by Eden Reign
Her stomach flipped over as she remembered Jackson’s dark gaze, his fingers on her wrist, pulling her to him, the rough callouses of his hand on her cheek as he’d lowered his mouth to hers.
She had wrenched away from him. She’d had to; there was no other option. Just as she feared that there was no other option for her but to leave Coalhaven.
She could not allow Master Coal—Jackson, she thought longingly—to become so intimate again. She did not trust herself to be sensible, not when his touch made her feel as if he commanded her very breath. She had to leave.
She covered her face with her hands. She didn’t want to leave. She’d grown to love it at Coalhaven in the months since she’d come, the house and the oak and magnolia-strewn woods, the sweet scent of the new honeysuckle blooms in the evening air, the tendrils of moss that draped the trees, the water bugs that skated across the still parts of the river that ran through the gardens. The house had turned into a home, a true haven, protecting her and her secret. Even prim Rose Westerly and the impeccable Mr. Stone had become dear friends. And Grey. How could she leave Grey? She’d promised him she would not. And—
And Jackson.
She didn’t want to acknowledge how much she cared for him. The admission tangled around her thoughts with all the tenacity of the wisteria vines that climbed at the back of the plantation house. She couldn’t be rid of it.
She wasn’t sure she wished to be rid of it. Her world bloomed in living color this morning. The blue latticework on her wallpaper stood out in sharper detail. The matching porcelain bowl and pitcher took on a shining cast that hadn’t been there previously. Her bed felt softer, the room warmer. Even the air smelled sweeter.
But she was a halfmage.
Jackson would never forgive her for keeping such a secret, not when he could be banned from Coalhaven, not to mention Arcanan society, for fraternizing with a halfmage.
Secrecy had been drilled into Manda since her childhood; she’d always had to hide her magic: from Simon Dunne, from the others at the orphanage, and now, from Jackson and the world. If anyone ever learned of her status, Jackson could lose the plantation that he loved. She would not be the cause of his exile from it.
If she accepted Jackson’s kisses, she would be forced to reveal what she was. And not even Jackson Coal, with all his Leveler notions, would desire intimacies with a halfbreed. Jackson housed Grey, a halfmage, because he had cared deeply for Grey’s father, and, Manda suspected, because he felt guilt for Elijah Lake’s death. It was one thing to take the knowing risk of losing everything in order to protect the child of one’s dearest friend, and quite another to be seduced, unawares, into caring for and housing a reviled creature masquerading as a governess.
The heavy thoughts weighed on her; she didn’t know what to do. Leave or stay? Those were her options, but they were really no options at all. She could not take Grey from the guardian he had begun to adore, and that was that.
She stepped from her bed, slipping into one of the lovely cotton gowns she’d made from the material Jackson had purchased for her in Savana. After the threadbare dimity dress she’d worn since the orphanage, her new clothes felt as fine as silk and taffeta. She smoothed her hands over the light material, struggling to free herself from her dark decision. I’ll consider it later.
When Manda entered the outdoor kitchen, she found Rose Westerly already there. “Good morning,” she greeted.
Rose, her arms elbow-deep in bread dough, turned a flushed face her way, swiping one floured arm across her forehead, leaving a white trail on her dark skin. “Good morning, Manda. It’s warm, isn’t it? Do you mind if I pull a breeze through the kitchen?”
“No, go right ahead,” Manda said.
Rose’s eyes blurred as she tapped the Wells, and a cool breeze circled through the kitchen. Rose punched the dough again. “I never like to use the Wells without giving advance notice. I don’t want to muss anyone’s hair.”
“It’s fine, Rose; I’m glad you did.”
The cook smiled. “Did you sleep after the fire last night?”
“Very little,” Manda said, retrieving the milk for Grey’s breakfast beverage.
Rose blew a loose strand of hair from her forehead. “I have some grits ready there on the stove.” She smiled. “I couldn’t manage to burn them so well as you do.”
Manda laughed. “It is a singular talent.”
Rose sobered. “I’m sure it must have frightened you to wake up and smell the smoke of the fire. Master Coal told us you helped to put out the blaze.” She shook her head. “I told Mr. Stone this morning that it was a mercy the whole plantation hadn’t gone up. It’s lucky you were there to help, Manda.” She peered around, her gaze hooded. “Of course Abigail says it would have been only what Master Coal deserved for being a Leveler, had he burned down the entire house.” She shook her head. “That girl. She best be careful if she wants to keep her job.”
“Abigail speaks so openly against the Master?” Manda asked, surprised. She doled out a portion of grits into a bowl for Grey and plopped on a generous pat of butter.
“I think the only reason she stayed on here after old Master Coal died is she has nowhere else to go,” Rose explained.
“Where would you have gone, Rose, had the plantation been destroyed?” Manda asked. Rose fit seamlessly into the workings of the plantation, smoothing corners where Manda hadn’t even known rough places existed. In contrast Abigail Windham seemed to spread roughness and discord in her wake, leaving vital chores undone, whispering about Master Coal, and continuing to call both Rose and Manda questionable names like “darkling” and “nutskin.”
Rose shrugged, smiling. “Before I got the job here, I was living with my grandmum. She lives with three other ladies of advanced ages down in Savana, and together, they raise enough ruckus to keep the town on its toes. I call them the Banty Hens. If you met them, you’d realize how appropriate the name is.”
Manda opened a cupboard to take down a tea pot for her morning tea. “Why did you come here, then?”
Rose glanced at her and shrugged. “Grandmum’s my only relation. We have no family lands on the Sea Islands like most of the Akwa—Grandad fell into debt years ago and everything had to be sold. It was hard, trying to find work that could support two in Savana after the war, especially for a woman. No place offered me enough wages to pay rent. I was getting desperate by the time Master Coal found me at the weekly employment fair at Four Scythes Park. Once he understood my grandmum’s situation, he offered me this position at a high enough wage to keep my grandmum where she is. It was very kind of him.” She turned back to her bread, stuffing it into an oiled bowl.
Manda glanced down at the tea pot in her hand, surprised to find she was gripping it so tightly that her knuckles were white. “Yes, I suppose it was,” she murmured absently, thinking of the man she’d doused last night in the fire, the man who had touched her hair and asked her to stay with him. At heart, a kind and generous man.
She swallowed hard, not sure how much to say; she didn’t know if Rose or Mr. Stone were aware of how the fire had started, though it had been clear to her that Jackson had caused it in an altered state of mind. Troubled, she set the tea pot down and reached for the kettle.
Rose turned the dough, working it into an elastic mass. It smelled heavenly. The unexpectedly freckled maid shrugged. “I suppose it’s good that Master Coal is gone now; it’ll give us a chance to finish cleaning up the mess from the fire without bothering him. Mr. Stone is already pulling down some boards, and I imagine it will get loud.”
Manda’s hand jerked, and she dumped hot water all over the teapot and her other hand. She slammed the kettle onto the table. “Ouch!”
“Are you all right, Manda?” Rose asked, looking over. “Did you have another cookery disaster? Even just making tea?”
“I—I need to clean this up.” Manda wiped at the spilled, hot water with a dishcloth. “Did Master Coal say where he was going?”
“I believe
he was heading north of Chalton, Miss, for a visit to Blazenfields Estate. He left before the sun rose this morning.”
“Oh.” The word sounded insipid and weak and revealed far too much. Manda turned abruptly for the door, her eyes full of tears.
Rose’s voice followed her out of the kitchen. “What about breakfast?”
Manda didn’t turn. She fled into the gardens. The tears overflowed, and they had nothing to do with her stinging hand.
A week passed after the fire, and Manda found the days tedious. As each minute dragged into an hour and an hour gradually lengthened into a day, Manda’s thoughts swirled in murky channels. She thought of Grey, of the danger he and Jackson would face if it were known that he sheltered on the plantation. The thought of the timepiece left on the beach gnawed at her. She’d seen Jackson’s tension when she’d told him she’d left the timepiece behind, but Jackson had said little beyond informing her that he’d been unable to find the watch. She would never forgive herself if her lack of caution brought threat or harm to Grey. Or the Master. Every time she considered Jackson Coal, her thoughts turned bleak as she wondered when—or if—he would return to Coalhaven.
His dark eyes had burned so intensely the night he’d asked her to stay with him, and a part of her wished she had thrown caution to the wind and said yes.
But she couldn’t do that without revealing her secret, an impossible bind. He thought her a fullmage, and if not his equal, at least one of his own kind. If they were to be intimate, she could not neglect to inform him about such a weighty aspect of her identity—she’d seen the perils of that sort of deception for too long in her mother’s fraught marriage to Simon Dunne—and she would never replicate that sad situation. Not to mention that it would mean inveigling Jackson into a crime without his knowledge or consent. Opening her heart to Jackson required revealing that she was a halfmage, which she feared to do. So she had pushed him away, and she paid the price. He had left her, and who knew what other people he was meeting at Blazenfields, likely turning every female head in Chalton with his charm.
Manda swallowed more tears as she swirled the water in the creek. The weather had seemed fine enough to have their lessons out of doors, so Grey had obediently followed her out to the river after breakfast, carrying a tumbler in his hands. He knelt beside her, scooping water and holding the glass up to the dappled sunlight.
“Did you find any?” Manda asked, dragging her mind back to the lesson. The tadpoles she had seen yesterday were hiding this morning, but she wanted to show Grey the tiny legs that had sprouted on their fat little bodies.
“Not yet,” he said. He dumped the water back into the river, leaning far over it, his nose nearly touching the surface.
The sound of crunching gravel distracted Manda; she turned to look at the driveway around the side of the plantation house. Two horses drawing a fine carriage edged through the tunnel of moss-draped oaks.
Her heart leapt, hoping to see the Coal crest on the door. But the horses were unfamiliar, and the carriage was a deep cherry, not Coalhaven’s rich burnished ebonywood. A finger of fear stirred Manda’s insides. Grey would be safer out of the house with Mr. Flacks.
“Grey,” she murmured, “Mr. Flacks is in the western fields today. I want you to go find him and stay with him. Do not leave him, and do not come into the house under any circumstances, do you hear me?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Grey stood on his tiptoes, straining to see the carriage. “Are those the bad men we saw before?”
“I don’t know, Grey, but I’ll find out.” Manda rose and smoothed her skirts. “Run to Mr. Flacks, now.” She pointed through the multitude of magnolia and oak trunks, to the fields and croppers beyond. “As I say, do not come inside.”
“I won’t.” His wide, grey-blue gaze followed her as she squared her shoulders and strode around the rhododendron bushes at the back of the house straight to the rear verandah.
Mr. Stone met her inside, running a pocket comb through his dark hair. “Miss Rivers, what should we do? That’s Master Lake’s carriage, and with Master Coal gone—”
“I know.”
Rose came through the back door after Manda, wiping her hands on her apron, her brown eyes large and scared. “Bless the Sacred Wells, it’s Abigail’s day off and she’s gone up to Chalton. She doesn’t know Grey’s a halfmage. But what do we do about Master Lake? He can’t find Grey!”
“No, he can’t,” Manda answered. “Listen, I’ve sent Grey to the western fields to stay with Mr. Flacks. Oh!” She froze, her breath stilling in her lungs. “Grey left one of his primers on the dining room table after breakfast this morning! If—”
“I’ll send him away,” Mr. Stone said, setting his jaw. Already, a tall shadow loomed beyond the beveled glass of the front door. A knock sounded. “Go,” Mr. Stone hissed as he gripped the front door handle.
Rose fled back into the tea kitchen, and Manda whisked into the dining room. The primer was still open on the table. Manda dropped it behind a 17th-century bust of D’Alnoir, the poet.
She tiptoed to the dining room entrance, listening intently. Mr. Stone’s modulated voice greeted the caller. “Good morning, Master Lake. We did not expect the honor of a visit.”
“You’re new.” Master Lake’s clipped tones cut through the great hall outside the drawing room. “You were not here when I visited not long ago. I consider it a shame that a High Family scion should have hired a Nanu for butler.”
A stilted pause ensued before Master Lake’s voice came again. “Is Master Coal here?”
Mr. Stone’s careful answer made Manda smile. “He is on a business trip, Master Lake. I am afraid you may have wasted a visit to Coalhaven if you had hoped to catch him. Can I give him your card?”
“No.” The answer was brusque. “I will take refreshment, though. It has been a long trip from my townhouse in Chalton.”
Manda’s stomach dropped. She had hoped he would simply take Mr. Stone’s excuses and leave at once, but it seemed the man was determined to get into the house and no doubt hoped to have the servants leave him alone for a bit.
She backstepped into the shadows of the dining room, melting against the wall—the room afforded no hiding places—as she heard Master Lake’s footsteps cross the great room toward the drawing room. She hadn’t dared close the dining room door; he would have seen that. But as he passed, he would be able to see everything in the dining room if he paid attention.
She squeezed her eyes shut, forgetting to breathe.
His boots stepped, stepped … stopped.
“You, Miss!”
Manda winced. Master Lake stood in the doorway. “Who are you?” he asked rudely.
“Sir,” Mr. Stone said, coming up behind Master Lake. “If you will come this way, I will show you into the drawing room, where I’ll have someone bring you refreshment.”
Master Lake ignored the butler. His cold gaze centered on Manda’s face. “You remind me of— who are you?” he asked.
Manda’s jaw shook. She pressed her lips together, inhaling deeply, releasing air slowly. Her mind raced. She needed a story, a believable cover that did not shout halfmage governess. She wished, fleetingly, that she’d had time to change into one of Rose’s uniforms or her old ragged dimity dress. It was too late now; Master Lake would never believe her a maid in the pretty sprigged lawn Jackson had bought for her. “Good morning, Master Lake. It’s a privilege to finally meet you. I’ve heard much of you.” She pushed away from the wall and bobbed a curtsey, shooting a slanted glance at the bust behind which she’d hidden the primer. “Shall we adjourn to the drawing room?”
She did not wait for an answer, sliding by him into the great hall and then into the drawing room, panic beating a steady tempo in her head. She paused before the gold and blue brocade sofa, struggling to keep her hands from fidgeting. She shakily wove another loose curl into her chignon, motioning to a chair that sat caddy-corner to the couch. “Please, won’t you take a seat? The refreshments will arrive shortly.”
She glanced at Mr. Stone. The butler’s jaw was as rigid as iron. He cast one more dark-eyed glance her way before reluctantly pulling the door closed.
Master Lake stared at her, seemingly unsure if he should accept the invitation. Manda sat, hoping he would take the hint. He did. He crossed the room and sank into the chair.
The silence stretched. Manda focused on breathing without shaking. She cast about for something to say, a social nicety that would cover the terrible silence.
Master Lake spoke first. “Do I know you?” he demanded. He seemed even more ill at ease than Manda. He cleared his throat. “I beg your pardon, Miss—Ma’am. I had hoped to speak to Master Coal.” He reached into his waistcoat and removed a handkerchief, mopping his shining forehead. He had tied his dark hair neatly at the back of his neck, but a few loose strands hung, damp, around his face. “I ask again, who are you? Your face, your eyes, there is something familiar in your visage.”
“We have never met,” Manda replied breathlessly, her blood turning icy in her veins. She threw out her hastily constructed story. “We wouldn’t have. I am Master Coal’s—ah—new—new mistress.”
“His new—” Daniel coughed. “His new mistress?” The beat of the clock ticked loudly in the stunned silence. “I did not know he had a mistress.” His face, already moist with sweat, turned crimson. His gaze raked over her, turning into a leer, and Manda’s cheeks heated as anger throbbed inside her.
“Yes. As I say, I am new. I have not been here long.”
“Is there a child here with you?” Daniel’s eyes narrowed.
Manda swallowed a gasp. “A—a child, Master? I have no children.”
“I mean one that is Master Coal’s, or—”
“There are no children here, sir,” Manda said stonily, suppressing her quaking hands by pushing them against her waist. “I daresay, with one’s mistress is hardly the place to house a child.”
Master Lake scowled. “What’s your name?” he demanded. “How did you meet Jackson?”