If things became truly desperate, I had the box of money under Father’s bed. But that money felt tainted, hidden away as it was, so for now, I left it there.
Every time I passed Sam’s red sled, I felt guilty for how we’d parted. Finally, with only a few days left in the school holiday, I summoned my courage and walked across town to the Fryes’ farm.
The dogs barked before I rounded the bend, so when the log cabin came into view, Mr. Frye was already standing in the doorway. He filled the opening, as tall and well-muscled as Sam, but with an extra layer of fat. I’d seen what a punch from one of his enormous fists could do; Sam had outgrown them, but not Mrs. Frye and the younger boys. His shirt buttons gaped, exposing a soiled undershirt.
“Well, look who it is.” He smirked. “Come to pay her respects. I thought you were supposed to bring food at a time like this.”
I wasn’t sure what he meant. I kept my distance, remaining back on the road. “Is Sam here?”
“He’s in Middletown with the rest of them. I thought you come to see me, pretty girl, to comfort me in my time of grief.” He laughed at my confusion. “My wife’s no-good brother died. They’re gone to the funeral. But you can come inside, if you want. Warm up before you start home again.” He shifted, making room in the doorway.
I stepped back, unease running through me. “Please tell Sam I stopped by. And give your wife my condolences.” I turned and hurried away, feeling his eyes on my back.
And a fleeting memory rose: Mr. Frye at the rectory the day before Mr. Oliver died, angry because he’d been scolded for snooping in the art studio.
* * *
School resumed in January.
I walked through the cold morning woods, missing my warm bed, but glad to return to a routine of classes and evening chores, with no time for deep thoughts.
“Back to school, I guess.”
I looked up and stopped short. Rowan Blackshaw leaned against one of the large boulders that dotted this part of the woods.
My heart fluttered into a faster beat.
“Sorry,” he laughed, straightening. “Didn’t mean to scare you. I arrived early and thought I’d walk out to meet you.” He came toward me, blowing into his hands for warmth. He looked relaxed, his stride easy, an old leather satchel slung across his chest.
But when he lowered his hands, I saw the same quivery awareness in his eyes that I felt.
I managed to move again. “I’m barely awake,” I admitted, even though the sight of him had cured that.
He fell into step beside me. “I got back from Boston pretty late last night. I go every year after Christmas to visit my mother’s family.”
I didn’t know much about Rowan’s mother, except that she’d died giving birth to him. “Do you have a lot of family in Boston?”
He shrugged. “Two uncles, with the accompanying aunts and cousins. I always stay with my uncle George. I like him. He’s one of those people who knows something about everything. But not in an arrogant way; he just reads a lot. I have four cousins at that house, plus three more a block away.”
“I’ve always wanted cousins,” I admitted. “Hannah Adams says they’re better than brothers and sisters, not always underfoot.”
Rowan laughed. “Maybe so. I wouldn’t know.” I felt his eyes on me as we walked. “One of my cousins reminds me of you. She’s only ten, but she has really long, curly hair like yours. Well, not exactly like yours. I don’t think anyone has hair like yours, Valentine.”
I looked up with a scowl. “I’m not sure if I was just insulted or complimented.”
“Oh, I think you know.” He reached out and twirled one of my curls around his finger and gave it a tug. He released it with a soft laugh. “I’ve always wanted to do that.”
Something warmed inside me.
Across a room, Rowan was attractive enough to draw attention. This close, he took my breath away. His lips were red from the cold, his eyes bright with interest.
I killed his father.
I looked back at the trail, my heart dropping. For a moment, I’d actually forgotten.
He walked closer than necessary, unaware of my tumbling thoughts. “What did you do over the holiday?” he asked.
Learned the truth about myself. Visited my mother’s grave. Cried myself to sleep.
I’d promised to tell Rowan if I ever learned the truth, but now, I couldn’t keep that promise. Even if I hadn’t made a vow of silence with Judge Stoker, I wasn’t sure I would have been brave enough to tell him what I’d done.
“I already know about the sledding,” he added dryly.
I swallowed, unable to think of a witty comeback. “I scrubbed the house from top to bottom. Tell me more about Boston.”
His voice lifted. “I saw Harvard. One of my cousins goes there. I’ve been planning on Yale—that’s what my grandmother wants—but my uncle is trying to talk me into Harvard. He showed me some impressive papers written by a professor there.” Rowan rambled on as we walked—about changing curriculums and progressive ideas—a welcome distraction from my own heavy thoughts.
“Sorry,” he said as we emerged from the woods on the grounds of Drake Academy. “I’ve talked your ear off.”
“I like hearing about Harvard. I’m jealous, to be honest. I wish girls could go to college.”
Rowan glanced across at me. “I’ve heard there are some good schools for girls.”
“Finishing schools. I already know how to manage a house and sit and stand. There’s so much more that interests me.” Across the grounds, I saw girls entering Rochester Hall, alongside the boys, and I remembered that there would be an assembly this morning to start the new term. “I’m grateful for Drake, at least. It just doesn’t seem fair that the boys get to move on, but the girls are given no opportunity. As if we’ve been taught enough and don’t need more. Or worse—are incapable of it.”
Rowan grinned. “You sound like my grandmother. There are some women who want her to invest in a women’s college, but when she looks at their finances, she says it doesn’t make sense. She’s torn between her heart and her head. And when it comes to money, my grandmother usually listens to her head. But she’s always resented that she didn’t get to attend a decent school. Not even Drake allowed girls back then. Even now, half the trustees would go back to all boys if she didn’t constantly fight for it.”
“Well, I, for one, appreciate her efforts,” I said.
She only had one child, and I killed him.
“Rowan!” Jacob Macauley called, trotting toward us on the path. “How was Boston?”
And suddenly, I was aware of how strange it was for me to be walking on campus with Rowan Blackshaw. But Jacob didn’t seem to notice, falling into step beside us.
“Did you see the medical school?” he asked.
“Only from a distance,” Rowan told him. “But I think you made the right choice. It looked impressive.”
I glanced at the side door of Rochester Hall, where Sam sometimes watched for me in the mornings. He must have returned from Middletown by now to work in the kitchen. But he wasn’t there—which was a relief, since I was with Rowan.
On the front steps, we were joined by more senior boys, all of them talking at once. Simon Greene acknowledged me with a smile. “Morning, Valentine.” Then, I was jostled through the doorway in the midst of them, with Rowan steadying me with a hand on my elbow. Once we were inside, he left with the other boys to hang up his coat on the right side of the wide hall, and I moved to the girls’ side. I hung my cloak on a peg, then turned to see Rowan walking back to me.
He lowered his head close to mine. “Will you sit by me, Valentine?”
I looked at him in surprise. I always sat in the back corner with an empty chair beside me; everyone knew that.
His lazy smile teased. “If you refuse, I’ll just follow you to the back corner. But it’s always drafty back there, so I prefer the middle.”
I bit my lower lip, fighting a smile. “All right, then. Middle it is.”<
br />
We made our way toward the dining hall, followed by Simon and the other boys.
But my courage faltered when I saw Lucy Meriwether standing near the opening, surrounded by a cluster of senior girls. When she saw us, she straightened and stopped talking, and the other girls quieted.
I tried to summon some anger to give me courage, but all I could feel was churning nerves. I kept walking, staring straight ahead.
But Rowan took my arm and pulled me to a stop in front of Lucy. I looked up at him, alarmed, but his eyes were fixed on her.
“Good morning, Lucy,” he said evenly.
My heart dropped. Behind us, Rowan’s friends had stopped as well—and I suddenly wondered if this was all some sort of prank to amuse them. I stepped back, but Rowan’s hand tightened on my arm, holding me in place.
Lucy lifted her chin. “Good morning, Rowan.” Her blue eyes shifted to me. “Good morning, Valentine. What a pretty dress you’re wearing. Is it new?”
She’d seen this dress a hundred times. My anger finally flared. This was all some hoax to make me look like a fool. I yanked my arm free of Rowan’s grip.
“Valentine—” Lucy said quickly. “I just wanted to say how sorry I am about my little joke the other night. I didn’t mean to offend you. I thought everyone would laugh. I mean, no one thinks you cheat. That’s what makes it so funny.” She glanced at the other girls, who murmured in agreement. “Anyway, I just wanted to say how sorry I am that my little joke fell flat, and I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.” She forced a brittle smile, her eyes shifting to Rowan.
I saw his subtle nod of approval.
He’d forced her to say that.
Philly Henny leaned forward. “I thought that ivory dress you were wearing was beautiful, Valentine.” Her smile seemed more genuine than Lucy’s, but her eyes still darted to Rowan, seeking approval.
“I liked your hair pulled up,” Jane Stiles said, her eyes wide and eager. “I wish I had hair like yours.” Jane’s own hair was thin and limp, always falling out of its ribbons.
Everyone waited, their eyes on me, but I wasn’t sure how to respond. They’d been forced to say those kind things. But still, they’d said them.
“Thank you,” I said uncertainly. I glanced at Rowan, suddenly seeking his approval as well.
He tipped his head toward the dining hall. “Come on, let’s get our seats.”
My heart pattered in confusion as he led me toward his usual row in the middle, followed by his friends. We sat next to each other, with Jacob Macauley on Rowan’s other side, and Jane Stiles next to me.
Jane pressed her mouth against my ear. “We all thought what she said was horrible. I told my parents it was a pack of lies.”
“Good morning, students,” Mr. Foley said in his somber voice, and the room quieted. His gaze flickered across the rows of students—then shifted back to me, his eyebrows lifting at the sight of Valentine Deluca sitting among his most prominent students.
My chest rose and fell. I barely believed it myself.
For years, I’d tried to prove myself at this school, to no avail: I’d still been a scandal-ridden scholarship student wearing old dresses. A weed trying to look like it belonged in a flower garden. But somehow, now that I’d learned the worst of myself—so much worse than any of them imagined—they’d decided I belonged. Somehow, now that I felt least worthy, they’d accepted me.
At the piano, Simon Greene began the school anthem, and everyone sang. But I had a hard time finding enough breath for it. My lungs felt full.
Judge Stoker had been right. If I’d confessed, this miraculous morning would never have happened. Confessing would have started a new, thorny scandal that not even Rowan Blackshaw could have cut through. Entering the room with him would have only added to the shocked stares and whispers. I would have remained mired in the past forever.
I glanced up at Rowan’s handsome face, only inches from mine. I smelled something masculine and musky on him—maybe the soap he used. He had a defined jawline above a silky blue neckcloth. Well-shaped lips. Dark eyelashes. Rowan Blackshaw was both beautiful and handsome. And sitting next to me.
He returned my gaze with a small, personal smile that let me know that he understood how much this moment meant to me. That it meant something to him too.
He must never know. I will never tell him.
Never.
The invocation was given by the new rector—a small, balding man named Mr. Newland with a surprisingly deep voice. We all murmured, “Amen.”
As I lifted my head, I saw Sam watching from the corner doorway, wearing his soiled apron, his face heavy with hurt at the sight of me sitting next to Rowan. My heart tumbled. I would have preferred his temper. I forced a shallow smile, hoping he could see that this moment wasn’t about Rowan. That I’d finally stepped free of my scandalous past and been accepted at Drake Academy. I silently begged him to understand that my life had just changed in some enormous, unexplainable, marvelous way.
And perhaps he did, because he turned and walked away.
17
I dressed with care the next morning, pulling back the front of my hair with a ribbon and putting on my favorite blue dress. Then I lamented the fact that I must cover the dress with my cloak.
I walked quickly across the snowy graveyard and entered the trail—then abruptly slowed my pace, worried I would reach the school before Rowan had a chance to stable his horse and walk out to meet me.
My heart turned over when I saw him leaning against the same boulder as the day before. He came toward me, making no attempt to hide his pleasure at seeing me. “My grandmother asked why I was leaving the house so early, so I told her I was helping Mr. Wells prepare for a chemistry experiment.” He grinned, thinking it humorous.
But my spirits dropped.
And Rowan saw his error. “Sorry, I just meant … she wouldn’t be happy about me meeting any girl in the woods.”
I forced a weak smile. “It’s all right. I know she doesn’t like me.”
“She would if she knew you. Just tell her that you think girls should go to college, and she’ll put you in charge of some committee and work you to death.”
I returned his smile, liking the idea of working on one of Mrs. Blackshaw’s committees. Fighting for an important cause. Doing something that mattered. Maybe that was how I could redeem myself—in both her eyes and my own.
We talked about school as we walked: the terrible steak and kidney pie served at lunch the day before; our elderly English teacher, whose mind seemed to be slipping; Jack Utley’s latest exploit—stealing Mr. Albright’s coat and putting it on the statue of Isaac Drake.
Our voices finally faded, and we took a few steps in snowy quiet.
“Valentine,” Rowan said in a cautious tone. “I’ve been trying to decide how to tell you something.”
I looked up, my heart lurching, wondering if he’d learned the truth.
He avoided my gaze, frowning at the trail. “I was at the bank yesterday. I work there sometimes, after school, just to learn the ropes—enough to be a respectable owner. While I was there, the manager at Hale Glass came in. My family owns the company.”
I was surprised. I hadn’t known that Father worked for the Blackshaws. And I remembered what Judge Stoker had said about Josephine Blackshaw controlling the money in this town with puppet strings. When a business couldn’t repay its loan, the bank probably took possession of it.
“The manager mentioned that he’s looking for a new deliveryman, and I know that’s your father’s job. So … I asked him, and he said that your father hasn’t shown up in a while.” I felt Rowan’s eyes on me. “I was just wondering if everything’s all right. I don’t want your father to lose his job.”
My thoughts darted. I wasn’t sure how much to say. I kept trying to convince myself that Mr. Oliver had died of natural causes, and Father’s and Birdy’s disappearances had nothing to do with the fact that I’d killed Nigel Blackshaw. But still, it all felt li
ke a secret I shouldn’t reveal.
“If you want me to speak up on his behalf, I’m happy to do it,” Rowan said.
I looked up, touched by his offer. “I don’t know where he is,” I admitted. “He left home before Christmas, and I haven’t seen him since.”
Rowan’s eyebrows rose. “Before Christmas? You mean … you’ve been at the house by yourself all that time?”
I shrugged. “I’m used to it. My father travels a lot for Hale. Only this time, it isn’t for work, and I think something must have happened to him. Maybe thieves attacked him. Or there’s that part of the road that overhangs the river. I’m wondering if he fell in and got swept away.”
“Have you told Sheriff Crane?”
“Not yet.” I’d avoided going to the sheriff, afraid he would ask probing questions that would make me say too much. I’d made a vow with Judge Stoker and intended to keep it, but the temptation to clear my mother’s name was still there.
“I’ll talk to the sheriff for you,” Rowan offered. “I’ll ride there after school. He might know something. Maybe he’s found—” He caught himself before saying it.
A body.
“Thank you. I’d appreciate that. Will you ask him about Birdy too? I haven’t seen her in a while.”
“Birdy? I thought—” He glanced at me, frowning. “Sorry, I know you don’t think she did it, but everyone says she killed Mr. Oliver and fled town.”
“Well, they’re wrong. Something happened to her.” Again, I stopped before I said too much.
“Is there anything else I can do?” Rowan asked. “I want to help, if I can.”
We were nearing the end of the woods. Through the trees, I could see the solid bricks of Rochester Hall. And suddenly, I knew what I needed from Rowan. But it wasn’t an easy request. I stopped walking. “Actually … there is something.”
Rowan turned, his face full of concern. “What is it?”
I bit my lower lip, not wanting to say it. But it needed to be said. “It’s hard for Sam when he sees me with you.”
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