The Vanishing at Loxby Manor

by Abigail Wilson

  Though we were still in Mrs. Cavanagh’s ordained mourning period of six months, no one came to visit Loxby Hall beyond her expected four-week seclusion as a widow. It would be some time before the Cavanagh name wouldn’t be tainted by tragedy. However, I don’t think Mrs. Cavanagh gave our social isolation a second thought.

  The death of her daughter had changed everything.

  I spent most of those long mornings with her in the drawing room and the afternoons walking the grounds alone. That is, until I changed course one warm spring day and made my way on foot to Flitworth Manor, my childhood home. At first I only wanted to see it again, spurred on by thoughts of Arthur, but as I neared the wide, menacing structure, something else sprang to mind.

  I’d never met the tenants, nor had the least idea how to approach them, but after all I’d endured, I, too, had changed. I no longer lived my life in fear. So I approached the entrance, and when I was introduced to the lady of the house, I raised my chin and asked with conviction to be shown to the greenhouse.

  * * *

  I set the small potted plant I’d fetched from Flitworth Manor beside me on the bench, my eyes trained to Loxby’s garden gate, my heart reckless as I waited. Though I’d left Piers a note to join me, I had no idea how long he would be or what he would think of what I had to say.

  The sun had dipped below the far wall, the gray warmth of twilight softening the plants and cooling the earth. A pop of the latch and the gate swung open.

  Piers paused a step into the garden, my note still in his hands, an inquisitive calm relaxing his face. “You summoned me?” A smile emerged as he made his way to the bench.

  “Yes. I’ve been a bit busy today.”

  “Have you?” He motioned at the small plant. “What’s all this?”

  I slid the plant onto my lap. “I fetched this for you from Flitworth Manor. Do you recognize it?”

  He stared for a moment. “Should I?”

  “Not exactly.” I ran my finger along a green leaf. “When we were children you gave me an orange once, and after I’d eaten it, I told you I meant to grow a tree. You laughed at me at the time, but you also didn’t know that Flitworth Manor had a hothouse, and I was a favorite of the undergardener, Mr. Wynn, who is actually still in residence.”

  “Is he?”

  “Well, I had a mind to see my past today, and while I was there, I asked to visit the greenhouse where I happened upon Mr. Wynn. This little plant here was grown from a seed of my original orange tree.”

  “Was it really?”

  “It was. I had hoped to retrieve a single orange, but Mr. Wynn suggested I take the whole thing.”

  Piers smiled and took the plant into his hands. “It looks to be quite healthy. But we’ll have to reopen the greenhouse if it’s to make it through the winter.”

  “I brought it here for you. It’s a gift.”

  His brows drew in. “For me?”

  “I hoped it might be a reminder.”

  He angled his chin.

  “You sacrificed everything five years ago to protect my reputation, but I don’t want that one mistake to ruin the rest of your life. You see, this little plant here is ready for a new start at Loxby Manor, the same as you.

  “Oh, Piers, just because society rejected you, doesn’t mean you need to reject you. You’re the same brilliant man you were before I left for Ceylon. You possess the same hopes and dreams, the same wonderful passions that make you who you are. I don’t know if a fellowship is possible now or what it would entail or when the investigation will come to a close here, but at the same time, I know you deserve to see what’s beyond that door you closed so long ago.”

  He dropped his head into his hands, and we sat for a long moment in restive silence before he turned to look at me. “My darling, what would I have done if you hadn’t decided to come back here?”

  I smiled up at him and for a breathless moment I thought he might kiss me, but he settled back against the bench and ran his arm behind my back.

  “I suppose I could send a letter to Lord Hereford and inquire. He never really understood why I stepped away. I’ve been a fool not to do so already.”

  “That sounds like a very good start.”

  He sat up quickly. “But for now, we need to find a place for this little plant. Care to accompany me to the greenhouse? I have a mind to get that room in order, and I shall certainly need your opinions.”

  * * *

  It was later that same day when I saw a small square card lying on my pillow, and my heart contracted. It was another of Piers’s drawings, and a beautiful one at that—a single solitary rose, the symbol of passion and love. I flipped the card over as I moved it quickly into the candlelight.

  Focus iam in mundo est.

  My fingers tingled as I remembered each Latin word, writing them down until I had the sentence in its entirety.

  The world is now in focus.

  I collapsed into a seat on the bed, my hand pressed to my mouth. He’d remembered every word I’d said to him in the garden before he left for the duel. I read on; the postscript was written in English.

  You’re right as you always are, my darling. I promise not to give up on myself any longer if you won’t give up on us. I have a plan to wait for you every day before dinner. Come when you’re ready. And don’t worry; I can wait forever if it comes to that. You know where I’ll be. Take your time. Don’t rush. When I see you, I’ll know what it means.

  All my love,

  Piers

  What a sweet, wonderful fool. I didn’t need days, hours, or even minutes to contemplate our future.

  I flew down the hall, stopping only briefly at the landing to comb through each thought and feeling pounding in my chest. Piers had tugged me into the shadows of the alcove so long ago. If only we had known then how the intimacy would change us—the feeling of being held and wanted, the surge of emotions that swelled into that perfect kiss. It had been surreal.

  But today, when I pressed forward against the balustrade and saw him waiting for me in the alcove, smiling up at me in that enchanting way of his, choosing me again after all we’d been through, I knew my memories of that day so long ago would pale in comparison to this moment.

  I descended the stairs, my hand clasped to the railing as if I might float away, my feet jittery on the steps. I suppose a part of me still remained cautious, a niggling twitch of doubt I would fight all my life, but as I reached the ground floor and inched my way to the edge of the curved wainscoting, my heart felt light, my steps assured.

  Piers’s arm stretched out of the shadows, and I slid my fingers into his hand, knowing full well my life would never be the same. Gently, he tugged me into the crevice behind the well-placed column that had been our secret and our joy, the one place where we hid ourselves from the world but laid our hearts open wide.

  His smile slowly built until he ran his hands up my arms. “You came . . . already.” A muscle twitched in his cheek. “I had a speech prepared, but dash it all, it can wait.”

  He drew me against his chest, moving his hands beneath my chin, his fingers extending into the delicate tendrils of my hair.

  “Oh, Piers.”

  I remember a clock ticking from somewhere beyond the hall, the familiar scent of his cologne as I took in a breath, the prickling feel of my skin beneath his touch, the inescapable pull of desire.

  I lifted my chin and his lips met mine, the kiss deepening into a culmination of five years of waiting, hoping, and dreaming—the precious beginning of our new life together.

  Eventually he drew back, his eyes glassy from the surge of emotion. “You know, I almost cannot remember a time before I loved you. The years you were in Ceylon changed me in ways I didn’t expect, but your absence proved terribly important. It gave me perspective. I know now that our love is a powerful bond, but it’s also a gift, one I will never take for granted.” He grasped my hands, stretching the silence between us as far as he could, a torrid of emotions claiming every groove on his face.
“Marry me as soon as I’m out of mourning?”

  Every last muscle coiled in my chest. “I hope you haven’t spent one second worrying I would keep you waiting. Of course I will marry you, and the sooner the better. I love you beyond words and beyond fear. Whatever life brings our way, I shall be right by your side.”

  Piers pulled me into another embrace, and as I closed my eyes I drank in the warmth of his arms and the strength of his promise. What he had written on my drawing was true for me too. My world had shifted into focus. Somehow, through the depths of loss and the darkest pits of betrayal, we’d scaled our own wounded ladders to find them curiously intertwined at the top. We were survivors, he and I, and how good it felt to climb on together.

  Epilogue

  Six months passed before the first snow brought not only the announcement of Priscilla’s engagement to Avery but my wedding as well. I daresay we were all ready for a celebration, and it proved to be a happy one.

  Though scandal still hangs over all our heads, each of us has found a way to move on, to find joy in what really matters. Piers gave Avery his cottage outside of Liverpool, the perfect place for Priscilla to start anew, a haven from the painful memories of her brother and the tragedy that happened so near. Mrs. Daunt decided to stay at Rushridge.

  Tony still visits quite frequently, particularly when his pockets are to let, and I always look forward to those days of love and laughter. Some friends are friends forever.

  Piers and I spend a great deal of time hosting and visiting Lord and Lady Kendal as well. I never could have dreamed a bond would develop among us, but after Mr. Cavanagh’s death, nothing was ever the same, not for anyone. After all, there are only a few people who know what really happened that terrible summer.

  Piers turned over the Gormogon’s ledger to the authorities at Whitehall, and every facet of the group has been snuffed out, hopefully never to be heard from again. Baker was taken to prison to await transportation, and Arthur remains safely in America, continuing his work as a chemist. I do hope my parents will visit East Whitloe soon. I have so much to show them.

  There are days now when I don’t think of Seline, but they are few and far between. Her joyous laughter and zest for life still cling to the halls of Loxby Manor as well as our hearts, and I am glad to say she will never really leave us.

  Mrs. Cavanagh still instructs me on the fine art of needlepoint, but there are no more suggestions for how I might interest a man. No, these days she says she can see Piers’s love for me written across his face, and I feel the same about my husband. Piers and I both know what it felt like to be apart, and we don’t want to waste one single second of our life together.

  This past week Piers received a letter granting him a chance to study with Lord Hereford and the Royal Society with hopes of applying at some point for a fellowship. We shall soon be happily forced to divide our time between London and Loxby Manor. But we won’t stay away for long periods of time, not now. Piers is determined to have his child grow up in the country, to get the chance to race over the hills like we did as children, to feel the love of family, to find his or her passion and never ever let it go.

  Discussion Questions

  Charity decides to return to Britain to a time in her childhood where she remembers feeling safe and happy. Have you ever longed for moments from the past? Do you think she found what she was looking for?

  After Piers missed the duel with Lord Kendal, he believed that removing himself from Loxby Manor would help everyone in his family, but what did his abandonment inadvertently cause?

  Charity takes an emotional journey over the course of the novel where she finally learns to accept herself and her past. Is there something in your own life you have yet to make peace with?

  In what other ways did Charity grow over the book?

  What specific characteristics does Charity possess that will continue to help her heal after all she’s been through?

  Did you suspect Mr. Cavanagh’s involvement in the secret society or the murders?

  Do you think Mrs. Cavanagh had just cause for how she reacted to her husband’s infamy?

  Secret societies have played a significant role in both British and American history. Would you ever consider joining a secret group if you were convinced they worked for the greater good of society? Would you be willing to give anything up to join?

  Do you think the constraints of the Regency period had any bearing on how Charity reacted to the assault?

  Who was your favorite character and why?

  Acknowledgments

  Travis, my husband and best friend, after nineteen years of marriage, I still fall more in love with you each day. My writing would not be the same without your constant support, encouragement, and inspiration. Thank you for our silly late night chats, my forced brain-storming sessions in the car, and for loving my mysteries as much as I do.

  Megan Besing, where do I even begin? Your thoughts and critiques made this story what it is. Nor could I possibly survive as a writer without your encouragement and friendship. #iheartyou #wemesh

  Mom, you passed on to me a love of fiction and the determination to see a project through to the end. Thank you for sharing my passion for traditional gothic romances and everything Regency. At all the stages of our lives our already deep friendship has only grown. I thank God for you every day.

  Audrey and Luke, Bess and Angi, thank you for sharing my joy.

  The entire Wilson clan, thank you for loving and supporting me.

  Tony Smith, I had such a blast bringing you to life in this story. Though I did take a few liberties with the character of Tony Shaw, Charity’s regard for him mirrors my own. Thank you for your friendship and encouragement in my writing. And, you never know when Tony may pop up again.

  My awesome agent, Nicole Resciniti, your support and wisdom elevates my writing at every step.

  Becky Monds and Jodi Hughes, my fantastic editors, you took this story and molded it into one I’m so proud of. I’m blessed beyond belief to have you both working alongside of me. And to the entire team at Thomas Nelson, Paul Fisher, Kerri Potts, Laura Wheeler, Margaret Kercher, you guys have given me such phenomenal support. I am thankful every day I get to work with such a brilliant group of people.

  And to my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. To you alone be the glory.

  About the Author

  Abigail Wilson combines her passion for Regency England with intrigue and adventure to pen historical mysteries with a heart. A registered nurse, chai tea addict, and mother of two crazy kids, Abigail fills her spare time hiking the national parks, attending her daughter’s diving meets, and curling up with a great book. Abigail was a 2020 HOLT Medallion Merit Finalist, a 2017 Fab Five contest winner, and a Daphne du Maurier Award for Excellence Finalist. She is a cum laude graduate of the University of Texas at Austin and currently lives in Dripping Springs, Texas, with her husband and children.

  Connect with Abigail at acwilsonbooks.com

  Instagram: @acwilsonbooks

  Facebook: @ACWilsonbooks

  Twitter: @acwilsonbooks

  Acclaim for Abigail Wilson

  “The Vanishing at Loxby Manor cleverly combines Regency romance with Gothic intrigue, and the result is a suspenseful, thoroughly entertaining read. Charming and lovely.”

  —Tasha Alexander, New York Times bestselling author of In the Shadow of Vesuvius

  “Abigail Wilson’s latest Gothic romance hits the notes readers have come to expect from her talented pen: romance, shadows and intrigue, and a brilliantly executed atmosphere. But it is the deep characterization, the sense of longing for the past and a love lost and reforged—not to mention the deeply humane flaws and fallibilities of its dimensional characters—that solidify The Vanishing at Loxby Manor as a must-read Regency. I will never tire of Wilson’s intelligent voice, expert pacing, and heart-stopping romance. She is a master at her craft and a rare stand-out in a popular genre.”

  —Rachel McMillan, author of The London Restorati
on

  “Weaving a shadow of mystery among the gilded countryside of Regency England, Wilson's tale of love lost, buried shame, and secret societies is a delicious blend of romance and intrigue. Flawed characters grace each page with a vulnerability and deep desire to be known for their true selves, which is a beauty unto itself. Splash in gorgeous historical Regency details, and murder brewing around every stone and readers will be burning through the pages until the riveting end.”

  —J’nell Ciesielski, author of The Socialite, on The Vanishing at Loxby Manor

  “Like each of Wilson’s novels, The Vanishing at Loxby Manor drew me in from the start and didn’t let go. From the heartfelt characters to the twists that kept me guessing, I relished each turn of the page. Wilson is a master at historical mystery, and I cannot wait for her next story.”

  —Lindsay Harrel, author of The Joy of Falling

  “In The Vanishing at Loxby Manor Abigail Wilson has created a gothic romance that is filled with great characters and a mystery that unfolds chapter by chapter. A perfect blend of mystery, family relationships, lost years, and star-crossed love. There is also an integral thread of letting go of past tragedy and moving into the future. This book is perfect for readers who love Regency fiction in gothic settings. Be warned, you won't be able to walk away from these characters.”

  —Cara Putman, award-winning author of Flight Risk

  “This latest from Wilson (Midnight on the River Grey) has all the elements of a classic Regency romance, but the mystery adds another layer, enriching the plot . . . Recommended for fans of Tasha Alexander and Lauren Willig.”

  —Library Journal on Masquerade at Middlecrest Abbey

  “This is a very well written Regency romance wrapped in a historical mystery involving murder, government agents, French spies, poison and kidnapping. The descriptions of house, grounds, furnishings and costume all immerse the reader in this 19th-century world. Well-drawn characters add a distinctive flavour to the action, and there are several mysteries to untangle . . . A very enjoyable read and recommended.”