by Kari Edgren
Julian drew in a ragged breath, then turned to face her. “Ah, yes,” he said, taking the note. “I am your faithful servant, Lucy Goodwin.”
She smiled with a full measure of warmth. “Thank you, Julian. I do hope it is not too much trouble.”
“Not at all.” His expression held no sign of our fight, though the rigid line of his back told a very different story. “I should take my leave if the letter is to go out on the next packet-boat. Good day, ladies.” He left the room without a backward glance.
“What a dear young man,” Lucy said, still smiling. “So amiable and without a hint of guile.”
“A real gem,” I muttered under my breath.
Lucy pulled a small watch from her pocket and flipped open the case. “Nora and I had planned to attend a lecture on the migratory patterns of the English swallow at the Naturalist Society this afternoon. She thought you might be interested in attending and meant to speak with you about it this morning.”
I bet she did. Nora was not one to suffer alone through something so dreadfully dull, especially when her best friend could be dragged along for some added fun. But with Nora otherwise engaged, I felt much less inclined to learn about English swallows.
“It would just be the two of us now,” Lucy said. “That is, if you would like to accompany me.”
I pursed my mouth and tried to convey the impression that I was seriously considering the offer.
“We can stop for tea after,” Lucy added. “Cate has recommended one teahouse in particular for its red currant scones.”
On the verge of declining, I bit back the words when I saw the eagerness in Lucy’s face. For all her stolid manners, she did not want to go alone.
“I would love to, thank you for inviting me.” I gave her my sincerest smile.
She glanced at her watch again. “The lecture begins at two this afternoon and I would like to secure good seats. Can you be ready to leave in ten minutes?”
I nodded and stood up from the sofa. “Let me just get my cloak.”
Perhaps the lecture wouldn’t be so bad after all. If nothing else, I had the red currant scones to look forward to. And, of course, I needed to remember how Henry and I had been spared a hasty journey to the continent this morning to escape the king’s ire. Even the quarrel with Julian had an unintended benefit, ensuring our separation for the unforeseeable future, and in essence, saving Julian’s life. Though Henry and Nora were both indisposed at present, when taken in perspective, the day had been well spent.
Then the third message arrived.
The same servant from earlier approached as Lucy and I left the drawing room. “A gentleman wishes a word, Miss Kilbrid.”
“Go see what he wants,” Lucy said, starting up the stairs. “I shall fetch your cloak and be down in a moment.”
“Thank you, Lucy. The gray wool should do well.” Following the servant into the foyer, I found James Roth waiting for me. Hell and furies! What have I done to deserve this today?
“Good day, Miss Kilbrid,” he said.
It took a great deal of effort not to glare at him outright. “You wish to speak with me, Mr. Roth?”
He nodded and the corners of his mouth twisted to a grin that looked like it had been borrowed from a rat. Or maybe a troll. “I have been charged by his grace, the Duke of Norland, to deliver a message to you.”
My stomach flipped over a split second before it dropped to the floor. “And what is this message?” I asked, miffed by the obvious tremble in my voice.
James handed me a note that bore a similar seal to Henry’s. Just bigger and more intimidating. “He wishes to invite you to dine at his home this Thursday eve.”
I stared at the note, making no attempt to open it. In truth, I doubted my fingers capable of completing the task at the moment.
“You look very pale, Miss Kilbrid,” James said, his voice thick with mock concern. “Do you wish me to call a servant?”
Setting my shoulders, I forced myself to meet his gaze. “There is no need, Mr. Roth. Please tell the duke his invitation has been most eagerly received and that I look forward to making his acquaintance.”
James’s trollish smile slipped a bit. “You are to arrive at seven sharp, and be aware that his grace has no patience for tardiness.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “I trust you can find the Fitzalan residence. If you get confused, it is the largest private home in London.”
A tirade of curses hit the back of my throat. I pushed them down, managing to keep my face in a rigid mask of civility. “I shall manage well enough, thank you, sir.”
James paused, and his eyes glinted with malice and judgment. “You will find the duke to be a shrewd man, Miss Kilbrid, and not easily taken in by a quick wit or a pretty face. Do not be surprised if he has seen through your guise before the end of the first course.”
His rudeness felt a slap to the face. Red haze trimmed my vision, and I clenched my hands to keep from striking him. Several long seconds passed before I could speak with any measure of calm. “Your concern is most appreciated, Mr. Roth. Though I do suppose if so shrewd a man has found even a scrap of goodness in someone as mean-spirited as yourself, he should have no trouble finding a plentitude in me.”
James sucked in a hard breath. “You impertinent little upstart—”
I flicked my hand impassively. “Yes, yes, Mr. Roth. I’ve heard it all before. Now if you don’t mind, I’ve a lecture to attend, and so must end this delightful conversation. I trust you can find the door. If you get confused, just remember that it is rather large and directly behind you.”
Rage pulled at James’s usually handsome features. A ruddy tinge crept over the top of his cravat, all the way to his flaxen hairline.
I watched him with wide-eyed concern and just a hint of a smirk. “Are you feeling unwell, sir? Do wish me to ring for a servant?”
His nostrils flared. Spinning on his heel, he marched to the door, nearly dislodging the iron hardware in his haste to wrench it open. When it slammed, I felt a rush of victory—right before I remembered the note still clenched in my hand, and what awaited me in three days’ time.
Chapter Thirteen
The Dragon
Nora did not return home until well past the supper hour. The time seemed to drag on for an eternity, each passing minute winding my nerves further. With Cate out for the evening and Lucy nursing a headache in her room, I sat alone in the front drawing room, thoughts churning as I stared blankly at the novel in my lap. The seconds ticked away on the mantel clock, and I soon found myself tapping in time against the open page.
What is the duke playing at?
This question had dominated my thoughts ever since the message arrived, courtesy of James Roth. Obviously, Richard Fitzalan, the Duke of Norland, wanted to meet me without interference from Henry, and so had contrived an errand to occupy his son for several days. Why then had similar invitations been extended to Nora, Lucy and Cate? If the duke wanted a private interview, a crowd of ladies seemed counterproductive to his purposes. Unless, his intentions were less nefarious than I first suspected. Perhaps the man just wanted to make the acquaintance of his future daughter-in-law. So, why the secretive behavior? Why had the duke sent Henry away ignorant of his plans?
Squeezing my eyes shut, I pressed a hand to my forehead to counter the mental jig. Good gracious! I needed Nora. She would listen to every detail, and then with a cool head, point out the most probable scenario.
The seconds continued to tick away, and just when I felt at my wits end, the front door opened. My ears pricked up at the sound of Nora addressing a servant. Tossing the book aside, I ran into the foyer to meet her.
“Where have you been all day?” I asked by way of greeting as the footman took her cloak.
Nora looked at me, her face glowing with joy. “Oh, Selah, I’ve had the most w
onderful time.”
Her answer made me laugh despite my own worries. “I’m not surprised. Between the two of us, you were always the better Samaritan.” Not that I didn’t gain a measure of satisfaction from such services, but when it came to those in need, Nora was practically a saint. “In truth, you are the only person I know who would claim raptures after spending the entire day amongst the old and infirm.”
A flash of confusion crossed her face.
“I hope it wasn’t a secret,” I said, somewhat puzzled by the reaction. “Your mother told me you were visiting indigent Quakers with Margaret Fox.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” Nora rushed, her smile returning in full force. “So many people in need. You would never believe how hard we worked today. I am utterly exhausted.”
Nora started for the stairway and I fell into step beside her. The scent of hot wax followed us from the numerous candles burning in sconces along the wall. So much light at nighttime was an unknown extravagance in the Colonies. Even more, the faint scent of roses was new tonight and must have cost Cate a pretty penny.
A familiar melody settled in my ear, and for the first time I bristled at the sound of Nora’s sweet voice. “Isn’t that from The Beggar’s Opera?”
The humming cut off at once. “Is it? I swear, I can’t recall.”
“Miss Rose sang it in the second act.” While she visually molested Henry.
“You must be right.”
“Now the run has ended, I guess she’ll be looking for a new part.” If Tom Thumb had any jades, courtesans or flirts in the cast, Justine could saunter over to the Haymarket Theater for the role.
“James said the play has been extended for another week. Something about popular demand.”
I sniffed indignantly. “One time was more than enough for me. The writing was downright lewd and that Peachum character a trollop if ever I saw—”
Nora coughed, as though needing to clear her throat. “Did you and Henry do anything fun today?”
“No, he had to leave London early this morning.”
“That’s too bad. I hope you weren’t too lonely with only my mother for company.”
“Well, it’s hardly been dull around here while you were away. I dare say you’ll never guess who has invited us to dine this Thursday evening.” I paused just long enough to draw breath, and caught another whiff of roses. “Henry’s father, Richard Fitzalan.”
The name dropped like a sodden rag. “That’s nice,” Nora said, neither slowing her pace nor sparing a glance in my direction.
I stopped in mid stride. “Didn’t you hear me?” I sputtered at her back. “Henry’s father has invited us to dine. And that’s not even the worst of it. I’ve so much to tell you, I don’t know where to begin.”
She reached the upper landing, and I scampered the last few steps to catch up. “Selah, do you mind if we talk about this tomorrow? I’m so tired, I can’t see straight.”
My mouth fell open, accompanied by a curt breath of disappointment.
Nora gave me a pleading look. “Please don’t be mad. I promise we’ll talk later.”
In the foyer, her excitement must have overshadowed the exhaustion I now saw so clearly. A twinge of guilt softened my disappointment, and with some effort, I even managed a weak smile. “A good night’s sleep will do us both good. My news can wait until tomorrow.” Assuming I didn’t explode from anxiety in the meantime.
Relief spread across her face. “We’ll talk in the evening then, when I return home.”
“Are you going out with Margaret again? I would love to come along if you don’t mind the extra company.”
Her expression turned to surprise. Or was it panic? When I looked closer, she dropped her gaze to the floor. “I...we...” she stuttered, most uncharacteristically for someone who never suffered from a loss words. “The work is very hard. I’m sure you would find it disagreeable.”
The corners of my mouth tugged down. “Hard work has never frightened me, and no doubt, indigent Quakers will be far more entertaining than the lecture your mother has planned for tomorrow afternoon. A gentleman is slated to speak at the Botany Society on the benefits of binomial nomenclature. Apparently, there’s been such an influx of foreign plants brought in from the trading ships that people are having difficulty keeping them straight.”
Nora’s eyes grew round with interest. “Fascinating,” she said, sounding almost sincere, and a little too eager. “You should definitely attend.”
I snorted a laugh. “Please, tell me you’re jesting.”
“Not at all,” she persisted. “You’ve always loved plants. This could be a great opportunity to meet other people who share your interest.”
“The room will be full of people more interested in naming plants than using them.”
Nora didn’t give up. “You should really consider going. Jesus said the poor would always be with us, so you’ll never lack for opportunities to serve. But how often do you get to meet people who share a similar passion?”
My mouth fell open with disbelief. Was this the same Nora Goodwin who had sailed with me to London? Or had someone switched places with her while she was out serving the less fortunate this afternoon? I narrowed my eyes and looked at her even more closely. “I have about as much passion for binomial nomenclature as you do.”
“Just think of the opportunity—”
I held up a hand, cutting her off before she could say anymore. “This afternoon I sat through two hours of some old codger droning on about the migratory patterns of the English swallow. In good conscience, you can’t go off with Margaret Fox again and leave me to suffer alone.”
Nora shuffled her feet in a rare display of indecision. “I...I guess you’re right.” When she looked at me, the shaky smile did little to hide the misery in her eyes. “Margaret’s carriage will arrive at nine tomorrow morning. Can you be ready by then?”
I gave an irritated sigh. Did everyone think me such a sluggard? “Yes, I can be ready. Fully awake and dressed to serve.”
“Very well, I’ll see you in the morning.” She gave me a quick peck on the cheek and turned toward her room.
“Goodnight,” I said, unsure the last time I had seen Nora so on edge. Did she really not want my company? Or was something else bothering her? I watched until she reached her chamber door, then went to my own room. No doubt things would look better in the morning.
Knowing that sleep would prove elusive, I sent Beth for a pot of Valerian tea when she came in to help me undress for bed. Two hours and three steamy cups later, I began to feel the herb’s calming effects. Tucked beneath a down comforter, the darkness further soothed my mind. Nora’s odd behavior had added to my long list of worries, but I refused to dwell on it overly long. Tomorrow would be soon enough. Yawning, I snuggled deeper into the mattress, giving in to the oblivion of sleep.
* * *
Thump...Thump...Thump...
Footsteps sounded in my dreams, the dull, lumbering thumps out of time with the wild pounding of my heart. I woke with a start and stared at the darkened canopy overhead. My breath had turned shallow while sleeping, and a sticky layer of sweat coated my neck and chest. Still as a statue, I strained my ears for the source of the noise.
Thump...Thump...Thump...
I turned my head toward the wall. Someone was close. Very close. “Who’s there,” I called out.
The steps came to a sudden stop, but no voice answered.
“Beth, is that you?”
Silence.
I folded back the comforter and sat up. The night air caught my sweaty skin, turning it to gooseflesh. Shivering, I lit a candle on the bedside table and darted a glance around the room, ready to scream at the first sign of trouble.
Nothing.
I stared at the wall in surprise. The steps had sounded so near, prac
tically right next to my bed. I couldn’t believe they had come from outside the room, but that was the only explanation. Unless a ghost had been tromping around in a pair of heavy boots, which I knew to be absurd since the house was so newly built. And because ghosts did not exist. At least I didn’t think they did, not that I had proof either way.
A generous moment passed before my heart calmed down enough for sleep. Fluffing my pillow, I glanced around the room once more, then leaned over to blow out the candle...
Thump...Thump...Thump...
The breath stuck in my throat. Keeping my eyes pinned to the source of the noise, I swung my feet over the side of the bed. Quiet as a mouse, I followed the progression along the length of wall that adjoined the hallway. Staring at the thick wooden paneling, realization dawned quickly, followed by a sudden swell of irritation. Why, in the name of everything holy, did someone feel the need to sneak around outside my room, rousing me from a hard earned sleep? Well, there was only one way to discover the culprit. Sharp words perched on my tongue when I threw open the door and peered around the alcove into the hallway.
Darkness stared back.
The steps quickened, right up the side of the wall. My eyes flew to the ceiling, tracing a line as they crossed overhead before descending on the other side of the alcove. It took but a second for my mind to catch up to what had just occurred. Hardly daring to breathe, I closed the door before turning to fix my gaze on the wooden paneling next to the fireplace that hid the secret passageway.
Apprehension pounded in my chest, but the footsteps moved beyond my room before fading altogether. On shaking legs, I walked over to the mantel and ran my hand along the edge of the stone just like I had seen Henry do the other night. It took several passes over the narrow crevices to find the hidden lever. Yanking it up, the panel disappeared from view. With one hand braced against the frame, I leaned into the passageway.
The candle flickered, showing walls of rough plaster and exposed wooden beams. The space was narrower than I anticipated. At no more than two feet wide, someone of Henry’s size would be forced to hunch forward to fit through. The small light failed to illuminate the staircase at the far end, which I now knew arched over the door alcove and allowed unhindered passage to other parts of the house.
