by Calia Read
No, I can’t.
I don’t know what his reaction will be or what he will say.
“Why are you here?” he repeats, his question controlled and careful. “Where are Serene and Étienne?”
Back and forth, I shake my head. His tone is distasteful, and his upper lip curled into a sneer as though the very sight of me disgusts him. But he refuses to leave until I give him an answer.
He takes another step and then another. At that moment, my intentions are put aside. My mind warns me, begs me to get away from this man as quickly as possible.
Pulse pounding, I swallow, and say, “I must go.”
Turning on my heels, I hustle across the road, leaving behind the man and his cries for me to stop.
I’m uncertain where I’m going as my driver is the opposite way, and my corset is far too tight for me to be running at such a speed, yet that doesn’t stop me. I continue down the sidewalk weaving in and out of the crowds. My beautiful updo comes undone. Tendrils fall across my forehead, momentarily blinding my vision.
Is the man following me?
I’m too terrified to turn around and look, and see him there. Somewhere along the sidewalk, I drop my parasol, and I hear it clank to the ground.
My feet ache in protest. Sooner than later, I will have to stop. Up ahead, the buildings become sparse, homes start to line the road, and another street is to my right.
I round the corner and immediately come to a stop. Heaving, I rest my back against the structure of the building as I gasp for air. Closing my eyes, I take a moment to gather myself.
“You can hide back here. No one will notice you.”
My eyes fly open at the sound of the female voice. I’m far too out of breath to scream or jump back, so I merely clutch my hand to my chest over my heart and stare in the direction of the beautiful brunette not much taller than myself, smoking a cigarette in broad daylight.
Progressive.
The cigarette is held in the air between her index and middle finger. Smoke wafts out of the tip and disappears into the air. She stares down at her shoes, appearing deep in thought.
“Were you speakin’ with Asa Calhoun in front of Étienne Lacroix’s office?” she asks.
My gaze flicks in her direction. I ran before the man had a chance to give me his name. I was so terrified he was going to realize why I was here and think I was unhinged. But this woman was giving me free access to information I’ve been seeking the moment I stepped into these city lines. I can’t ruin this chance.
“I was,” I confirm.
“Asa is a callous buffoon,” she declares haughtily.
“I can see that,” I say wryly.
She laughs darkly and resumes smoking. Her silence is meant to be companionable, yet my nerves are wound tight. I cannot stop looking at my surroundings, waiting for this Asa or Étienne to spot me.
“Did this Asa upset you?” I ask, my tone blunt.
My question causes her to smile. “Well, bless your heart, darlin’. Aren’t you sweet? No, Asa could never upset me.”
“Then Étienne did?”
At that question, her lips go into a thin line. “Yes,” she answers honestly, meeting my gaze. “And he’s been gone for quite some time.”
“Do you know when he shall be back?” I ask.
She snorts and takes another drag from her cigarette. “No, I do not. Étienne Lacroix is currently the talk of Charleston. His brother was attacked recently in the dead of night.” She finishes her words with a sinister smile, and a chill drifts down my spine.
Lacroix … Lacroix … Something’s familiar about the name. I know I’ve heard it somewhere, yet I can’t place it.
However, that’s the least of my worries. I think of the man I witnessed being attacked. It just can’t be him. Yet it has to be. What are the chances more than one man was assaulted in the past month? Incredibly low.
Was this woman responsible for the attack? Harming this Étienne’s brother made absolutely no sense to me. Squinting, I thoroughly stare at the woman. I wasn’t close enough to see the person who attacked that man, but I was positive it was a woman, and she was small and lithe.
This woman isn’t small.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“Phoebe McNeal.” The heavy Southern accent I was becoming accustomed to in this city laced her words, but her voice had a raspy quality. She gazes at me with interest. “And yours?”
“Serene Quentin.”
She holds her hand out for me to take, and because I’m polite and she gave me much-needed information, I accept. Although I can’t help but feel as though I’m shaking hands with the very devil.
I make a promise to myself to take the names Phoebe has given me and ask my aunt and uncle. Perhaps they know.
The dining room is so quiet the sound of Rainey’s nails methodically tapping against the glossy surface of the table seems amplified. Livingston’s gaze volleys between the chessboard and Rainey.
“Stop that,” he growls.
Rainey arches a brow. “I’m thinkin’.”
“Thinkin’, plottin’. Same thing, right?” Livingston asks rhetorically. “Either way, it’s my move, and you’re interruptin’ me.”
“It’s been your move for the past ten minutes.”
Raising my book, I hide my grin from the two of them. Although I could jump up right this instant and declare I’m being attacked by bees and neither one would notice or care.
I find their bickering oddly soothing. Oliver’s arrival has been slightly unnerving. Without asking, he’s made Étienne’s office his command post for all his work. Although he’s quiet, I can feel his eyes on me, tracking my movements, and the comings and goings of each visitor. Which isn’t a lot. Just Miles, Rainey, and Dr. Ruddell.
But no Asa Calhoun.
A part of me is relieved yet disappointed. Very swiftly, I’d become accustomed to Asa’s visits. He never stays long, and it’s always under the guise of visiting Livingston, but every time, he would seek me out before he left. He was never forward and forever polite. It soothed and broke my heart every time, reminding me of what could’ve been, yet what I’d never have.
I didn’t want him to stop visiting Livingston on account of Oliver. Nothing was inappropriate about Asa calling upon my brother. They were lifelong friends.
Besides, this morning after breakfast, Oliver left for Savannah, promising to return within a few days’ time. I felt relief, and instantly, guilt swarmed over me. This was my husband. A husband who had traveled to be with me during a trying time in my life, yet the idea of him leaving consoled me.
My thoughts were abhorrent. Oliver had done nothing wrong to me. He remained his quiet self. But perhaps the problem was the setting. At Belgrave, I flourished and revealed my true self. At Brignac House, I felt smothered, anxiously waiting for Matilda to have one of her famous “spells.”
I shudder at the thought of going back to Savannah and the suffocating walls of Brignac House.
“Nat,” Rainey says, interrupting my thoughts. “Please tell your brother he either takes his turn or he forfeits.”
Lowering my book, I look back and forth between Rainey and Livingston.
“Nat,” Livingston retorts, his eyes never leaving Rainey’s face. I feel a small pang in my heart at the sound of him calling me by my pet name. It’s been a long time since I’ve heard him call me that, but it’s not said with meaning and affection. Livingston’s simply mimicking Rainey. “Can you tell your friend that she cannot dictate the amount of time my turn takes. She is not a human hourglass.”
Rainey rests her elbows on the table, props her chin on her hands, and smiles. “Perhaps someone should find us an hourglass or a pocket watch so we can time how long you’re takin’.”
“Perhaps—”
As Livingston gives her a retort, I shake my head and return to my book. So much for me telling anyone anything. I’ve managed to tune out the sound of them sparring with one another and have made to turn a page
in my book when there’s a rap against the open door.
Livingston and Rainey stop squabbling. I lift my head and see Asa standing there wearing a smile. “I said hello. But it was hard to hear over”—he points at Rainey and Livingston—“that.”
Rainey turns toward the door and claps her hands together. She still wasn’t overly thrilled about Asa, but for the sake of Livingston, she was cordial like every good Southern woman was. “Lovely to see you, Asa. Now that you’re here, you can replace me in the world’s longest chess game.”
Asa steps into the room and peers at the chessboard. I can’t help but notice he’s remarkably close to the right side of my chair. My pulse rapidly beats against my throat. I lace my fingers together and stare at the book in my lap and try not to think about how wonderful Asa smells.
“Well, Asa, what do you say? Take my place?” Rainey asks with a smile.
“As much as I would love to play a rousin’ game of chess with Livingston, I need to speak with Nathalie for a moment.”
Furtively, Rainey glances at me, gauging my response. After a few seconds, she lifts a shoulder and focuses on the chessboard.
I mark my place in my book and stand. “If you’ll excuse me,” I say to Livingston and Rainey.
Asa follows me. Once we’re in the foyer, I turn to him and gesture toward the hallway. “We can speak in Étienne’s office. Oliver traveled back to Savannah this mornin’.”
Asa’s eyes widen in surprise. It’s rare to see him stunned. We walk toward my brother’s office in silence. Asa is the first to break it. “When will he be back?”
The deep timbre of his voice is closer than I expected and causes me to careen forward. At the last second, Asa reaches out, his hands curling around my forearms and immediately righting me. I can’t say thank you; I can barely breathe when he’s this close. If I take the smallest step back, my back will press against him.
There’s a long silence between us. Asa’s heart races in frantic tandem with mine. I’m seconds away from closing my eyes and resting my head against his chest when he clears his throat. “Nathalie?”
Taking a deep breath, I face him and smile graciously as though I didn’t almost fall. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“When will he be back?” Asa repeats.
I stare up at him, processing his words as though it’s my first time speaking the English language. I take a step back and nervously tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “I believe in a few days.”
When I look at Asa, he’s staring at me intently.
Slowly, I turn on my heels, grateful that the door to Étienne’s office is mere steps away. I wanted to speak in private, away from Livingston and Rainey’s caterwauling, but I’m now regretting this decision.
Stepping inside Étienne’s office, I make a large circle around the chairs in front of the desk to track Asa. I’m relieved to see he’s walked toward Étienne’s desk. Casually, I walk to the windows to put more distance between us. Turning around, I link my hands in front of me and smile. “What is it you needed to speak to me about?”
Instead of sitting, Asa grips the back of the chair, his knuckles white. His gaze settles on the organized papers on the desk. When Étienne left, I kept his office frozen in time—in the exact way he left it—but since Oliver’s been using it, things have been moved around.
Asa’s eyes meet mine. They’re somber and filled with remorse as though he has something to say he doesn’t want to.
“This is about Étienne’s will, isn’t it?” I say.
Asa nods.
Dread fills me. Now would be a wonderful time for Rainey or Livingston to interrupt and have me be a mediator for their chess game. A knock never sounds, and it never will. “Did you find out any more information?”
Asa’s face becomes shuttered. “Unfortunately, yes. To me, the will appears ironclad. Belgrave is bequeathed to Oliver upon Étienne’s death. His company and half of his shares of the shippin’ company will be given to Livingston.”
My heart sinks from his words. “What? Nothin’ to me?”
“Nathalie …” Asa’s words drift off as he stares at me helplessly. There’s no need for him to explain, though. I’m plenty aware of my station in life. I know the latest fashion trends, how to play the piano, and embroider. My cotillion was a wonderful success. However, when it comes to the inner workings of the family finances, I know nothing.
“I am his sister. I should receive Belgrave.”
“I agree. But I don’t know how it is possible to work around this,” Asa replies quietly.
Breathing hard, I take a step back and stare at the ground. It’s been quite some time since I’ve been this shocked. “This is unbelievable,” I fume.
Asa watches me. “We will figure this out, one way or another.”
If Asa said those words years ago, I might’ve believed him. I might’ve naïvely clung to them as a beacon of hope. Now, I know better.
“I also came to speak with you about somethin’ else.”
I look at Asa expectantly. Frowning, he looks down at the floor before he meets my gaze. “While I was readin’ through the will, I discovered that Oliver has been speakin’ with mutual friends of Étienne’s and mine in regards to Livingston’s home.”
My heart pounds as I absorb his words. “What about his home?”
“From what I gathered, Oliver is allowin’ people to believe the Lacroix House will be for sale in the future, which leads me to believe he knows about the will. For how long, I don’t know, but his intent is clear.”
It’s awful to know my hands are tied with Étienne’s will, but my husband betraying me like that? Inconceivable. I take a step back, shake my head, and point at Asa. “That’s not true. Oliver wouldn’t do that.”
“Yes, it’s true. He wants to sell Livingston’s home even though he has no right to. Nathalie, look at me right now,” he demands. “I would never lie about somethin’ such as this. Oliver did do this. His intentions are not good.”
There’s no reason for Asa to come here and create such a falsehood, but I almost wished more than anything that this was a lie.
My heart races at an uncommon speed. I’m positive adrenaline has taken over my body. I swallow and look Asa in the eye. “Do you know the man Oliver spoke to?”
Asa nods. “Conrad Duplass. Decent fella. He’s a bachelor and has a home along The Battery. If Oliver lived here, he’d know that. Luckily, Conrad wasn’t interested, but someone is going to be. Of that I’m certain.”
“He has no right to the Lacroix House.”
“If he’s already uncovered Étienne’s will and is searchin’ for prospective buyers, I’m willin’ to believe he’s attemptin’ to sell the Lacroix House in the quickest way possible.”
I can’t help but shake my head. I know Asa’s intent is to warn me of Oliver’s deceit.
“There’s one more thing.”
“My word, Asa.” I sigh and rub my temples. “I don’t think I can take much more.”
“I know, but it’s important you’re made aware of what is happenin’.”
“Very well. What is it, then?”
“I spoke with Serene today.”
For a moment, my heart skips a beat. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“I spoke with Serene today.” Once again, he says her name meaningfully. “I was in Charleston on my way here when I ran into her. I attempted to speak with her, but she walked away from me.”
My heart begins to slow down, and I’m able to piece together his words. It doesn’t align with the Serene I know. “Asa, when have you known Serene to walk away from anyone?”
He arches a brow. The truth has already dawned on him. “Never.”
Slowly, I nod as the truth dawns on me. “My God. It was her.”
Unable to stop myself, I reach out and grip his arm. “Old Serene is really here,” I whisper.
The two of us stare at one another in shock. All this time, I’ve thought Serene replaced Old Serene. I neve
r gave it a second thought whether she was still out there.
“Where has she been this whole time?” I blurt.
For once, Asa appears just as baffled as me. “I truly don’t know. When Étienne hired the private detective, did he receive any solid leads?”
Both hands cover my mouth as I think over his question. “That’s somethin’ Livingston would’ve been privy to. Étienne told me he’d hired a detective and left it at that.”
When Étienne had a private detective searching for Old Serene, I understood, but a part of me believed it to be fruitless because she was gone.
“What I want to know is why is she here in Charleston? After all this time?”
I shake my head. Nervously, my gaze flicks to the floor and back to him. He’s still looking at me, still daring me to utter the question we’re both thinking. So I do. “Do you think she’s the reason Étienne time traveled?”
“I don’t know. That’s part of the reason I came here. I was hoping somethin’ in his office might give us insight.”
“I’m unsure. But I’ll help you look if you need me to.”
Together, we get to work, quietly combing through the neat stacks of papers. Frustration begins to mount when I find no correspondence in regard to Old Serene. I need a hint to lead me in the right direction because not only is Old Serene alive, but my husband’s also deceived me in the worst way possible.
“He’s gonna sell. I am positive,” I blurt.
Asa stops searching. There’s a pregnant pause in the room, causing me to look at him out of the corner of my eye. Asa’s staring straight ahead. “Who will sell?”
“Oliver.” Spinning round away from the desk, I place my hands on my hips and take a deep breath. “He has no ties to Charleston or Lacroix House. His home … I mean, our home is in Savannah.” I abruptly stop speaking and think of the disappointment and lack of compassion on his face when I told him I was going home after Livingston’s attack. It seems we have different definitions of loyalty. “He would sell to the highest bidder.”
Asa says nothing. With his lips drawn into a firm line and his hands clasped behind his back, he slowly makes his way to one of the windows and peers outside.
