Her quip sparked something inside — gave life to something that had too long lain quiescent. Jon stepped forward again, choosing to risk the heat of the candle should the lady decide to retaliate.
“Is that what I did?” he asked softly. “Struck you in your heart?”
Her eyes grew impossibly wider until they took over her entire countenance, threatened to draw him into the unguarded reaches of her soul. The sweet scent of flowers mingling with the tart aroma of lemons rose to tempt. Too close! Much too close, but too late to back off, so he held his ground and waited, well aware of the heated darts currently prowling his veins.
“I… you…”
“Oh, I beg your pardon. One would first have to have a heart in order for it to be struck.” His grin widened. “Is that not what you told me at our first meeting?”
Annabella released an angry gasp, but she didn’t back down. She pushed her chin out and stood straighter. “Yes, that is what I said. And it has become painfully obvious that I was correct in my assessment. If you must know, a mouse jumped out of a pot and bared its teeth at me.”
The light of the candle washed her exposed skin. Jon closed his eyes against the image then opened them again and deliberately leveled his gaze on her eyes. “And am I to understand your shriek had the desired effect? You have successfully dispatched the mouse to the devil? Because I’ve had a long day traveling and I should find it sheer bliss were I able to sleep the night undisturbed by screams over unsuspecting rodents.”
Annabella tossed her hair over her shoulder.
Don’t look. Don’t dwell on whether it’s as silky as it appears. He shifted his glance to the shadows over her left shoulder.
“Feel free to have a look for yourself,” she said, stepping aside and waving the candle around the room.
Jon swept the small pantry with one last glance. On finding nothing amiss — actually finding nothing much in the room at all — he offered a deep bow. “Your mouse, indeed, seems to have gone on his way.” With desperate need to remove himself from her proximity, he spun on his heel and ducked back through the door.
A slice of pale moonlight glimmered through the bank of soot-caked windows above the work area, hardly enough to navigate by. A fact well-proven when he placed his stocking-clad right foot on something hard and small like a pebble. “Should have taken the time to pull on my boots,” he muttered under his breath, kicking the offending bit of whatever out of his way. He stalked the short distance to the stone staircase and put his foot on the bottom step.
Annabella’s derisive snort followed him from the kitchen.
“Better still, I should have left the lady to her own devices. That harpy could put off the most vile of criminals.” He slammed the door to his room. Dust floated up from the wooden floor and began a slow ballet in the moonbeam slanting through the window.
The bits floating in the silver light seemed to drift together, forming vague shapes that became stronger as his mind supplied the music. Not mere humming this time but strings, lots of them, playing one of those swaying melodies Gran found so fascinating. When he’d come upon Annabella, she’d been dancing in the yard, a lady in a maid’s ill-fitting and dingy dress. But her light had shone so bright even in those circumstances that a blind man would have recognized the lady beneath the grime.
A lady who deserved to be dancing among friends and peers in a great hall bedecked with gleaming candles. Her head thrown back in happiness, eyes twinkling as they met his—
Gather your wits, man!
As the image faded back to dust motes floating on the moonlight, Jon shook his head. He had enough trouble without getting involved in whatever game Grey’s stepsister was about.
Sighing, he glanced at the bed. The thin blanket he’d been using lay tangled in a ball, half-on and half-off the mattress, a testament to his recent sleeplessness. What a pity it seemed… to find oneself sleepless and alone. He strode to the filthy window and scrubbed at the dirt with the edge of the tattered curtain. As he peered through the circle he’d cleaned, the moon slid behind a gray-edged cloud, blanketing the writhing, wind-rustled shrubbery in shadow.
The night threatened to run long.
Chapter Five
The clang of iron on iron echoed off the stone wall of the pantry as Annabella nudged the pot with the fireplace poker. Nothing moved; not even so much as a nose poked from the dark reaches of the cooking receptacle. She pushed the poker through the handle and lifted but the iron wire slid off the end of the rod and the pot rolled away from her.
“Devil’s fire,” she muttered beneath her breath as she inched closer and nudged it with her foot. Nothing moved, so she stooped to pick it up.
Annabella brushed a cobblestone the size of a teacup out of the way, then paused and drew her hand back with a frown. She’d seen no stones scattered about the floor the previous day. It must have come loose when the pot had struck the wall.
Goodness, the cottage appeared to be falling down around her. Annabella leaned forward and peered at the wall behind the barrel where she’d stored her food. Sure enough, the pot had scarred two of the stones and knocked one loose. A fourth stone hung on as though the least breath would cause it to tumble from its place. Should she move it? She reached out but halted. No. Best leave it alone. She could see the dark wood that formed the framework behind the stones and it looked solid enough.
Except it had an odd shiny appearance… Whoever had built Rose Cottage wouldn’t have polished the beams, would they? Curiosity piqued, Annabella poked at the brownish cobblestone. Sure enough, she no sooner touched it with the end of her finger when it dropped from its place in the wall and rolled several inches across the dusty floor.
Annabella shifted her gaze to the space behind the stone. Why, the bit of wood wasn’t part of the frame at all. The dark roughhewn beam was easily visible now that another saucer-sized stone was removed.
And so was the shiny wooden case nestled in the small hole in the wall. It was rectangular and looked to be roughly the size of her large valise, perhaps as long as her forearm and two hands deep.
“Now, who would have left that here?” She pushed at another stone. Even though it had appeared well fixed in place, it dropped from the wall, bringing two of its mates crashing to the floor with it and revealing more of the wooden case. The familiar red and white shield bearing a lit torch flanked by a pair of crested doves made her heart stutter.
Annabella gasped. “The Duke of Wyndham’s coat of arms!”
She reached for the case, pausing only slightly at the thought of the mice, but her curiosity was too great. She had to look inside that wooden box.
Two more stones blocked the way, but when she removed them, it was obvious they had been jammed into place without mortar. Perhaps in order to afford access to the box? She lifted the case, surprised to find it on the heavy side. Something chinked inside as she set it on the floor before her.
“Why, it’s hardly dusty at all.” Annabella dragged a finger around the outline of the shield. What could possibly be inside?
She looked back at the gaping hole. Surely she should see through to the yard outside. But instead of sunlight spilling over the green lawn, gray and brown cobblestones held together with lavish amounts of mortar lay just inches inside the opening.
“It’s a false wall!”
A draft whispered through the hole she’d made, carrying with it the scent of impending rain. Was there another opening somewhere? Perhaps from the outside?
Is that how the mice are getting in? She had to fill that hole. How had those stones been placed? She picked up the last one to have fallen and held it up to the wall. Obviously, it fit near the bottom. She picked up another stone, then another. It was simple really, almost as easy as a child’s nursery puzzle. After a few moments, she’d patched the hole completely, though she could tell some of the stones were loose.
Except for the slashes where the pot had struck, the wall might never have been broken. How interesting, as t
hough it had been planned that way. But who would have hidden the case in there?
She picked up the wooden box and stood. Then she used her hip to nudge the barrel in front of the break in the wall. Smiling at her own cunning, she walked from the pantry, leaving the poker and the cooking pot on the floor.
A flash of gray through the kitchen window signaled Abby’s arrival. Annabella quickly slid the wooden case beneath the nearest worktable and pushed it against the wall.
Only a moment later, the back door opened and the maid stepped across the threshold with a smile on her face, a straw basket looped over one arm, and a Prussian chocolate pot in her hand. “I had Cook lay out an extra scone,” she said as she set the china pot on the worktable. Painted-on pink roses decorated the front of the gold and white pot.
One of Mother’s favorites! Annabella’s eyes stung at the reminder of her mother. They didn’t always agree but she did miss her terribly of late.
“These are fresh — they’re still warm.” Abby lifted the basket and opened the linen napkins tucked into the top.
Annabella’s mouth watered, but she stiffened and caught her breath. “Did you tell her who it was for?”
“No, m’lady.” Abby shook her head. “You told me not to say anything.”
The sweet aroma wafting on the air made Annabella’s stomach rumble. It was all she could do not to grab one of the sweet breads and stuff the whole thing in her mouth. Instead, she kept her hands at her sides, fisting them in the heavy material of her dress. “Thank you. I don’t want to worry my mother, as she surely will grow concerned if word reaches her that I’d altered my plans. Did Cook seem curious?”
Abby’s sweet smile twinkled in her gray eyes. “Not at all, m’lady. I told her Lord Seabrook has a healthy… appetite.”
Annabella’s heart stumbled. Had the slight hesitation before the maid completed her sentence meant something? A subtle expression of disapproval perhaps? But as Abby arranged the scones on the plate, she certainly didn’t seem to be showing any disrespect.
“Would you like me to light a fire, m’lady? Good for makin’ tea later.” Abby pointed at the copper cooking kettle and silver tea ball she’d pulled from the basket and set on the table. Abby was a true jewel! She’d thought of everything.
“Oh…” A proper cup of hot tea… how long has it been? “Yes, please.”
As Abby set about laying the fire, she looked over her shoulder. “Were the gowns I brought from your wardrobe not suitable, m’lady?”
Annabella smoothed a hand over the dingy gray dress. “Oh, you did splendidly, thank you. I… merely have yet to find an opportunity to change into one.”
“Would you like some assistance, m’lady?”
I would adore some assistance! But she could hardly wear her fine gowns with Seabrook in the cottage if she wanted him to believe she was a maid. So, the garments Abby had retrieved sat folded in the valise. Silently, she cursed the man who had invaded her hiding place, removed her from the only bed, and stolen her peace of mind with his presence. With an exasperated sigh, Annabella adjusted her bodice to ease the pinching. “Thank you, but I can manage.”
“Yes, m’lady.” Abby crossed her arms over her chest and surveyed the room, shaking her head and making a clicking sound with her tongue. “You can hardly go about eating amidst all this mess. You should have let me tidy up some yesterday like I was told.”
Annabella jerked backward at the maid’s censoring tone, but Abby was already at work putting the kitchen to rights. Deftly, she chose a cleaning cloth from a stack on the rack near the door and shook it open. Then she wiped it across the top of the worktable. Dust swirled in the watery sunlight that flooded the room, but it soon settled.
Abby frowned as she glanced around. “Hmm…” She stuck her head into the pantry.
Holding her breath, Annabella leaned forward, watching the younger girl explore the small room, apparently without a qualm as to what she might find. Her gaze swept the room without the slightest hesitation over the barrel and Annabella eased out her breath.
What was in that case? As lonely as she’d been, as grateful for the food Abby had brought, Annabella began to wish she’d hasten to leave.
“Ah-ha!” Abby stepped through the narrow pantry door, and when she returned she carried a tatty old broom. The bristles had long since passed their prime, but Abby seemed perfectly content with her discovery as she set the broom against the table.
After a moment of watching her, Annabella could contain herself no longer. “Er… was — was there anything — in there?”
Abby’s motion faltered and she tilted her head to the side. Her forehead pinched into a dreadful frown. “What might I be looking for in there, m’lady?”
“A… um. A mouse, actually.”
Abby’s eyes widened. “You have mice? I never considered that. Horrid creatures. Those’ll have to go.”
“I’ll let you invite them to leave,” said Annabella in a wry tone, staring into the pantry. Nothing scurried and she eased out a breath of relief. “They apparently don’t care to listen to me.”
Abby chuckled. “What you need’s a good cat or two. There might be an old tom to be found in the stable.” She took up the broom and began pulling it across the floor in quick, neat swipes.
“A cat!” Those horrid slitted eyes, their haughty manner. The way their tails twitched and snaked about. A shudder rippled through her, and Annabella violently shook her head. “Oh, no. No cats. What do you do at the main house? Surely Geoffrey doesn’t allow cats in the pantry.”
The maid’s sweeping motions slowed as she appeared to consider the question. “Oh, when we spots a mouse in the main kitchen, Geoffrey sends to the stable for Stephen — one of the grooms.” Her face colored up as she mentioned the name.
A warm feeling stole over Annabella. She fancies him… this groom, Stephen. How sweet.
“You want I should ask if Stephen’ll come and see to them, m’lady? Sometimes Mr. Dawes ‘as ‘im running errands so likely ‘e won’t be missed.”
To the cottage? Annabella swallowed. If she involved too many people in her subterfuge… “No… no I… Maybe if you see a… cat. Yes, that would probably be for the best.” She pushed back the chill and squared her shoulders. A cat she could tolerate. A cat wouldn’t tell her secrets. With any luck, Seabrook hated cats.
“Very well, I’ll try to catch one and bring it by later, m’lady.”
Abby made short work of lighting the fire and setting a copper kettle filled with water on to heat. When she turned from the task, she pulled a china plate from the basket and began to lay out the scones, three in all. She looked up, a silent apology etched into her features. “I didn’t know how to ask for an extra plate…”
Annabella pointed to an oak storage cabinet just outside the pantry. “I found some old chipped dishes in there. I washed some of them in the brook.”
Amusement flickered in Abby’s expression, but she glided across the floor to the cabinet and withdrew the plate without uttering a word. When she returned to the table, she transferred one of the scones to the old plate and slid the offering toward Annabella along with a pot of cream.
It only took a moment to break the scone in two and slather cream over each half. The first bite was so heavenly, Annabella closed her eyes and moaned.
“Shall I take his lordship’s meal to the dining room?”
Annabella jerked her head up at the reminder that they were not alone. How could she have forgotten Lord Seaside? Her lips twitched at her clever twisting of his name but her stomach wound itself into a knot. “As he apparently hasn’t risen yet, perhaps it’s best to leave the meal here. I’ll see that he gets it.”
“Oh, Lord Seabrook was out and about shortly after dawn, m’lady.” Her face colored again. “Had Stephen saddle a horse and left, ‘e did, sayin’ ‘e expected to return midmornin’.”
Seabrook had left? He must have crept past her while she slept. Her heart fell to her stomach and took up a
mad sort of dance. Had he seen her sleeping on the settee in the great room? Had he stood over her and watched? She struggled for the required sense of indignation, but the only thing that stirred was an odd, tingly fascination.
****
Given his head, the spirited chestnut gelding bearing the unlikely name of Bertha walked at a brisk pace. He’d seemed grateful to leave the confines of his paddock. The watery sun that had kept them company into Haselmere had quickly become lost behind a heavy sky. The whisper of an errant breeze twisted and spun the meadow grasses lining the road. Rain would come later, but they still had some time to enjoy the countryside before it arrived.
The fresh air had begun to clear Jon’s head. It had always been that way. Give him a dilemma of any kind and an hour to take a solitary ride along a tranquil tree-lined lane, and a solution would present itself. London never had been his favorite place, and it certainly wasn’t a place to consider the rest of his life. Even if that was where he’d likely find his answers.
The road carried them beneath the wide canopy of a fat elm. A blue and orange bird, not much taller than the span of his fingers, clung to the bark. As they drew abreast of the bird, it puffed up its feathers and released a shrill scree-scree-screech. Then, with a flip of her short tail, she edged around to the other side of the tree.
Unexpected — and largely unwarranted — merriment bubbled into laughter. “Madame Nuthatch, I believe your assessment of my current circumstance may be precisely correct.”
After spending a near sleepless night with visions of Annabella tormenting his dreams when he did sleep, Jon had been ready to send a missive to Grey informing him that not only was his stepsister alive, but she was doing quite well and, for some reason known only to her, she and a maid had apparently changed places.
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