The depth of grief that hovered beneath the surface made it impossible for me to push further, so I merely offered a brief smile. “I suppose I should have assumed it was so.”
He considered me for a moment. “Perhaps it’s time you and your mother leave Trevelyan. There’s little to keep you here now, especially with the debt over it. Forgive my rather personal advice on matters that are none of my concern, but I cannot bear to watch you sink the way they did. I know you see this fortune as your path to freedom, but perhaps greater freedom will come from releasing the idea of it. And Miss Harlowe, please realize—that’s all it is now. An idea.” His blue eyes glimmered like deep pools of wisdom, and my heart fluttered at the idea of release. “Cassius might still be alive now if he had learned to let go of such things in years past.”
With those words, the chill returned to my spirit again and the cold face of the boy in the painting loomed heavily over my thoughts.
With another squeeze of my hand, Dr. Caine removed his hat from the bench beside the door. He was preparing to exit, this man whose gentle nature served as a balm to my frightened spirit. How I wished he’d stay.
“Dr. Caine?”
He turned and offered me the easy smile of companionship, but I could not voice the request that hovered about my lips.
Instead, I smiled and said, “Safe travels.”
With a final nod, he set his hat on his head and took himself out to his waiting horse.
In the empty silence of the room, I found myself wishing for him to remain and protect me from my childish fears, for I knew they would only grow after this day, but I hadn’t been able to ask it of him.
Perhaps I should have.
In that surreal moment between wake and sleep as I lay abed that night, my mind carried me back to the memories of that dark chest. The fortune had to exist—I’d seen it. I forced my memory to recall images and smells and sounds from that workroom, focusing on the table that had held the chest.
“Where did you get so much money, Father?”
He spun around and blinked at me. “You’re still here? Why are you still here?”
“You told me I could stay.”
His face twitched and he turned to glance out the window.
“Did you steal it like pirate treasure? Is that why you must hide it?”
“Who told you that?” He slammed the lid and locked it. “Who’ve you been speaking with about me?”
I trembled in the face of his anger. “Only the servants. They were gossiping in the kitchen.”
Long, drawn-out moments of silence stretched through the warm air and hung between us. “They know nothing of where I came from, what I endured. Nothing.”
Curiosity flamed through my mind then, the treasure forgotten in light of this little glimpse into Father’s life. “Where did you come from?”
He shifted his gaze to me as if remembering once again that I was still there and studied me critically. “You’d best hang about with your governess and soak up your studies.” He dusted his hands on his trousers. “Become an accomplished young lady and take yourself away from here.”
“But I don’t want to go away.”
His elbow bumped a tube of soil, spilling rich darkness over the table surface, and he hurried over to it. He brushed it into a new tube and bent low to inspect his other tubes, lifting a notebook to continue recording. Once again I was invisible as his work swelled large and consumed his world. His pen scratched across paper and he lifted his spectacles off his eyes to see the details. I backed toward the fireplace to hide in the shadows so I wouldn’t be sent away, remaining perfectly still, and then came the knocking.
At the sound, Father yanked the heavy trunk along the table, and the metal bands scraped along its surface. He was hiding it in this room.
A muffled voice came from somewhere nearby. “Get out of here.” The voice was female, speaking in a strained, angry whisper. “Get out now.” More knocking. My skin crawled.
Daisy’s growl startled me from my drowsy little dream world. Forcing my eyes open, it stunned me to find I had been more asleep than awake as I’d walked through the past, for the voice was not in that room years ago, but outside my bedroom. Daisy growled again, and I placed my hand on her head. Then the voice that had intruded on my memory came again, piercing the last traces of drowsiness and plunging me firmly into the present.
“I said get out. Go away before you ruin this. Why is it so terribly cold in this hall? Did you open a window? Here, give me that lap blanket. Now go.”
Again came the light thumps. Slinging aside the covers, I threw on a dressing gown and planted my bare toes on the chilly floor warmed only by a thin rug, then tiptoed across the room.
Nose to the crack, I opened the door and peeked out to see movement in the little alcove across the hall. The glow of a candle illuminated the crouched, shivering form of Ellen in a white nightdress and black throw, her dark hair falling down her back and concealing much of her face. Rising with the candle, she thumped her palm against the wall, then moved to the right and repeated at intervals. Further into the darkness was the retreating form of cousin Neville, who must have eventually obeyed her orders to leave.
I studied her work, observing the strained, pale face and wondering at the appetite that drove her to grasp this fortune. I recognized in her expression the desperation, the hunger, to have that which always seemed slightly out of reach.
My door creaked and she turned and froze in the candlelit alcove, her face open and innocent. “I do hope I didn’t wake you, dear. I had no idea your bedchamber lay in this section of the house.” Shadows danced over her oddly placid face as she straightened to face me. “It seems I’ve lost my husband.”
“In the wall?”
She glossed over my question. “You know how inseparable we are. I can never sleep without him.”
“Naturally.”
She smiled in the garish candlelight, her beady eyes piercing the soft glow. “I knew you’d understand. In the meantime, I thought I’d locate a book to help me sleep.” Her slender hand indicated the shelves of my own books on vineyards that filled the little alcove. Ah, so this is what had led her to explore this particular spot. She must have thoroughly examined the library and every other room that contained books.
I smiled back. “I always find it lovely when a couple is so inseparable, even after marriage.”
She stepped into the hall and slid an arm around me. “Don’t fret, darling. One day you’ll be in that three-legged race yourself, and then you’ll see exactly what it feels like. Come, help me find Neville.”
We started down the hall, arm in arm. “I’m beginning to think I’ll have to walk on my own two legs through my whole life. Falling in love seems far too complicated at the moment.”
She paused in the dark hall, her eyes sparkling. “So many things can drive us into a man’s arms, and very seldom is it merely love.”
“What drove you into the arms of my dear cousin?” My vengeful little heart delighted in this trail of questions, but the splendid theater girl rose to meet them with confidence that surprised me.
“Cleverness. I wanted a house and income, so I convinced him he wanted me.” With a gentle pressure of her arm, she led us forward again. “You see, little Tressa, when you are shopping for a husband, you must look past the man himself and evaluate everything he has to offer, for you are marrying a great many things along with him.”
“And have you found it a worthwhile exchange?”
“Of course. I never live with regrets. I’ll tell you a little secret about myself. I was a stage girl at the Savoy, but my time there ran out. Women can be petty, you see, and they decided the prettiest girl in the set needed to be pushed out of the way so the rest could have a chance. Lies and rumors earned me a quick exit, and that would have been the end for most girls.”
“They tried to bury you, but lo and behold, they discovered you were a seed.”
“Exactly.” Her eyes sparkled at my s
ummation of her story. “I made my way to the little café where I’d met a well-dressed gentleman who’d made it a point to seek me out for battles of wit now and then, and made sure he noticed me next time he stopped in. Within a week I had a marriage certificate with my name on it and a fine little home on Greentree Boulevard.”
“What if you should someday fall in love, though? What then?”
This brought a heavy shadow over her lovely face. “Being in love is not all you’d imagine it is. It means someone else has control of you, and that’s the end of one’s freedom.”
“Perhaps I shall be forever independent. I don’t like the idea of being under the control of anyone.”
She tucked her hand into the crook of my arm as we descended the wide, carpeted steps together. “My dear, we are all compelled by the force of something or someone. When you marry, at least you choose who is doing the controlling.”
How her words echoed Mother’s on the same topic. “Perhaps someday I’ll be compelled by nothing other than my own convictions and desires.”
She offered a wan little smile in response. “We can all aspire to such a life.”
We reached the landing and the crash of metal sounded from the kitchen. “At last, it seems we’ve discovered the wandering husband.”
Before we could make our way there, the intruder’s swinging lantern departing from the rear kitchen door caught my eye. I paused to watch him from the window, yet it was not Neville’s form we saw.
Ellen’s perfect lips curved into a bewitching smile of amusement as she followed my gaze. “Ah, it is your Mr. Vance.”
“I’d hardly call him mine.” I watched the man stride quickly across the yard, a burlap sack over his right shoulder. Irritation simmered along my skin that he should steal from our kitchen rather than simply asking for what he needed, but I set it aside. I turned back to Ellen for her opinion, as a matter of conversation, but my companion’s face had quickly blanched to an alarming paleness.
She gripped the windowsill as a light panic tensed her features. “You must pardon me, but I do believe I hear Neville calling from our chamber.” She spun toward the stairs we’d just descended. “I bid you good night.” Lifting her blanket and nightdress, she sprinted full tilt up the stairs and out of sight. Yet when she reached the top, she turned left and flew down the hall away from her suite.
Turning from her odd actions, I returned to the window and searched for signs of Donegan Vance, but his light had disappeared. He must have reached his cottage already. I looked toward the front steps where I’d met the workers when they announced their strike, and with sudden panic, I realized that tomorrow was Friday.
18
Focus merely on having a great harvest and you will have it—but only once. Focus on the lifetime of the vine and you will have a richer harvest every year after this one.
—Notebook of a viticulturist
I’m looking for Miss Harlowe.” Donegan stood in the midst of the chaotic servant’s hall as Friday’s dinner preparations were fully under way. “No one seems to know where she is.”
The rosy-faced housekeeper hurried over to him as she skimmed the night’s menu and glanced over the clean serving platters laid out on the counters. “I’m sorry, Mr. Vance, but she left this morning and hasn’t returned.”
Shock silenced him for a moment. Gone? It was Friday—had she forgotten?
“Do you know where she went?”
This caught the maid’s attention and she turned fully toward him with a frown of concern. “No, I haven’t heard.” Her brow creased. “Truly, it isn’t like her to simply disappear for an entire day. Perhaps Lucy knows.” Hurrying to a slender scullery maid speckled with flour, she touched her shoulder. “Find out from Lucy where Miss Harlowe is, please. Quickly, now.”
After a quick curtsy, the girl shot up the service stairs. Donegan paced before the window, dreading the moment he would see the mass of village men cresting the hill. They’d been absent from the fields since their threatened raid on Trevelyan, and surely they would not forget their delayed treasure hunt that was to take place that day.
When the little scullery maid returned with no news on Miss Harlowe’s whereabouts, Donegan offered a quick thanks and marched from the room, slamming the service door behind him. Before he’d even reached the vineyard, he saw them. Led by Stephan Campbell and Lucas Fry, the ragtag band of laborers climbed the hill toward Trevelyan. Burlap sacks and pickaxes filled a horseless cart they dragged along with them.
Donegan strode out to meet them, his palm out. But what could he say to stop them? It was now Friday, the agreed-upon end of their patience after their time without pay, and Tressa Harlowe had disappeared.
“If you want your share, you’ll have to help search.” One of the men tossed Donegan a shovel, but he threw it back into the cart.
“I’ll not let you do this. You’ve been faithful to the house of Harlowe for so many years, and what will it profit you to ruin them?”
A balding man spoke up. “Our own families will eat, that’s what.”
Laughter and assents followed.
Donegan grabbed ahold of their cart to prevent them from moving forward. Desperation and panic dug into him as he searched for anything that might stop them. “You are good and decent men who wouldn’t . . .” His words trailed off as he glanced up to the grassy hill just beyond Trevelyan and saw a splendid sight. A proud steed pounded toward them, its bareback rider hunched low to clutch the animal’s neck. Her dress billowed out behind her like a magnificent victory flag whipping in the breeze, her hair a long and tangled mess down her back. Never had she looked lovelier than in this eleventh hour.
As the horse huffed nearer, she straightened on his back and slowed him to a spritely trot across the field. Poised and elegant, yet flushed with a taste of the wild spirit that was constantly evidencing itself, Tressa Harlowe approached the little band with a look of rosy confidence. The group parted to receive the horse and rider.
When her horse danced to a stop among them, Tressa gripped the mare’s mane and slid to the ground. Shaking out the fabric of her dress, she approached the men and opened a bag draped across her slender form. Donegan held his breath until she delivered her news.
“I have money for you.”
Donegan exhaled all the tension of the day and the men gathered around her.
“It isn’t everything we owe you, but hopefully it’ll be enough to make your lives a little easier until all business matters at Trevelyan are completed.”
Donegan smiled. What a diplomatic thing to call a treasure hunt.
“I do hope you’ll be willing to return to the vineyard, for all of our sakes.” She pulled coins from the bag and dropped them into waiting hands. “For if the vineyards perish, so does all of Trevelyan and Welporth with it.”
When she had finished and the men shuffled away inspecting their money, she turned those sparkling eyes toward him with a light smile that made his heart leap. “Well, Mr. Vance, it seems I’ve beaten one fire to the ground. I’ve nothing left but to find the fortune.”
“Where did that money come from?”
She met his look confidently. “It was rightfully mine to give, and that’s all you need concern yourself with.”
A change had come about Donegan Vance’s face that night as he studied me from across the dining table with a touch of curiosity, but he remained blessedly silent.
Donegan was not the only one to come to the table with a marked change in demeanor, though. Mother presided over the meal with a rosy smile about her lips and a new inner strength held her poised in the throne-like chair as she addressed those seated around the table. Suddenly I realized what it was—the quiet confidence of one who knew herself to be loved, and it draped her entire person like satin. Being adorned in such assurance did wonders for her, and for that I could not hate Dr. Caine and his advances. Untimely as they were, they seemed precisely the remedy Mother needed.
“I have wonderful news for you all
.” She paused to sip from her glass and the chatter quieted. “I’ve made arrangements for all of us to attend the opening of a private art gallery at Lord Charles Standish Armitage’s country estate in Bristol. He’s unveiling Franz Xaver Winterhalter’s new portrait of Princess Helena in honor of her wedding this week. While the princess is married at Westminster, we shall be celebrating at the unveiling.”
The silence that followed thickened in the air like a vapor. Neville raised one eyebrow, and the servers on the fringes of the room exchanged shadowed looks. No one dared point out what Mother, as the most well-bred of ladies, ought to know.
But after a few moments of quiet, Mother addressed the concern herself. “I do believe a mourning period begins when a death has occurred, but as my daughter has lately reminded me, there has been no certain death, no burial. No one expects a woman to remain captive in her own house indefinitely, and I intend to distract myself until my grief has a proper recipient.”
Ellen’s eyes glittered with judgment. Andrew focused his attention on his glass without a word.
I laid my hand on Mother’s. “Perhaps we should discuss—”
“Tressa.” Mother slanted her gaze toward my fingers resting on hers. She lifted her hand, grasped my fingers, and drew them toward her face. “You’ve lost your ring.”
I tensed at the mention of the trinket now residing in the window of the exchange in Bristol and withdrew my hand. Parting with that little opal ring had cost me a great deal, but I’d rather have a chance at finding Father than a ring I kept merely to remind me of him.
She released it with a frown. “I suppose one of the servants found it lying about and turned your carelessness into their own stroke of good fortune.” She lowered her voice. “You should be more cautious, especially now that we cannot replace costly little things like that.”
Forcing back my stiff shoulders with the knowledge that I’d done what was needed, I lifted my gaze and met that of Donegan Vance, who studied me with rapt attention. Understanding dawned across his chiseled face as he watched my obvious discomfort with raised eyebrows, and I could not tell if he was pleased or not with what he’d discovered.
A Rumored Fortune Page 15
