread through her limbs, and she danced with the cue in celebration.
“You really are not what I expected,” Sally said, laughing.
“What did you expect?”
“Honestly, I could not imagine what kind of woman Luxborough would marry. But you’re not…”
“I am not an aristocrat, if that is your meaning. I grew up poor. And I’m not accomplished like real ladies are. When my father became rich enough to afford tutors, my entire education consisted of learning how to pass as genteel. Pretending to be something one is not takes up an inordinate amount of time and energy.”
Sally’s expression grew thoughtful. “Indeed it does.” She opened her mouth, closed it, and then said, all in a rush, “Master Rafe—I mean, Lord Luxborough. He is a good man. He…” She stopped. “But of course you know that. How did you two come to be married? The truth now.”
The truth was Luxborough had married her for money and to please Lord Ventnor, and the other truth was, they were not married at all. With so many secrets, Thea could not tell the truth.
“Let’s talk about you,” Thea said.
Sally lined up her cue again. “No, let’s talk about you.”
“No, really, we should talk about you. You are so unconventional and you must tell me everything.”
Sally struck the ball so hard it jumped off the table and landed on the carpet with a thud. When she straightened, her expression was hard, and her tone when she was spoke was hostile.
“You cannot dismiss me, my lady, whatever you think of me, or learn of me.”
Thea stepped back. “I have no intention of dismissing you. I thought we could be friends.”
“Indeed. Until I say or do something you don’t like and then we won’t be friends, will we? Then you’ll be the countess and I’ll be out on my ear. I wish for his lordship to be happy, but this is my home, and I’ll not be made to leave again.” Sally tossed the cue onto the table, where it bounced and clattered against the balls. “I’m sure you can find your own way back to your rooms, my lady.”
With that, she strode out.
Thea unwrapped her fingers from the cue and swallowed away the sour taste in her mouth. Yet again, she had got it wrong. Sally was right: They could never be friends. How careless she was, to keep forgetting. As appealing as she found Brinkley End and its inhabitants, this was yet another place where she did not belong.
She did not care, she decided, as she launched her cue at the balls once more. A plague on them all. And if she must dine alone, then she would jolly well eat her dessert first!
Rafe made it to the footbridge before he surrendered to his urge to glance back, only to see that Thea and Sally had gone inside.
Everything was going according to plan, he reminded himself as he faced forward and strode along the dirt path through the woods. His plan had always been to ignore Thea until this fictional marriage was over. Because that was all it was or would ever be: fictional. The minute news came that the trustees had released the funds, he’d toss Thea into his carriage and send her away.
This silent lecture brought him to the clearing, as big as a cricket field. As always, his tension ebbed at the sight of his greenhouse, rising up before him like a church, and, behind it, the stone cottage that served as Martha’s laboratory. This—this—was why he was here; he must not let himself be distracted by expressive blue eyes, or by enticing chestnut hair tumbling around a lively face, or by… No. Enough. She was the means to an end and nothing more.
In the greenhouse, the warm, fragrant air settled over him, dense and familiar, and the rows of lush pla
nts greeted him with blessed, calming silence. He took a moment to breathe, letting the plants work their magic, then he carried the orchids to the work area, stripped down to his shirtsleeves, and pulled out his notes. Ventnor’s eagerness to impress meant he had retained details of the orchids’ origins, all to serve his boasting: “This flower comes from a secret gully so deep in the jungle that two men died blah blah blah.” Self-important braggart. But at least the detail enabled Rafe to make an educated guess as to each plant’s preferred conditions, and hope it would be enough to save those that had survived this long. Rafe could do little for other people, but at least he had a talent for caring for plants.
A glance at the sky through the glass-and-iron roof told him he had enough light to finish today. No one would be inconvenienced. The staff would know not to bother with a hot meal; they’d leave a cold plate in his sitting room for him to dine later.
Dine alone.
I don’t like to dine alone.
The flash of hurt in those blue eyes.
Surely it would do no harm if they dined together? Either way, she—
No.
He would not change his plans.
Rafe grabbed the first orchid his hand landed on and slammed it onto the table so hard its pot cracked. It was, naturally, the drooping yellow flower that Thea had wanted to touch that first evening. The little face-like blooms eyed him reproachfully.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he snapped at them. “It won’t change my mind.” The flowers said nothing and the space filled with the embarrassing echo of his own voice. “But at least you didn’t talk back, so she hasn’t driven me completely—”
A sound came from behind him. Rafe froze. Listened. A sound like…a foot shuffling. Skirts rustling. Then silence. The kind of silence that came from someone standing behind him, trying not to laugh.
Blast it.
Adopting a fierce, silencing glare, Rafe turned around.
Martha stood with her lips pressed together, the lines around her dark eyes crinkling suspiciously.