The Vanishing at Loxby Manor

by Abigail Wilson

  I plowed through those double mahogany doors as if I owned the world, only to stop short one measly step inside the room.

  I immediately realized I was not alone—and my entire world flipped upside down.

  Piers Cavanagh didn’t turn from where he stood at the fireplace, but I knew he’d heard the click of the door, for his fingers clenched into a ball and his arm plunged from the mantel to his side.

  The air in the room felt thin.

  He’d grown taller over the years, his shoulders broad, his dress so terribly refined. Had I ever seen him wear a black jacket quite like that one? All of a sudden I didn’t know where to rest my hands. In front of me or at my sides?

  Goodness, the room was warm.

  I stepped forward, my brow pulled tight, my chest heavy. Oh dear. What had he done to his hair? The curls I remembered so well had been cut short, leaving behind a tangle of thick locks dusted with a bit more brown and a little less red.

  My heart rode painfully on a storm of nerves, and I could do little but mouth his name as I waited for him to turn and acknowledge me. Seline said he planned to return today, but had I ever really believed I would see him again?

  Carefully he stepped back and glanced over his shoulder, the utter shock of finding me at Loxby all too evident in his blue eyes. “Miss Halliwell?”

  It was hard to see anything but the young, carefree boy I’d spent the whole of my youth admiring. One letter had changed everything between us. I knew nothing of the gentleman across the room. “Good morning, Mr. Cavanagh.”

  There was a slight silence before he affected a smile. “What on earth are you doing here?”

  “I suppose your mother didn’t tell you.”

  Piers had always been a master at quizzical glances, and he took a moment to examine me. “No, she didn’t.”

  I detected a curious note of wistfulness in his voice, and it drew my gaze painfully to his face. “I came for an extended visit while my parents are across the Atlantic. I’m to stay at Loxby for the next year.” I swallowed hard, fear of what he might say swelling in my throat.

  “A whole year? That’s”—he looked away for a moment as if to hunt the right word, then turned back to me—“auspicious.” He extended his hands as he crossed the rug toward me, but his eyes betrayed a rigid undercurrent that only grew with each second. “Tell me, is your family well?”

  “Quite well.” I forced myself to take his hands, only to drop them a second later at the sound of footsteps in the hall.

  Piers’s plastered smile vanished, and he stepped shrewdly away. It seemed neither of us was in the mood for playacting.

  Mrs. Cavanagh breached the door and bustled past me on a whiff of lavender perfume, her eyes ticking like a clock between Piers and me before settling sharply on him.

  Her voice, however, sounded defeated. “So you’ve come home at last.”

  She trudged to the sofa and settled down, staring for a moment before fluttering her eyes closed and extending her cheek.

  I could read the insecurity in Piers’s stark expression as he stooped to place a kiss. “Good morning, Mother.”

  She took a loud, quivering breath, then turned to me. “I suppose Miss Halliwell has been airing all our dirty laundry.”

  I could have sunk into the floor after what I’d overheard her say earlier in the family wing.

  “Certainly not.” Mortified, I made my way to the far end of the sofa and took a seat. “I came into the drawing room but a second before you did.” I couldn’t help casting a sideways glance at Piers. “I had no idea your son had already arrived.”

  Piers gave a shrug and wandered to the window. “If you are referring to Avery’s situation, Mother, I’ve already heard all the blasted details. I scrambled off a note informing him I would consider writing his teacher a letter if he promised to start afresh. No more larks.”

  Mrs. Cavanagh snorted. “Start fresh indeed. Avery’s the only one I count on at Loxby these days—certainly not Seline. Heaven help me if the two of you don’t mean to drag this family through the mud at every turn.” She pressed a handkerchief to her nose, and a slight wail accompanied her words. “I shall never be able to return to London at this rate.”

  Piers ignored her outburst and propped his shoulder against the wall. “What has Seline done now?”

  “What hasn’t she done?” Another sniffle. “You remember Mr. Lacy?”

  He gave her a hard smile. “Who do you think I correspond with weekly on the running of the estate with Father indisposed?”

  She waved her handkerchief in the air. “I really wouldn’t know.”

  He crossed the room and took a seat in the opposing chair. “What about Mr. Lacy?”

  She stiffened and tipped her nose in the air. “He has a nephew, that’s what.”

  I listened as Mrs. Cavanagh recounted Seline’s indiscretions, from her kiss to her desperate nighttime flight from the house, but it wasn’t until she mentioned the letter Seline left behind in her room that I gave voice to the questions that had been brewing in my mind. “Mrs. Cavanagh?”

  She jerked her head up. “Yes, dear? I nearly forgot you were there.” She patted my leg. “Miss Halliwell was the last to speak with Seline before she left. Have you anything to add?”

  Now was my chance. “I have been doing a great deal of thinking over the night, and I cannot help but ask, are you completely certain Seline wrote that note? You see, when she fled my room, the last thing she said to me was that she wouldn’t be out long. I fully expected her to return straightaway.”

  Piers leaned forward, curiosity bending his brow. “What are you getting at? Do you think Seline’s flight some sort of ploy?”

  I tethered my lip between my teeth. “I don’t know exactly. I mean, it is indeed possible that Seline changed her mind. Yet when she left my room, she made it perfectly clear that she had no intention of departing the estate.” Of course Seline did say she had a plan. But to elope, and with Miles Lacy? Certainly not.

  Mrs. Cavanagh’s fingers came to life, wiggling in the air. “Then where else can she be?”

  All eyes shot to me.

  “Who could say, but taking flight for Gretna Green in the middle of the night? That doesn’t sound anything like her, not unless it included a gentleman with a title.”

  Piers rubbed his chin, his eyes steady on me. “Miss Halliwell does have a point, Mother. Seline is impulsive and foolish, but why on earth wouldn’t she wait to flee until morning?” He lifted his eyebrows. “I would like to take a look at this note.”

  I nodded quickly as it was just what I’d been hoping to do all night. The letter had to reveal something.

  Mrs. Cavanagh’s lady’s maid was sent at once to fetch the letter from Mrs. Cavanagh’s bedchamber, and the three of us were forced to wait patiently for her return—Piers with his stern brow and troubled gaze, Mrs. Cavanagh full of strained quivers, and me, taunted not only by my acute fear for my dear friend but by the added presence of her brother. Why did he have to come home at such a time?

  The clock ticked away the seconds achingly slow until the maid rushed back through the door, the note thrust out in front of her. Mrs. Cavanagh accepted the letter as if it were a dead animal and unfolded it before us. We all stared at the crisp white paper, but Piers was the first to take the note into his hands and scan carefully over Seline’s scrolled words. “It does appear to be her handwriting.”

  Mrs. Cavanagh scoffed, “Well of course it’s her handwriting.”

  He passed it to me.

  My dearest Mama,

  Miles and I are off for Gretna Green this very hour.

  Seline

  Awfully short at such a moment. I narrowed my eyes. “Do you think she might have written it under some sort of duress? See how the ink blurs here.”

  Mrs. Cavanagh grasped the letter, smashing it closed. “Well, I daresay she was under duress. The poor dear must have thought she was out of options. People can do all sorts of things when they are desperate.�
��

  “But to make such a rash decision before—”

  “My dear Miss Halliwell, I can certainly understand your wish to find meaning in such a haphazard trip to Scotland, but this letter proves Seline took off with little regard for her family, particularly her mama.”

  Mrs. Cavanagh pressed her handkerchief to her nose. “I only hope Avery may find her in time, or we shall be forced to welcome the new Mrs. Lacy back to the house in a few weeks. I do hope she enjoys living out her days in one of the small cottages on the estate. I fear that is all her father will do for her now.” She stumbled to her feet and made her way to the door before pausing to rest her hand against the doorframe. “I do apologize, but my nerves are far too raw to continue on in this way. I need to lie down. You must excuse me.”

  Caught up in the drama of her departure, I watched her sweep from the room before I turned back to face Piers. My fingers gripped the armrest of their own accord. He was studying me with that look of his that seemed to know and question everything. Yet at the same time he couldn’t keep still, swinging his boot across his opposing leg then back to the floor.

  A curious mix of emotions snuck over me as I watched his awkward dance—the delicious hint of exhilaration I’d felt the last time I’d seen him, accompanied by the inescapable veil of abandonment that swathed every last memory of our time together. I glanced up. Was Piers as affected by my unexpected presence at Loxby as I was by his?

  He rested his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands. “I suppose we’ve little recourse but to wait for word from Avery. Odds are my mother’s right, and Seline did just as she wrote in that note.”

  I nodded in agreement, ushering in the wretched weight of silence once again.

  I took a deep breath. Regardless of how things had ended between Piers and me, there was no reason to be uncivil, not anymore. Besides, my parents had trained me better than that, and he would be gone from Loxby soon enough.

  “Piers.” My voice faltered. “It is good to see you again.”

  I wasn’t prepared for the look he gave me. Part hope, part dread, and his response, terribly slow. “I cannot guess what you must think of me.”

  I didn’t move as the years melted away. Time would never dull my need for some kind of closure.

  He kept his voice emotionless, yet he had difficulty meeting my eyes. “I never should have insinuated anything regarding our future before you left. It turned out to be a turbulent time for me.” The muscles twitched in his jaw. “Of course I do realize excuses are futile. I’ve not the ability to rewind time.”

  And . . .

  His letter about his responsibilities hadn’t been enough explanation at the time for ending our relationship. This was even worse.

  He ran his hand down his pantaloons, his focus vacant on the corner of the room. “You’ve probably heard, but I live a very different life now, one of isolation. Believe me when I tell you, I never would have come home if I’d known you were here.”

  My eyes widened.

  He pushed to his feet and started for the door before stopping cold at the edge of the carpet, his voice hollow like a ghost from the darkest corners of Ceylon. “We’ll have no choice but to be in each other’s company over the next few days, and there is a part of me that is glad I got this chance to see you again, but I feel certain at some point you’ll understand me when I tell you, the past must remain in the past.”

  Chapter 4

  It wasn’t until late the next day that I got my first sight of Avery Cavanagh. Seated at the escritoire in the crook of the bow window in the drawing room, I’d painfully managed only half a letter to my mother when I saw him galloping up the long, central drive.

  At first I thought he meant to ride on to the stables, but with a billowing puff of dust, he jerked his horse to a halt and motioned to a servant. He swung his pristine riding boot over the horse and slid to the ground in one swift movement.

  I stood to get a better view through the window, and I was not disappointed.

  Everyone at Loxby had grown in the years I’d been away, but Avery had certainly changed the most. In place of the chestnut-headed, wide-eyed boy I knew as my childhood friend, a definitive gentleman waltzed up the front steps. Gone were the lanky clumsiness of youth and the red spots on his cheeks. In many ways he resembled Piers now, but—I narrowed my eyes—in others, he was quite different.

  He caught sight of me through the window as he approached, and I gave an enthusiastic wave. The easy smile I remembered so well flashed onto his face, and he hurried toward the door. Avery had always been a mix of impulsive excitement and good humor, the perfect foil to Piers’s brooding intensity. And as I stood there waiting for Avery to join me inside, I realized just how much I had missed him.

  He passed his hat and riding crop into a servant’s waiting hands, then burst through the open drawing room door. “Charity.”

  Dirt coated his superfine jacket and beige pantaloons, and we couldn’t help but laugh as he accepted my outstretched hands. “You’re a sight for sore eyes. Had a devilish few days, I’m afraid. When did you arrive?”

  I stepped back a pace, reminded of the black cloud hanging over Loxby. “Shortly before Seline went missing. Please tell me you’ve heard something of her on your journey.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “I wish I had better news. Rode to every inn within a day’s ride of East Whitloe. There’s no word of the happy couple. All I can figure is that they gave assumed names or paid off someone on the road. They’d have to change horses somewhere.”

  I frowned, and Avery dipped his shoulder. “Seline has always been a step ahead of everyone else, but there is still a sliver of hope. Do you remember our uncle Charles?”

  “Not at all.”

  He paused. “Well, that’s neither here nor there.” Then he gave a little laugh. “What I mean to say is the curst blunderbuss has decided to journey on to Gretna Green alone in hopes of intercepting the lovebirds along the way. I daresay he shall have a difficult time catching them. Miles Lacy knows his way around horses too well. He would not be so addlepated as to have no plan. Granted, I would not put such a half-baked scheme past Seline, but Miles . . . I told Uncle Charles that from the start. We’ll never come upon them, at least not until this little liaison is right and tight and preferably legal.”

  My gaze clouded. Avery spoke as if he believed Seline and Miles Lacy had a longstanding plan to run away. That would mean she lied to me in my bedchamber the night she disappeared, which made no sense at all. We’d always trusted one another. It didn’t feel quite right.

  On impulse I touched his arm. “Then you completely agree with the assertion that she left in the middle of the night—to marry a stable hand?”

  “That is what her note said, didn’t it?” He ran his finger along his chin, his eyes focusing in on the far wall. “I will admit it doesn’t sound all that much like Seline, but . . .”

  He meandered to the sideboard and poured himself a drink before turning back to face me. “Cor, but it’s good to have you back. It’ll almost be like old times around here with Piers in residence, and you”—he raised his eyebrows—“you look well. Dash it all, but you do! Piers is already here, right? Do you think, uh, I mean, has he said anything about me yet?”

  “Said anything about you?” We were both a bit startled by Piers’s deep voice at the door. “I daresay we have bigger problems today than you.”

  Avery crossed the room and embraced his brother, patting him on the back. “Ordinarily, I’d be relieved to hear you say so, old man, but not this time.”

  Piers motioned for me to have a seat, and I eased onto the edge of the scrolled end sofa behind me. Of course my hasty selection only ushered in a bit of awkward footwork as Piers was forced to angle between Avery and me before slumping into an opposing chair. We both knew there would be no question of him joining me on the sofa. Not after his declaration yesterday.

  Avery, clearly amused, watched us with a keen eye before cross
ing his arms. “’Fraid I need to freshen up before joining the two of you . . . in whatever that was. Mother would have my head if one fleck of this dirt got on her precious furniture.”

  Piers cast him a sideways glance. “Quite right.”

  Avery picked up his drink. “Tell me, how is Mother today? She was in a frenzy when I left.”

  Piers took a measured breath. “Not well. As to be expected, I suppose. She rarely leaves her room.” He glanced up at Avery, his voice a bit tight. “I hope you’ve come across some news that might pacify her.”

  Avery pressed his lips together. “’Fraid not. I was just telling Charity there’s not a trace of which way they went.”

  I couldn’t help but catch the uncomfortable shift Piers made in his seat at the mention of my Christian name. Why shouldn’t Avery and I use such familiarity? Heavens, we’d always spoken so as children.

  “Baker told me you saw Seline the night she left.” At first I thought Piers was speaking to me, but his attention was on Avery, who took a quick drink before answering. “Yeah, well, the boys and I were in the meadow. Seline came flouncing down there and, uh, had a few words with Kendal.”

  Piers’s mouth fell open. “Lord Kendal was there? I didn’t realize the two of you cried friends.”

  Avery tugged at his jacket sleeve. “Don’t get in a pucker, Piers. Besides, he’s not as awful as you remember him. After all, it was you who caused the rift. If only you’d have showed your face at that blasted duel, he never would have labeled you a coward.”

  Piers simply stared at the fireplace, wholly unconcerned with the eyes of the room. “What time did you last see Seline?”

  Avery swirled the last of his drink in his glass. “I don’t know exactly. I’m not her keeper. All I know is it was quite late.”

  Piers’s attention remained fixed on the fire, but his voice was a bit more complicated, gruff even. “What did she say to Lord Kendal?”