A vase rattled on its pedestal.
The baroness gasped. “They’re here.”
Arthur cracked open an eye and peeked at her.
The woman’s head swayed back and forth, her eyes were rolled back, and she blinked rapidly, looking like she was having a fit of some sort. A chill went up his back. He did not like this at all.
“Liza?” she asked. “Liza, is that you?”
Griff’s head shot up.
The baroness shook her head. “What is—? Who—?” She moaned, and her eyes snapped open. She stared directly at Arthur. “She is here for you.”
Arthur jumped. “Liza?” he asked.
Griff stared between the baroness and his friend.
“No.” Her eyes rolled back again. “It is not Liza. She has a message.”
Arthur looked around the table. His friends all stared back at him.
Miss Newton’s brow furrowed, and her lips were pinched tightly. She turned to watch her mother.
“I see wildflowers,” the baroness said. “A stained-glass church.”
“What is this?” Arthur turned toward Miss Newton, recognizing the things he’d told her about his mother. Had she been gathering information to make the fortuneteller’s words sound plausible? He felt sick—violated. “This is a trick.”
“Mother . . .” Miss Newton’s eyes were wide.
Arthur pulled his hands away from his neighbors and stood, hot with anger and the feeling of betrayal. “Stop this immediately.”
“There is more.” The baroness said. “A box of little rabbits. Bare feet dipped in a cool creek. A cracked bureau drawer beneath a painting of the sea.”
“No.” Arthur murmured. Had they been spying on him? How could she possibly know any of this? His stomach turned.
“The black opal.” The baroness moaned in her haunted voice. “It is there, behind the bureau, trapped against the wall.”
Miss Newton looked back and forth between Arthur and her mother. She stood, putting her hands on the baroness’s shoulders. “Mother, stop this.”
The baroness opened her eyes. “The message—” She swayed. “Trust your heart, my dearest.”
Arthur bolted from the room.
***
Three hours later, as Arthur rode up the dark path to Mather Manor, his nerves had calmed only the smallest bit. He’d thought through the baroness’s words thousands of times and still could make no sense of it all. How could she have known such personal details of his mother’s life?
The easiest answer was that she couldn’t possibly have known and the vision was real. But logic would not allow him to believe in premonitions or psychic abilities.
The most reasonable conclusion was that Miss Newton had told her mother the details to make the séance seem realistic. But he could only remember telling her a few of the things, such as his mother’s love for wildflowers and Winchester Cathedral. He was positive he’d not mentioned the time the gardener had found a family of baby rabbits and helped Arthur to raise them in the stables.
Nor had he told her how he and his mother would wade in the cool creek beyond the garden in the summer. Had he told anyone? He may have mentioned the memories to Griff or one of the other gentlemen at some time during their long acquaintance, but he didn’t think he had.
And why would they tell the baroness? For that matter, why would Miss Newton have told her? It made no sense. Not when Griff had provided details about his sister outright. Wouldn’t it have been simpler to fabricate contact with Liza?
He dismounted by the light of the moon and tied the horse outside the stables.
But the most disturbing piece of the puzzle was the mention of the black opal. Arthur was certain he’d told no one about it. He’d lost the ring when he was a child and had purposely not mentioned it to anyone, not wanting to get in trouble. And the details about his childhood bedroom. None of the others would have known the manor’s nursery had a bureau with a cracked drawer and a painting of the sea. They had simply never seen it, unless one had stumbled upon the room by accident during a visit. But that seemed unlikely. The nursery was not near to the guestrooms.
Arthur rubbed his eyes, feeling as if he were going over the same questions again and again without coming to any resolution. Had he unintentionally mentioned to one of them a conversation with his mother from more than twenty years earlier and then forgotten about it? Perhaps hypnosis had been used at some point. He shook his head. That conclusion seemed almost as unlikely as a psychic premonition.
And what was the motive? To create a more believable performance? The reasoning seemed weak, at best.
He woke a stableboy to tend to his horse, then banged on the door of his house until a sleepy footman answered, carrying a lantern.
The man’s eyes went wide at seeing his master returned in the middle of the night. He stepped back, holding the door, and stood straight. “My lord. I did not realize—”
Arthur strode past him, motioning with a flick of his fingers. “Come with me. And bring the light.”
The idea that Miss Newton had spied on him—that she had duped him—made his gut churn. But the other option was completely beyond reason. The very thought of the baroness somehow communicating with his mother’s soul—it was impossible. And he would prove it.
He went directly up the stairway, walking through the dark passageways and climbing another flight of stairs as the footman hurried to catch up to him.
When he reached the door to the nursery, Arthur paused. His anger had abated somewhat, leaving an apprehension. What would he find behind the bureau? Was the ring indeed there, trapped against the wall? Whether it was or not, he still had questions and worries. What part did Miss Newton play in all of this? If it was there or not there, what would it mean?
Mistaking his hesitation, the footman reached around him and opened the door. He held up the lantern and shined light into the room.
Arthur nodded his thanks to the man and walked directly to the bureau, touching the crack on the drawer. “Help me move this.”
The two of them pulled the heavy piece of furniture away from the wall.
A clink sounded behind.
The men looked at one another, and then Arthur knelt, feeling on the floor in the shadows. His fingers brushed against a small object, and a jolt went through his chest. “It can’t be.”
“My lord?” The footman brought the lantern closer. “Is everything all right?”
Arthur held up the ring to study it in the lantern light. Even covered in dust, the flecks of color shone within the stone. He sat back against the wall, staring at the black opal. A lump grew in his throat as his anger softened further and the memories of his mother took on a more pleasant feel. He missed her desperately, and the thought of her watching over him from somewhere beyond was remarkably comforting. The baroness’s words replayed in his mind: Trust your heart, my dearest.
Chapter 12
Emmeline pulled the ball gown out of the traveling trunk and held it in front of her, looking into the mirror and sighing. She folded it again and put it into the trunk at the foot of her mother’s bed. She should be pleased to be home at last, but her chest felt heavy, and sadness made her throat scratchy. She’d so looked forward to the duke’s ball, but now . . .
She put the silk dancing slippers and feathered headpiece on top of the gown. Disappointment was not a new emotion, but it wasn’t one Emmeline cared to encourage. She would let herself feel sad today, and tomorrow, she’d not allow herself to think any more about the house party, the fancy dresses, or her new friends. Especially him. She could have walked away from all of it with hardly a backward glance if it were not for Lord Mather.
The scratchiness in her throat constricted, and she fought to swallow as tears filled her eyes. After the séance and Lord Mather’s hasty departure, Emmeline had made up her mind to leave Griffin Park
at once. Her mother had caused enough of a scene that she couldn’t bear to remain any longer. But Harriet and Joanna had begged her to stay.
“Arthur will be fine,” Joanna said. “He was just surprised, that is all. You’ll see. He’ll come back, and everything will be just as it was.”
Harriet had agreed, insisting that they carry on as usual.
But the night had grown late, and he still hadn’t returned. Emmeline had grown increasingly certain Lord Mather had gone for good. And if he had come back, he wouldn’t have wanted to see her. Not when he suspected her of playing a part in her mother’s act. The look he’d given her had been so full of anger and hurt. She couldn’t believe he would just forget it all.
The final straw had come when Emmeline had left her mother’s bedchamber and encountered Miss Stewart in the passageway.
“I do hope you’re happy,” the young lady had said, her eyes narrowing in contempt. “Your hoax has quite ruined the party.”
“There was no hoax,” Emmeline said. She hadn’t fully understood what her mother had said that had made Lord Mather react so angrily, but she did know that her mother had not deceived him. And she did not appreciate the young woman’s inference.
Miss Stewart fixed Emmeline with a flat stare and curled her lip. “Oh, really now. You want us to believe a fortuneteller just happened to know personal details about Lord Mather’s family? And that fortuneteller is also the mother of the young lady who has sought to ingratiate herself with the earl these past weeks? He no doubt saw right through your trickery.”
“I told my mother nothing about Lord Mather,” Emmeline said. She kept her voice steady but felt a rising panic. Was Miss Stewart right? Is that what he believed?
“The earl told me in confidence that he thought a séance was nonsense and a waste of time,” Miss Stewart said. “And of course he knew full well that your mother was the charlatan clairvoyant performing the ritual.”
Emmeline frowned, feeling a stab of pain in her heart. Lord Mather had spoken ill about her mother? She would never have believed it of him. “He did? Why would he say that?”
Miss Stewart had shrugged. “I imagine his lordship thought he’d wasted quite enough of his time, and that’s why he left.” Her implication had been clear.
Emmeline pushed away the memory, hoping she would never chance to encounter the spiteful young woman again. She wiped away another tear, holding a straw hat. Each of the items she drew from the traveling trunk carried a memory of one type or another, making the act of putting them away more painful than simply unpacking. She straightened the hat’s ribbons and set it carefully in a hat box. She’d worn it on the day of the race, and the silk flowers were still a bit wilted from the rain.
She put a pair of gloves in as well, noticing the threads on the tips of the fingers were stained with blackberry juice.
She took out a blue dress and held it for a long moment. It was the dress she’d worn to the picnic at Wolvesey Castle. She ran her fingers over the back of the bodice, where Lord Mather’s hands had held her in an embrace. She remembered laughing until her sides hurt with Harriet and Joanna. Tears dropped onto the blue fabric, and Emmeline shoved it into the trunk and closed the lid.
I shouldn’t have gone in the first place.
A knock sounded on the door. It was still early for Mrs. Thomas. Emmeline had hoped to go to the lending library and borrow some new books before the housekeeper and her daughters arrived. Perhaps it was just Mr. Buxton coming to collect this month’s rent money. Emmeline rose from where she sat on the floor but stayed in the room when she heard her mother open the door.
Voices sounded from the front of the rented rooms, and a moment later, her mother came into the bedchamber. “You have a visitor, my dear.”
Emmeline pushed up her brows, asking a silent question, but her mother just smiled and opened the door farther.
Wiping her eyes, Emmeline stepped through the doorway, but when she saw her visitor, she stopped and pulled back. “Lord Mather?” Her voice sounded shaky. She cleared her throat and straightened her shoulders, feeling nervous but wanting to look confident. Her heart was racing. Why had he come? Did he plan to accuse her and her mother of deception? Was he still angry?
He inclined his head, removing his hat. “I went to the ball to find you, but they told me you’d returned to London.”
She studied his face, trying to discern his mood, but his expression was guarded. “I thought it best,” she said.
“Might I come in?”
“Yes, of course.” Emmeline took his hat and walking stick, feeling flustered and embarrassed at her lack of manners. She pushed aside the heavy curtain covering the doorway and tied it in place with a braided rope. “The parlor is through here.”
He sat on the sofa in the corner, and Emmeline pulled a chair from the table to sit across from him. Her mother went to get tea.
Lord Mather glanced around the small room; his eyes rested for a moment on the round table, then he turned to Emmeline. He took something from his pocket and handed it to her. A ring.
Emmeline studied it. The piece was exquisite, designed in an antique style. She wondered if it was an heirloom. Gold filigree was shaped delicately around a center stone that she recognized as an opal. The jewel was breathtaking, with flashes of color that seemed to move beneath the surface of the dark stone. It must be the black opal from her mother’s vision.
She ran her finger over the smooth stone and looked up at Lord Mather. “It’s stunning, my lord.”
He nodded. “I’d thought it lost.”
“It was your mother’s?”
“Yes.”
“A black opal.” Her face burned at the memory of the séance. She swallowed hard. “My lord. I’m so sorry for what happened at Griffin Park. I know you were angry when you left. And please believe me when I tell you neither my mother nor I intended to deceive you in any way.”
“I know,” he said.
“You do?” Emmeline realized her hands were shaking. She had expected to spend more time convincing him.
He looked at the ring she held. “My grandfather brought that stone from New South Wales. My mother showed it to me when I was a boy, and I was enchanted by it. To a child, it appeared to be magic. I used to sneak into her room and take it from her jewelry case. I would climb onto the windowsill in the nursery, holding it in the sunlight to watch the colors dance.”
Emmeline smiled, imagining it. “And was your mother angry when she discovered you?”
Lord Mather shook his head. “She told me the ring would be mine one day, and I was to give it to the woman I fall in love with.”
She smiled. “That’s a tender memory.”
“Indeed, it is.” He sighed. “Unfortunately, I must have become distracted, and I lost it. She was angry then. I’d forgotten about it all together until the baroness . . .”
Emmeline glanced at the door and looked back at the ring. She grimaced. “I’ve never believed in my mother’s gift before. But lately, some of her visions have proven true. Or at least they’ve seemed to. I think I’ve changed my mind about the matter.”
“As have I,” Lord Mather said. “About a lot of things.” He studied her for a moment, his eyes looking soft.
Emmeline’s insides fluttered. She shifted in her chair and handed the black opal back to him.
Lord Mather leaned forward and closed her hand around the ring. “Believing in psychic visions is not the most unbelievable thing I’ve done as of late.”
“Oh?” His hand around hers felt warm.
“It is not as unbelievable as my falling in love with a bluestocking suffragist who supports the Whig party. But that’s what I’ve done.” Lord Mather stood, pulling her to her feet. “The ring is yours, Emmeline. As is my heart.”
Emmeline’s breath caught at his declaration and his voice saying her name. Tingles spread
from where he held her hands, making goose bumps rise on her arms.
From behind, Emmeline heard the sound of the curtain being drawn across the doorway.
“Please say you feel the same.” His voice was low and pleading.
“I do, my lord.”
“Arthur.”
“I do, Arthur.” She looked up into his eyes and saw in them a reflection of her own feelings. Her doubts fled. “I love you.” She let a smirk pull at her lips. “Even though you are a Tory and a royalist and extremely stubborn.”
Arthur took the ring and put it on her finger, then pulled her into an embrace. His hands pressed against her back, holding her close against him.
She wrapped her arms around his waist as he kissed her. His arms tightened, and the kisses grew in intensity, leaving her dizzy and her knees weak. She thought she would never tire of the sensation.
He pulled back, one finger tracing her jawline. “Emmeline, it is not within my power to promise you a vote, however much I believe you deserve it, but if you will consent to be my wife, I promise to listen to your advice, to hear your opinions, and to take your thoughts under advisement.” His hand cupped her cheek. “Might you consider it the next best thing?”
She leaned against his palm. “Nothing in the world would make me happier.”
He leaned forward, but she pulled back.
“I will continue to fight for equal representation,” she said.
Arthur smiled. “I would expect nothing less.” He kissed her again, and this time, Emmeline kissed him back, wanting him to understand the intensity of her promise. In spite of their differences and their arguing, he was the man she’d fallen in love with. The man who understood her. And his convictions, though they were not always correct, were one of the things she adored about him.
He set her hand on his shoulder and held the other, sliding his arm around her waist. “If you’ll remember, my love, you promised me a waltz.”
The pair moved around the small parlor, Arthur tightening his embrace bit by bit until Emmeline leaned her head on his chest. Their dancing slowed until they were just swaying together. Emmeline closed her eyes, wanting to imprint the moment in her memory. No matter what the future held, at this instant, she was giddy with love, and held in Arthur’s arms, how could she ever be anything else?
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