Garamond’s low voice carried on beyond the bedroom wall, Juliette’s not inserting itself once. Clem’s freckled face peeked out of another suite down the hall, his big eyes blinking. Spotting me, he sprinted closer and crouched beside me.
“You missed the grand show.” With a tiny smile, I handed Clem the leafed-through issue that had just released that morning and pointed to the section that spoke of Juliette.
He took in the story quickly, one hand cupping the back of his neck. A frown shadowed his youthful face, making him look older.
“She’s in there now with your father.”
He glanced at the closed door, then back at the book with a lopsided grin. “What a pity I’ve missed the fun. This’ll put a chain on her for sure.”
“I’m to be her chaperone from now on.”
He whistled. “Put a chain on you too now, didn’t they? That’s the end of your life.”
The end of my life. Why yes, it was. I breathed slowly, keeping my face calm to hide the sudden storm rising inside. This complicated the one part of my life that truly belonged to me—my writing.
I had to keep working on it, though. Those issues had to be posted every week, on time. If they stopped now, when I was not to leave Juliette’s sight, she’d know for sure who had written it. And then, so would everyone else.
The awkwardness of being Juliette’s companion rivaled that of a three-legged race with a stranger. We stumbled over each other and invisible boundaries shifted constantly. After lunch, I hovered about the main hall, watching Juliette climb the stairs. Surely they didn’t expect me to follow the girl to her bedchamber, did they? Juliette had hardly spoken to me since our forced companionship had begun.
But I had done it to myself.
“Well there, little cousin. What brings such a frown to that face?” Kendrick clopped into the hall from the main entrance, snapping riding gloves off his hands. “Juliette hasn’t gone and said something brash, has she?”
“Oh, no.” Spinning to face him, I composed myself. “She had a bit of a row with your parents this morning. And now I’m to chaperone her.”
Movement outside the window pulled my attention from Kendrick. Was that—yes, it was Nelle. The slim figure in pale pink glided companionably beside Silas in his riding suit, their arms brushing. I couldn’t look away. Nelle turned to face him, chin tipped up toward his face, as if he had just told the story of how he’d personally rescued fifty drowning children from the English Channel. Silas turned to Nelle with a glowing smile and nodded. And in that single moment, reality pivoted for me.
What if it was mutual?
Kendrick’s eyebrows rose at my words. “Chaperone. Has she an appointment to call on a man today? I hadn’t heard anything.”
“I’m not chaperoning an outing. I’m chaperoning . . . in general.”
Displeasure creased his forehead, and he strode forward, mud flaking off his riding boots. “Are you to smack her hand away from the sweets before dinner too?”
I shrugged helplessly. My disloyal peripheral vision again caught sight of the pair outside, walking together down the path to Florin cottage. They reached the trees, then Silas began jogging back toward the house. I bit my lip.
“There, now. It isn’t your fault, child. We can get you out of this mess. We only need a good excuse to ease you out of your duties. What about a man, little cousin? Have you any interested gentlemen calling about? Perhaps you can claim distraction for a few hours.”
I stared at the grout of the tile under my feet.
“Oh, Kendrick, that’s my duty.” Juliette’s voice echoed down the stairs as she descended like royalty, a lighter blue dress fitting her body perfectly. How had she changed so quickly? “You’ll have to trust my judgment. I have the perfect man selected, invited, and ready to be dazzled by our little cousin.”
That Alexander again. Did he actually exist?
“Ah, I have a guess. Is it—” One raised eyebrow passed secret information between the siblings.
“Of course. You see it too, don’t you?”
“You are a wonder at matchmaking, dear sister.”
“Now do you see why we must have another party here? How else would she ever meet him if we didn’t assist a little?”
How interesting that the only way I could meet my man of destiny was to have it so thoroughly planned.
“What will they have to say about this little soiree?” He jerked his head toward their parents’ suite upstairs. “I heard you’ve earned yourself a ball and chain. No offense intended, little dear.” This last sentence he spoke to me.
Juliette’s chin jutted. “They are living in the last century. In modern England, a girl can marry whom she chooses, rich or poor.”
“Marry? You’d sell yourself to that blackguard?” His face darkened. “I thought better of you, Juliette. Far better. I find it admirable of you to drag those poor souls out of the gutters of society and help them up, but bringing one into our family—a man with no background, no fortune. What can he offer you?”
“A great deal I’ve never had from anyone else.” She yanked her gloves off each finger and tossed them on a marble-topped table in the hall.
“You can find love with any number of men. Why not choose one that also has a bit of fortune to care for you?” He strode to her and leveled his face with hers. “Do not let your girlish fantasies ruin your life, Juliette. Love is a farce.”
“What do you know, you old cad? You’ve never tasted the lips of even a single woman. How can you judge—”
The slam of the patio door echoed through the hall. More boot clops, and Silas Rotherham strode into the open space, his dark hair wild and windblown about his ruddy face that was full of life. He paused at the sight of the gathering, riding whip against his thigh, breathing heavily as if coming in from a sprint. “My apologies at the interruption. Kendrick, the horses are ready when you are.”
“Nothing of it, good friend. I’ve had my fill of the indoors.” Saluting with his whip, Kendrick followed Silas out the garden doors to the patio.
Silas’s gray eyes pierced my thoughts as I lay in bed that night. It must have been nearing midnight, but wakefulness surged through my veins. Maybe writing would help. I could dump my racing thoughts onto the page and climb back into bed within an hour.
I clambered off the bed, bare feet sinking into the rug, and threw my dressing gown around my shoulders. Perched at my desk, pen wet with ink, I stared at the blank page. Words scrambled through my brain in half-thoughts and fleeting feelings, too scattered to channel through the pen.
Jittery with tiredness, I yanked open a drawer on my left so hard that it flew out of its cavity, bouncing and tumbling across the rug. Empty note cards splayed over the floor. But what was that underneath the drawer? Stuffed up under the slider were several pieces of paper. I pulled at them lightly to avoid tearing the brittle sheets. Most were blank, some had scribbles. Bits of stories. Character names connected with surnames by lines across the page.
Sliding out page after page, I reveled in the closeness to this most precious man. Then the last page, thick and creamy with age, was sturdy enough to serve tea on. Sliding it out and turning it over, my heart pitched as I stared into the very face of Jayne Windham. Long, wild hair splayed over narrow shoulders and framed an exquisite face both serene and passionate. He’d described her so well. Had he painted this? My fingertip grazed the texture of the colorful portrait. Pink roses accented her dark hair and matched the hue of her gown.
What a beautiful mother.
What would it have been like to lean against this gentle shoulder or be kissed on the head by those sweet lips? To have that glowing face look upon me with love?
“What happened to you, Lady Jayne? Where did you go?” And why did you not take your baby daughter with you?
Emotion surging through me, I rose and moved about the room. She had to be found, even if the search led only to a forgotten tombstone. This woman’s story had a tangible ending somewhere.
Restlessness overtook me and drove me from my bedchamber, mind humming. I tiptoed down the stairs, raising the hem of my nightdress above my ankles.
With my candle’s glow leading the way, I wound through the now-familiar passages to the south tower and held my light aloft. I’d been here before and nosed my way into every crevice. What did I search for this time? Evidence, perhaps, that she had been in service before coming here. But everything in the room spoke of being owned by a true lady. I ran my hand over untouched objects on her desk—blank paper, a marble-filled vase with dried flowers, a snow globe paperweight. I lifted the round ball and shook it, watching the flakes flutter down over a miniature village.
At a noise down the hall, I jerked, sending the snow globe flying. It shattered at my feet, water spidering through the cracks of the floor. Footsteps continued, echoing in some distant location of the house. Why did it seem this house never slept?
Exhaling my fear, I knelt to clean up the shards of glass, piling them into a rag. As I gingerly lifted the marble base upside down to avoid the glass protruding from the top of it, a light etching caught my eye. I held it to my candle, which rested on the floor beside me.
Dearest Jayne, my love for you is as solid as this rock.
Garamond
Shock pulsed through me and I dropped the base, watching it roll in the glass and water. Garamond. He had loved my mother too? But he was no killer. Not a chance.
Suddenly my candle began to flicker and spurt as the stub fought for life. I’d stayed there too long. Discarding the mess of glass and rags, I snatched the candle and ran back down the passageways, straining to see the grand hall somewhere ahead. But as I reached a large space of emptiness with several halls jutting off of it, my light flicked one final breath and snuffed, a trail of smoke curling up from the wick.
Standing alone in that empty chamber with moonlight channeling down to me from every side, I blinked at each of the dark hallways. What else lay in the shadows of those long passageways? All the stories of the past swirled around me, chilling my skin as if the characters were ghosts moving about the house.
Gulping down fear, I charged down the narrowest hall. Light faded as I progressed, and the moans of the wind sounded like a song hummed by monks in a cathedral. No windows lit my way. Turning, I saw only darkness behind me in the foreign rooms. Uneven footfalls, slow and heavy, sounded deeper in the house again. Why had I done this? It was foolish. I should be in bed, safe under the covers. Rounding a corner, the footsteps sounded louder and closer.
Step quickly. Keep moving forward. Sweat prickled my skin as it broke through every pore. Was I having a heart attack? My ribs nearly broke from the rapid beating behind them. With a cry, I walked faster, praying I would not hit a wall.
Thunk. A person. I hit a person. I shifted hard to the side to soften the impact as my heart popped, then thudded. I forced myself to recover and act logically. Shuffles echoed before me as the midnight wanderer steadied himself against a wall.
Nathaniel Droll?
A match sparked to life and dove toward my face.
“It’s you.” Aunt Eudora. “Good heavens, child. You could kill someone at that pace.”
Unless I died of fright first.
She touched the long match to a candle standing in a wall cavity and pinched out the match’s tiny flame. “You have no business being about at night.”
“My mind wouldn’t allow me sleep.” I sighed, collapsing back against the wall to still my pounding heart. “I cannot stop thinking about my mother.” Ah, how stupid. My mouth clamped shut so hard after those words that I nearly bit my lip. Nerves had loosened my tongue, releasing this glib comment into the air between us.
The face tugged down by age stared at me in the candle glow, not blinking. Her eyes were green. Sharp green. “Search all you like, but she won’t be found. Best save yourself the heartache now and stop looking.” The old lady moved back, shadows jumping over her face.
The cotton nightdress under my robe clung to my moist skin. “You know what happened to her, don’t you? You’ve always known.”
“Go to bed, child.” Sweeping past, she continued down the hall with her cane echoing against the tile. Shuff-shuff-clock.
I ran after the receding light. All the answers were there, bottled up in that crippled old woman. “Please, don’t go.” Reaching her, I grabbed the arm holding the cane, desperate. “Just tell me. Tell me what happened.”
“Take the stairs quietly. They creak.”
“Please.”
The woman brushed off my hand like an offending tree branch and surged forward with the force of rushing water.
Helpless, I stopped in the dark hall, feet apart and mind exploding among the shadows. Tears pricked my tired eyes. My voice burst from my chest in a desperate, heartrending plea. “Why won’t anyone tell me?”
The shuffling echoed down the hall, growing dimmer along with the light, leaving me alone in the dark passageway of my own dear Lynhurst Manor.
23
There is something cathartic about immediately replacing what was lost—much like binding up a splinter in one’s finger to stop the ache.
~Nathaniel Droll, Lady Jayne Disappears
Aunt Eudora did not attend luncheon the following day. I felt her absence keenly, and wondered if I would be welcomed at the woman’s bedchamber if I called to enquire after her health. A normal niece would do such a thing. But the hours passed and I could not bring myself to approach the main suite, and before long, I had become caught up in the gowns and preparations of the dinner party.
“The woman is bitter. That’s why she’s been missing.” Juliette slid her arms into long white gloves as we talked in her suite. “She’s entirely too bitter about a great many things.”
I took measured steps to the full-length mirror trimmed in ivory and gold. Her lady’s maid had declared me ready for the great dinner party, and I could barely move to the right or left. When I reached the mirror, would I see a stranger reflected back? Nelle and Juliette flanked me as I stopped before the looking glass for my first glimpse of the rich purple gown with silver trim. The material fit snugly about my slender torso, gathering at my waist and spilling in rich waves and tucks to the floor. Silver embroidery peeked out of each tuck and an elaborate design curled around my waist.
Yes, it was extravagant, but I could not hate it. Not at all. The vibrant gown wrapped me in colorful beauty like an exquisite flower. Like my mother.
“Miss Wicke, I believe you’ve outdone yourself with this gown. And in so short a time. I’ll even forgive you not following my instructions to make it blue.” Juliette approached from behind in a silver gown, cupping my bare shoulders with her gloved hands. “Although I might not forgive you for making our dear girl more stunning than me.”
“It isn’t your dress that draws attention.” I smiled at Juliette reassuringly, but the confident girl needed none of it. Her playful smile surfaced, eyes sparkling.
“It would be better in blue, as I’d ordered, but purple suits you as well, I suppose. It is the perfect look to finally introduce you to Alexander and allow your beautiful romance to begin. Miss Wicke, have we finished our supply of the blue fabric? I thought we had ordered plenty.”
“Purple and blue are nearly the same.”
Nelle and I exchanged quiet looks in the mirror over my shoulder, both knowing exactly why purple had been chosen, though Nelle did not realize I also had a personal connection to Lady Jayne, the woman in purple. I turned back to once again drink in the sight of myself arrayed in the magnificent gown.
“We only need trimming for your hair. Something sensational to match that exquisite dress. Something gold, perhaps?”
“But it has silver trim.” Nelle fingertip-touched the perfect tresses hanging down my back. “Might I make a suggestion, my lady? Those would be perfect.” She indicated a vase of fresh flowers from the gardens—hyacinth and baby’s breath. Nelle crossed the room and plucked the baby’s breath and arranged it in t
he upswept part of my hair, giving the delicate look of lace.
Juliette evaluated me at arm’s length. “An impressive touch. Fine work, Miss Wicke.”
But the idea had come from my own mind when I’d described my version of Lady Jayne in the final gown worn before she had disappeared. It had been, to my thinking, the grand finale of the costumes the beautiful woman had donned before she completely left the social scene she had enthralled for months. A gentle hand-squeeze communicated my thanks to Nelle for the little talisman to take me through the night.
“You’ll never be able to avoid men, looking that way, Aurelie dear.” Juliette surveyed me in the mirror over my shoulder. “Prepare for love and romance. At least one of us in this room shall have it tonight.” With a final coy smile, Juliette retreated to her walnut jewelry case near the window and began to pick at its contents.
“How I wish I could be there to watch.” A soft glow lit Nelle’s kind face, lifting her lips as she spoke more freely with Juliette out of earshot. “Will Mr. Rotherham be there?”
“I’m sure he will be. They couldn’t very well host a party at the house where he is a guest and not invite the man.”
“What will he wear? I want to picture everything.”
A knot of dread clutched my stomach. “He will wear a black suit and look very much like every other man there.”
“He is not like other men.” The soft words escaped the girl’s lips. “He enjoys children, did you know that? Enjoys them a great deal. I’ve never seen an unmarried man take to children so quickly.” She lowered her voice to the softest whisper. “I must tell you, Aurelie, he’s met my Dahlia. He’s met her, and he treats her as a little lady. Brings her books to read and everything. He wants her to learn as if she were in school.”
I tried three times to swallow.
“He really is the finest man. You look troubled, but please trust me. I do so want you to understand about him. Will you promise to think well of him? At least a little?”
I forced my lips into a smile. “Of course. I cannot truly hate a person, after all.”
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