The Thief of Lanwyn Manor

by Sarah E. Ladd

  “I know. I saw you. And I did not come. I’m so sorry.” She bit her lip, searching for words. For how could she explain it? “I would have come, but my aunt, you see, she . . .”

  “I can finish that for you, I think.” He gave a slight chuckle. “She would prefer you not spend your time with the younger brother of a man who would be such an advantageous match.”

  She almost laughed at his tone. But then she sobered. “There is really nothing to laugh at in that, is there? You must know, surely you know, that I do not agree with my aunt on such matters. There are more important things that come into the factor.”

  He stepped closer to her, so close she could feel the heat from him. “I would like it very much if we could prevent any future misunderstandings.”

  She looked up to him. At his nearness she felt weak and could barely speak above a whisper. “Well then, so we are clear and there are no misunderstandings, it was my intention to meet you that morning, and I’m very sorry to have spoiled our plans.”

  Chapter 36

  She was so close to him that he could have reached out and touched the glossy tendrils that framed her face so perfectly. It was as if they were the only two people in the great hall. Everything else faded into the background. The effect was intoxicating.

  She had intended to meet him the morning after the dinner at Tregarthan Hall. The simple realization both erased the weeks of wondering and frustration and intensified his desire.

  They were no longer strangers.

  Nay, not anymore.

  So many things could be said in such a moment, and the ensuing conversation had the potential to change both their lives. This was not how he intended to speak of such things, in the middle of a noisy, crowded hall, in plain sight of everyone.

  But then again, maybe it was perfect.

  Something happened in that flash of a second—in that singular breath. A million words were communicated without a single one having been spoken.

  He’d always wondered if he would realize when he’d met the woman who captured his mind. His heart. He’d always thought himself immune to it. But now, as he watched her tuck a wayward curl behind her ear, he knew she was that lady.

  Rowe had let many things stand in the way of his romantic happiness.

  Isaac refused to follow in the man’s footsteps and wait too long to act.

  But there was another situation that needed to be dealt with—Matthew and his intentions toward her. His brother’s callous words about wooing her without intending to marry her bordered on vulgar. If he read Miss Twethewey properly, there would not be much damage to her heart, but her reputation could be tarnished, and that he could not allow.

  The sudden urge to speak compelled him, and he further closed the space between them. “Miss Twethewey.”

  She focused expectant eyes on him.

  Oh, how those eyes had the power to stop him in his tracks, to clear his thoughts and make him forget what he was going to say.

  “Julia.”

  At the sound of her Christian name, a pretty flush colored her cheeks. But then her gaze shifted slightly over his shoulder. Her smile faded and she stepped back. He turned to identify the source of her discomfort.

  There, behind him, stood Matthew, eyes wide, smile broad.

  “Ah, there you both are!” Matthew slapped a heavy hand on Isaac’s shoulder. “Look at the two of you huddled over here. Isaac, it isn’t fair of you to keep Miss Twethewey to yourself like this. She might misinterpret your attentions.”

  Isaac expelled his breath in a swoosh and ran his fingers through his hair.

  “Miss Twethewey, have you forgotten?” Matthew extended his hand toward her. “You promised me this dance.”

  “I did?”

  “Yes. Oh, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten! Before I left for the coast. When we were speaking with your aunt in the drawing room, you said I could have the first dance, and I’ve not forgotten, you see.”

  She gave a weak smile. She avoided making eye contact with Isaac. “And so I did.”

  * * *

  Julia could not look back at Isaac. How could she? Every thought was surely written on her face. Her heart was so full, she feared that if he were in her line of vision, she’d not be able to bear dancing a single step with Matthew. Yet she could not refuse him. Not and expose every emotion in her heart.

  Isaac had called her by her Christian name. How sweet it sounded coming from him.

  It was a word she heard daily, and yet the tenderness in his voice when he half whispered it had stolen her very breath.

  Furthermore, he’d been so close to saying something momentous. She sensed it, as surely as one could sense the rain coming on the cusp of a summer storm. Nearly floating through the motions, she lined up with the dancers. There was no need to force a smile, for she felt almost giddy.

  Isaac Blake cared for her.

  For her!

  The dance, at least, was a lively one. She turned and twirled when required, clapped and hopped. Music mingled with laughter and voices, and she wove in and out of the other dancers, feeling light for the first time in weeks, and it had nothing to do with her partner.

  At the dance’s conclusion she allowed Matthew to lead her from the dance floor. She expected to be free, but he tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and slowed the pace of his steps.

  She tried to pull away, but he held her hand firm. “I was just in proximity to your home, Miss Twethewey.”

  “My home?” She drew her brows together at the odd statement.

  “Only yesterday I was at Wheal Tilly, very near to Braewyn, I believe.”

  “Is it?” Her stomach tightened. She did not like the direction the conversation was taking.

  He shifted and positioned himself between her and the gathering, blocking her against the wall. “On my return journey I had half a notion to visit Penwythe Hall, for I understand I was only a few miles from it. But I thought better of it. I’m a stranger to them, after all.”

  She glanced around for a familiar face, hoping to find someone to add to their conversation to prevent them from speaking alone. She ignored the alarm tremoring through her and forced her voice to remain steady. “I’m sure they would have welcomed you with open arms.”

  “I like the thought of that . . . of your family welcoming me. What are their names? Uncle Jac? Aunt Delia?”

  She winced at the boldness of his statement and snapped her gaze upward.

  “You can hardly doubt, Miss Twethewey, that I’ve developed strong feelings for you. But I have to say the news I received from my colleague at Wheal Tilly was not pleasant. News I wished I had not heard.”

  The rumors that had been swirling about prior to her departure clanged loudly in her head. “Oh?”

  “Yes, for I was informed that you came to Lanwyn Manor to recover from a broken heart.”

  Anger blazed in, scorching any awkwardness or bashfulness. “What did you say?”

  “A broken heart.” His smug expression appeared almost proud to know such an intimate detail about her life. “Oh, don’t look shocked. Of course it pains me that you had feelings for another, but I hope those feelings are changing, as mine are. Please, don’t be embarrassed.”

  She pulled her hand free and could not keep the curt tone from her voice. “I’m not embarrassed. At the moment I am too exasperated to be embarrassed. And I’m not sure where you heard that from, but my personal life is nothing that need concern you.”

  He smirked. “Percy Broaden is a fool.”

  She clenched her fist.

  The insolence.

  His smile was annoyingly calm. “Don’t be exasperated. I only was interested to learn more about you.”

  “If there is anything you want to know about me, sir, you need only ask me, not ask questions of people from my home.”

  But his eyes had traveled upward to her hair, examining it. He reached up and touched one loose curl. “I thought you’d be flattered that I’d want to know more of you.
”

  She smacked his hand away. “Flattered?”

  He looked injured. “Why are you so angry?”

  She narrowed her gaze and lowered her voice. “Let me be clear, Mr. Blake. No aspect of my life is of your concern. Not now, not ever.”

  Julia pushed her way through the crowd, cheeks flaming, muttering invectives under her breath. With a glance over her shoulder to make sure Matthew was not following her, she stepped from the great hall to the corridor that led to the drawing room and the study. Once she was away from the crowd, she stopped, and only then did she realize tears were burning her eyes.

  Percy.

  What a fool she had been with him. She saw it so clearly now. And so many people knew. The thought of it getting out amongst her new friends sickened her.

  Most of all, she did not want Isaac to know.

  A small group of women walked past her, and she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. It would not do to stand here crying in the corridor. She sniffed, pressed her hand to her stomach, and calmed her breathing, then stepped back out into the party.

  Almost as soon as her foot fell on the stone floor, a servant was at her side. “For you, miss.”

  With a frown she took the letter from the tray and held it up in her gloved hand. Her name was written on the outside. “Who asked you to bring this to me?”

  “’Twas a boy. I didn’t recognize him. He said it was urgent.”

  “Thank you.”

  Curious, she popped the wax seal and unfolded it.

  You are not welcome in Goldweth.

  Leave, or you will wish you had.

  Chapter 37

  Panicked, Julia gaped around the room. Who would send this to her? She stood there dumbstruck, alone, in a room brimming with laughing, dancing strangers.

  She had no enemies.

  Did she?

  Uncle William had enemies. Plenty of them.

  “There you are.” Isaac approached. As he drew near, his smile faded. “What’s the matter?”

  She shook her head in contemplation as she stared at the note. She could read the words quite plainly but could not make sense of them. They seemed foreign and cold, as if they were not intended for her at all. And yet they’d been handed directly to her. “I-I—”

  “Julia, you’re pale.” He stepped closer. “Maybe you should be seated.”

  He was speaking, she knew, but she could hardly hear. For her eyes were focused on the words.

  A warning. A threat.

  Never had anyone addressed her with such animosity. Not since the night at the inn. Was it that person? Could it be?

  Mr. Blake touched her arm, and the warmth of it drew her attention. “What has happened?” Urgency now tinged his voice.

  This time, she handed the letter to him.

  As he read it his face reddened, then he nodded over his shoulder. “I’ll fetch your uncle. He will want to know of this.”

  “No.” She clutched his arm. “No. Please.”

  “No? Julia, in addition to what happened to you on your arrival, this is not to be borne.”

  “But it’s my decision whether or not to tell him, Isaac.” His Christian name slipped from her lips easily and without thought. “Please. Not now. Not here.”

  He lowered his head near hers. “You must know I can’t—I won’t—stand by and do nothing. You’re being threatened. Come with me. Let’s talk over there.” He guided her from the crowded space to the privacy of a corridor just beyond the foyer.

  They were alone now, as alone as they could be in a home full of dancing and laughing guests. Even though they stood in silence, she drew strength from the man who was standing so near.

  How could this be happening when she was finally finding her place here? “I just don’t understand why someone would send this to me.”

  He placed his hands on her shoulders and ducked his head to look at her at eye level. “I’m convinced this has nothing to do with you. Someone’s toying with your uncle, and you’re caught as a pawn. He needs to know.”

  * * *

  What could this woman possibly have done to provoke anyone to write such words? Furthermore, what benefit could come to anyone if she left?

  As they stood in the corridor’s privacy, Isaac rubbed his thumb against her arm. She did not pull away. In his other hand he lifted the note, assessing the unfamiliar handwriting and sinister message more closely. “You must know that I don’t feel this way.”

  She sniffed. “Quite possibly you’re alone in that sentiment.”

  “I doubt that. The children. Miss Prynne and Miss Trebell. Your cousin. Your family.”

  “Anyone could have sent that note.” She folded her arms over her midsection.

  He softened his voice. “I wish you’d tell your uncle.”

  She shook her head intently and took the note back from him.

  “I meant what I said, Julia.” He looked at her more closely. “Are you crying?”

  “No, of course not.” Even as she spoke, moisture glittered in her eyes.

  “You belong here.”

  “It’s just that—I don’t know where I belong.” She stepped back, widening the space between them. “After what happened at Penwythe Hall, I’m not certain I belong there. Despite what you say, I clearly do not belong here. It’s as if I am waiting for something to happen, and I don’t know how to proceed.”

  “What happened at Penwythe?” He could see the battle warring within her—her reluctance to tell him something. His imagination rapidly fired dozens of possible scenarios. “Why don’t you belong there?”

  She drew a steadying breath. “If you’d have asked me a year ago what I would be doing this very day, I thought I’d be engaged to a certain gentleman, but it turns out I was quite mistaken, and quite taken for a fool. Not only that, but everyone knew it. I claim to have come here for Jane, but I suppose by coming here I was running away from the stares and comments, looks of pity or satisfaction. It’s a shortcoming of mine—I detest being seen as weak. So I left, as if by putting the entire ordeal out of sight, it would flee my mind as well.”

  He could not deny a stab of jealousy over her affection for another man. He pushed it aside, trying to focus on the conversation at hand. “And has it?”

  She nodded. “I see a different future for myself now, even though I am not entirely confident what it encompasses. But now, my presence here is upsetting someone to such an extent that they would send me a note like this. Oh, is there a place to settle and feel at ease, free in one’s own self?”

  He stepped closer—so close that the hem of her gown swept against him. He opened his mouth to speak when footsteps approached from the servants’ entrance.

  Frustrated, confused, and suddenly desiring solitude, she whirled to leave and he caught her arm. “When will I see you next?”

  She did not answer his question. Eyes wide, she stepped back and put her forefinger to her lips. “Remember, not a word.”

  Chapter 38

  The night of the country dance seemed endless. The miners made merry, the cider flowed freely, and candlelight glimmered on the faces of the people Isaac had known his entire life. Such an event should have been comforting and optimistic—an opportunity for the miners and the wealthy to align.

  And yet, it was not right. None of this was right.

  Anger simmered in his chest. He was ready to act. To intervene. But she’d asked him not to.

  Someone was taunting the Lambournes. In all likelihood it was a subgroup of the miners, perhaps even some in this very chamber. For now it was a faceless foe, and that made it all the more unnerving.

  Despite his best efforts to seek her out, Isaac did not see Julia again after their moment in the corridor. She’d all but disappeared. He could hardly blame her. He’d seen the fright in her eyes. But he also worried for her.

  Yes, their bond was deepening, but he didn’t want to overstep his bounds. He respected her and her space, yet he also felt compelled to act.

&nb
sp; At the moment Isaac stood in Lanwyn Manor’s billiards room with Matthew. The gentlemen who generally considered themselves above the miners had gathered in this room, and card tables had been set up. He stood next to the table where Lambourne and Dunstan played a hand, not really watching.

  Matthew nudged Isaac with his arm. “You look bored to tears.”

  “Do I?” Isaac leaned his shoulder against the dark-green wall.

  “Yes, and I wish you’d stop, because I need diversion.” Matthew reached for his glass on the side table and took a drink.

  Isaac bit on the leading statement. “Why?”

  “Oh, I’ve vexed Miss Twethewey. Now she’s nowhere to be found.” Matthew huffed and tugged at his cravat. “She’s all but accused me of meddling.”

  Isaac folded his arms over his chest. “And were you?”

  “No. Maybe. I don’t know.”

  “I thought you didn’t care about Miss Twethewey. I believed you referred to her as the means to an end.”

  Matthew snorted and took a swig of his beverage. “Well, at any rate, it’s certainly not the worst thing I’ve been accused of. She’ll get over it.”

  “How can you be so sure?” Isaac scoffed. “Miss Twethewey seems the sort of woman who knows her mind.”

  “Miss Twethewey is like any other woman, especially one with little dowry who is looking to capture a good match. She’ll do as she’s told. Of course, ’twould be helpful if she’d just fall for my charms, but sometimes women like her need a bit of persuading.”

  Isaac clamped his jaw shut—tightly—to prevent criticism from spilling out.

  He wasn’t sure what to make of this sensation—of seeing her in a new light. And seeing a different side—a cold, calculating side—of his brother.

  Isaac folded his arms over his chest and didn’t take his eyes from the card table. “I hate to be the one to tell you, but perhaps you ought to prepare yourself for the possibility that she might not return your affection.”

  “Not possible.”

  The game of cards ended in a loss for Lambourne, and Isaac made his way out to the great hall, where the mining men mingled and the bal maidens danced. A layer of smoke from the fireplace and candles hovered over the guests, thin as gossamer, and warmth thickened the air. Despite the smokiness, he could breathe more freely here. There was no need for pretense here—no need to watch what he said or how he said it.