Even to me, it sounded tinny and cheap.
Edward’s chest rose and quickly fell before he turned his face to the window. In the reflection, curls framed his frustrated and hurt visage.
Jameson’s continued displeasure gave me the first glimpse of our formidable childhood opponent. After a long moment, he bent forward and examined Eastbourne for himself. He gave a faint sigh through his nose, then quoted, “‘He trod where none dared to gain back his bride, to the pinnacle of the mount beneath the cold light of an insane moon, where the goblins gathered and the witches shrieked.’ Do you recall that poem, Edward? The one my headmaster wrote?”
“Yes.” Edward’s reflected face grew stonier.
Jameson sat back and crossed his hands over his stomach. “Remember how you and Henry would act out the battle between the king goblin and the young prince? Do you recall the time you rent your mother’s velvet curtains?”
Edward straightened and turned his head to Jameson, his expression stony.
Jameson’s eyes crinkled with warmth before he shut them. “Do you remember your favorite part of the poem?”
Edward stared into the darkness before reluctantly saying, “The final test.”
“Finding a way to reverse the goblin king’s enchantment over her.” With the excitement of a true-born storyteller, Jameson faced me. “Edward used to question me by the hour about how one could undo an enchantment. What he didn’t reveal was that he’d been bewitched by one of the fair folk. No doubt part of the spell you cast on him didn’t allow him to speak of it.”
Edward stared into the gloaming saying nothing, but his countenance visibly thawed. Then, after another hundred feet, he drew a long breath and loosened. He sat straight, giving his mentor a nod of thanks.
Grooms raced across Maplecroft’s lawn to greet our carriage. I clasped my hands, surprised by the rush of affection I felt upon viewing their familiar forms. Doubtless they noted the gilded coat of arms in the lamplight—a telltale sign this was a Pierson carriage. Snatches of shouted orders carried through to us. A young groom emerged from the stables last and stuck out his tongue as he raced toward us, tucking his hair beneath his wig.
I felt able to breathe again. Surely my father wasn’t home. This mad scramble never occurred in his presence.
“Whoa!” Thomas called, reining in the team. Immediately he was assisted by two grooms rushing up and taking the horses’ bridles before they could rear their heads.
“Your father dresses all his stablemen in velvet and wigs?” Jameson asked in a quiet voice, brushing off the knees of his trousers. “How is it they’re ready and dressed at this hour? Is he expecting us or company?”
I gave my head a slight shake, unable to help the swell of joy as they lined up to greet us. “All my father’s servants are required to be ready at a moment’s notice. But look.” I nudged my head toward the tallest youth. “See that square bulge in his vest pocket? Cards. I bet we interrupted their game. It’s a good thing we’re not my father. He’d be furious to see his stable hands rushing madly about like this.”
Lamplight exposed half of Jameson’s consternation as he gave Edward a concerned look.
Though he was not Hudson or Brown, the groom who opened the door looked familiar.
“Miss—er—” he coughed into his fist—“I do beg your pardon, Mrs. Auburn; welcome home. Reverend Auburn.”
I gave him one of Isaac’s polished nods as I offered my hand. “Thank you, John.” It was the name my father called all his lower male staff, keeping him from the obligation of learning everyone’s name. “Is my father home?”
The man froze as he caught sight of the interior of our carriage. For a full second, he couldn’t answer. Then, blinking rapidly, “No, Mrs. Auburn. He returned to London yesterday.”
I released a breath I hadn’t known I was holding, then stepped onto the smooth drive. My heart burst with a lightness I didn’t expect as I took in the manicured lawn. Even at dusk the scent of spring hung in the air. The heady scent of the early roses, amassed together in thick beds, fragranced the evening air. Everything was arranged in neat rows, including the groomsmen, who nodded as I looked at them.
I nearly laughed as I finally understood how Isaac moved so elegantly through society. It was a great dance, the sphere nothing more than the liquid sounds of violin and cello twining together in arpeggiated chords. When one knew the notes and the steps, how wonderfully and seamlessly they fit together.
I tugged off my gloves and surveyed the grounds, giving them a cursory inspection. This was expected, the next step in the dance. The staff worked tirelessly keeping the estate, and our appreciation of their efforts continued the rhythmic ebb and flow.
“I realize you were not expecting us, but I am pleased to find Maplecroft in such good hands.” I fisted my gloves, turning back to the grooms, pretending not to note their heavy breathing and flushed cheeks. Then, because my father and Isaac weren’t present and I could, I wrinkled my nose, leaned forward, and added, “And whoever was set to win the pot, please accept my apologies for interrupting.”
The men’s stances loosened as they worked to keep from smiling.
I rose on tiptoes, feeling joyful. How easy, how profoundly and wonderfully easy this was.
I turned and viewed the mansion. In this season, Maplecroft possessed a sublimity that it lacked in the dead of winter. Without my father’s overbearing presence, this life had a newfound appeal. No wonder Isaac felt so confident I could do this. He must have known all along that once we were free, I’d thrive on the predictability. He had been teaching me the steps of a very complicated yet simple dance.
Behind me, Edward’s and Jameson’s shoes crunched the gravel as the men stepped out of the carriage.
My anger toward Edward cooled. It wasn’t his fault he thought me enthralled with Macy. Anyone watching me would have assumed the same thing. I faced him, smiling, feeling repentant, ready to experience the luxuries that my father’s house could offer us.
Edward eyed the estate with grim determination. Clutching his hat, his hands hung before him as if weighed down by shackles. Behind him, Jameson stood looking dismayed at the sheer might of Maplecroft.
My spirits dampened slightly, for I could see they felt restrained. Trying to cheer them, I said, “Let’s go inside, eat, sleep, and shed this travel weariness.”
Edward nodded his thanks to my father’s grooms, explained why the carriage was so mud-stained, and indicated for me to lead the way.
Someone had tipped off the indoor staff of our arrival, for the maids were assembled in the grand hall. Mrs. Coleman’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second as I stepped over the threshold, though she ironed her features. Under her gaze, I grew aware of the straw in my blowsy hair and the discoloration at the bottom of my gown from rain and mud.
Behind Mrs. Coleman, maids in long starched aprons and longer black skirts dipped in unison. As they invariably stole tiny glances of bewilderment in Edward and Jameson’s direction, I gritted my teeth, practically feeling their disapproval that I’d chosen what seemed like a rag sorter over Lord Dalry.
I lifted my chin and said in a firm voice, “Good evening, Mrs. Coleman.”
“Mrs. Auburn.” She dipped, then spread her hands apologetically. “I fear that you’ve arrived with the house in disorder. We’ve been cleaning the fireplaces and airing the chambers. No one told us you planned to spend part of your honeymoon here.”
I felt my brows arch, for until that moment I hadn’t considered this our honeymoon.
As I had with the grooms, I surveyed my surroundings, trying to work out how to compliment finding Maplecroft in her undergarments. White muslin was bunched and tied over the furniture and chandeliers, protecting them from ash. A glimmer of orange firelight could be seen over the polished floors of the gallery that led to the library.
My eyes lingered on the spot where Isaac had waited for me at the bottom of the stairs the night of our engagement party. Miss Moray had dresse
d me in so many jewels I’d glittered. James, my father’s first footman, had been unable to keep a straight face. I swallowed. Above that spot, one of the larger portraits of Lady Josephine’s mocking smile asked me how I enjoyed being a poor vicar’s wife when she’d hand-chosen London’s favorite lord for me.
Frowning, I lifted my chin, wondering how Mrs. Coleman would have greeted Isaac and me had we suddenly shown up cold, tired, and hungry on our honeymoon. A spark of anger flared in me. “Who is in the library?”
Mrs. Coleman’s gaze flickered that direction. “Simmons, m’lady.”
That news didn’t please me, but I resisted another frown. My father’s steward always tried to pull rank on me. “Was he informed of my arrival?”
Mrs. Coleman shot a panicked look to a wide-eyed maid, who gave a slight shrug. Wringing her hands, Mrs. Coleman said, “I am uncertain.”
“Very well. Have one of the maids prepare Lady Josephine’s parlor and ready our bedchambers. We’ll use that parlor until we join my father in London. Have supper brought on a tray for us there, then fetch us in the library. I’ll greet Simmons myself.”
Her mouth opened, then shut, before her voice asked an incredulous, “All of you?”
All at once I understood the maid’s bewildered looks. Edward and I had set out as newlyweds four days ago to attend his brother’s wedding. We’d returned without warning, covered in mire and straw, likely smelling like the barn we’d slept in, with a near-seventy-year-old man.
I glanced over my shoulder and found Edward intently studying me in this environment. Behind him, Jameson waited in his mismatched clothing, standing out like a sour note. Against the pedigree of Maplecroft, our doyen looked beggarly. He maintained the stance of a first-rate servant, though—hands behind his back, face expressionless, ready to serve.
It tugged my heart, for I liked him better as my comrade. I hated to send him downstairs, where they’d treat him as an inferior.
I drew a deep breath. This was ridiculous and highly improper. He wasn’t my herd. Next thing I’d be inviting Nancy for tea.
“Yes, all of us,” I said, shifting foot to foot. “Do not stress over our dinner. I realize you were caught unawares. Whatever the staff ate will be fine.”
Mrs. Coleman breathed through her nose and spoke slowly as if I were a dull wit and she was demonstrating infinite patience. “And if you’re having a tray for three sent up . . . how many guest rooms shall I prepare?”
I pressed my lips, knowing this was my second chance to amend my decision. The complexities were thick, so I glanced at Edward for his preference.
He watched stone-faced, keeping my choice independent of his wishes.
I placed a hand over my bodice, deciding to make my point clearer. “Have the guest room next to my father’s bedchamber prepared, the one with the frescoes over the ceiling. My husband and I will occupy my usual chambers.”
Mrs. Coleman’s eyes bulged as if an insect had flown down her throat, but she gave a curt nod. As I led the retreat to the library, I noted she pinned Jameson with a long, cool stare, one that accused him of dishonoring his station and the Pierson name.
Edward waited until we were far enough away that the slap of their boots would disguise our words. He gave me a nod of approval. “Good for you, Juls! Though I don’t know how we’ll ever convince him to work after this.”
I felt able to breathe again as the tension drained between us.
“May I ask the significance of the chamber you chose for Jameson? She looked ready to suffer an apoplexy.”
I gave him a mischievous smile, feeling like us again. “I gave Jameson the room reserved solely for members of the monarchy.”
Jameson emitted a soft groan and rubbed his balding spot.
“I’m sorry if I caused you embarrassment.” I felt hot. “My intention was to establish that . . .” I frowned, reminded why I didn’t need anyone. I hated feeling vulnerable worse than feeling isolated or pitied. “That you were . . . well, you know, one of us . . . like with the elephants.”
Jameson placed a hand over his heart, looking pained as if torn between his desire to affirm my step toward community and his desire to beg me to go back to Mrs. Coleman and revoke my order.
Now, of course, I know I’d unwittingly set him at enmity with my father’s staff on his first day. Animosity between servants can run thick and ruin the atmosphere. Servants have their own code of honor, and for Jameson to assume station with us was perfidy.
Seeing my anxiety, Jameson forced a smile, though his lips remained pale. “That was marvelously done, my queen!” He chugged his arms, hopping on one foot as if he were boxing. “If that housekeeper were a lioness, you would have come trumpeting and smashed right through her. I’ve never been more honored.” He gave Edward a look that silently tacked on or more horrified.
Edward’s laughter rang through the marble halls before he reached over and pulled me against him in a hug that swung me off my feet. He twirled me once in a circle. “All hail Mrs. Edward Auburn! A plague on pretension!”
Jameson continued to smile, though he unfastened the top button of his shirt and tugged at his collar as we entered the library.
Simmons stood near the blazing hearth, his arms loaded with books. Before I could greet him, he tossed his armload into the fire. Hundreds of sparks flew upwards as the heat began to reduce the pages to ash.
Jameson, Edward, and I froze as if we’d just stumbled upon a parent making an offering to Moloch. I watched, horrified. In Mrs. Windham’s neighborhood everyone kept a mental note of who had what book, much the same way villagers keep a tally of each other’s children.
Edward recovered speech first. “You’re burning my father-in-law’s property! How dare you!”
Simmons gave us a snarling look over his shoulder. “Well, the ruckus is explained. What are you two doing here?”
Edward advanced three steps. “I asked you first!”
Simmons scoffed before turning his attention back to the flames, where he picked up a poker and jabbed the disintegrating books, expediting their demise. “What does it look like I’m doing?”
“On whose authority?” Edward demanded.
Simmons lifted a haughty brow in my direction as if to ask how I tolerated such a slow-witted husband.
But I scarcely registered it. My mouth dried to wool as chills pricked my arms. I’d seen those books before—red leather, so faded they’d turned a peculiar shade of orange, with copper gilt on the pages. I touched my lips as I looked at the spot where I’d last seen them. They’d been lying open on my father’s desk, part of the evidence Forrester was compiling to use to blackmail Macy.
“Simmons.” My voice came out half strength. “Who told you to burn those?”
He snorted through his nose. “Who do you think? I received urgent orders to do so less than an hour ago.”
“Simmons.” I heard tears rise in my voice. “Oh no, oh no! You’re burning the wrong books!”
“I can assure you.” He waved his hand toward an empty lockbox. “They’re the right volumes. They, along with the other documents, were locked in the safe box specified in his letter.”
“Other documents?” I intended to speak, but my voice screeched. “What documents?”
Edward’s brow furrowed as he reached out to me.
I violently wrested my entire body and had to resist screaming at him not to touch me. For at that moment even a feather’s stroke threatened to snap the thread holding back my full panic.
“Not that it’s your business—” Simmons glowered in my direction—“but they were copies of old land records whose originals are properly filed. I am certain nothing of yours was in there.”
My entire body trembled, so I gripped the back of a nearby chair. Though I intended to speak, my voice came out shouting. “Why! Think! Think! Why would my father want records burned that he locked away?” There was wetness on my cheeks, though I had no consciousness of crying. “Did you never even stop to question t
he authenticity of the order? How could you do this!”
“I’ve had quite enough dramatics, thank you,” Simmons said dryly, jamming the poker back into its tool set. “As you can imagine, there are elements of your father’s life I try my best not to peer too deeply into.” He gestured to Edward and myself as an example. “Now if you’ll excuse me, Mrs. Auburn.”
Simmons stalked out of the room, and a sour taste arose in my mouth as I pressed my palms against my temples. It defied reason that we’d arrive at Maplecroft the exact moment the documentation that Forrester and I needed was being destroyed. That thought alone ordered that I becalm myself. The odds were too astronomical. I needed to breathe and collect my wits.
I forced myself to drop my hands from my face and clutch the back of the chair again. Surely, surely they weren’t the same papers.
The other side of the coin, however, was sheer terror.
I returned my gaze to the fire. If those were the documents, then the only way I’d witnessed their destruction was because Macy had timed it. And if he’d timed it, then this was a demonstration of his control. Cold drenched me, and I felt like a band was tightening around my chest.
Just as Mama did after receiving that first correspondence, I began to frantically pace.
Why on earth hadn’t I exposed Macy the night I learned his identity was a fraud? I should have woken my father and torn Macy from his perch immediately.
Only I didn’t want to risk anything interfering with my ability to marry Edward. I grabbed a fistful of my hair. What had I been thinking? Death surrounded Macy like fog did London. What if Edward paid for my misstep with his life?
My vision blurred as I looked wildly about the library for any other paper or book I might recognize from that night. Who knew what Macy had been doing since then? Were I him, I’d most certainly be destroying evidence with a vengeance.
“Run back to us.” Jameson’s voice was soft.
I spun so fast, my skirts nearly made me lose my balance. Hot, angry tears spilled. “What?”
“If anyone ever looked like a pride of lions were descending upon her, it is you. Calm down and tell us what’s happening. What was in those papers?”
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