Addie slept poorly, startling awake at the slightest creak of a floorboard or the hoot of an owl outside her window. When she finally pulled back the curtains, the sun had crested the tops of the redwood trees and streamed through her back bedroom window. From the other window to the front, she could almost see past the town to the ocean’s waves.
She’d thought leaving the lighthouse would be exciting, romantic. Now she longed for the roar of the waves outside her window and the cry of a seagull diving for a fish. The familiar held more appeal than she’d ever imagined.
Turning from the view, she washed at the pitcher and bowl on her dresser, then pinched a bit of color into her cheeks. She selected a white blouse detailed with tucks, and a gray skirt. When she stepped out of her room, her nose caught the aroma of sausage. She could just hurry down the back stairway and find her book before breakfast. Once she got back, she’d braid her hair and put shoes on, but for now, she wanted to talk with the Lord and dangle her toes in the water at the falls. It would almost be like standing at the ocean’s edge. If she went down the back way, no one would know.
On the way out, she checked Edward’s room and found it empty, then went down the back staircase to the first floor. Where was the rear door? The manor easily comprised forty rooms, and the labyrinth of halls and doorways confused her. It would take weeks before she could find her way easily. She went toward the back of the hall and found the smell of food stronger. Following her nose, she walked past a study, another drawing room, a ladies’ lounge, and a library before seeing Mrs. Eaton in her study.
The kitchen had to be nearby. That’s where the back door would be. She started past the study, but Mrs. Eaton called to her. Addie turned. “Yes, ma’am?”
Mrs. Eaton sat on a chair, with her gray silk skirt spread around her. “Come in, dear.”
Addie looked down and spied her bare feet. Maybe Mrs. Eaton wouldn’t notice if she scooted slowly into the room so her feet didn’t show. She entered the room. Various needlepoint projects lay on a table, and smaller furniture pieces matched a female’s size. She tucked her feet under her skirt as she sank onto a pink brocade chair beside a plant stand that held a fern.
Mrs. Eaton laid down her needlepoint. “I would like to discuss the ball with you.” She pointed at Addie. “That blouse. Did you make it, Adeline?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Mrs. Eaton slipped her glasses onto her nose and inspected the garment. “The pin tucks and embroidery are quite lovely. You’re very talented.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Eaton. How might I help you?”
“What ideas have you come up with for my gown?”
Addie gulped. Sally had mentioned that the woman had already tossed aside one gown made by a top dressmaker. Mrs. Eaton had said no more about the dress in the last couple of days, and Addie hoped she’d abandoned the idea. “What if you hate it, Mrs. Eaton? I want to please you, but I admit I’m fearful.”
The woman’s brows rose. “Are you saying I’m hard to please, Adeline?”
“We met only days ago, and I have no way of knowing that,” Addie said.
Mrs. Eaton laughed. “You certainly speak your mind, child. I rather like that.”
“My father always told me I was the lightkeeper’s daughter. God’s child. And only truth would do.” She winced at the words. Her father hadn’t followed his own advice.
Mrs. Eaton picked up her needlepoint again. “You listen to him. The world could use more honesty. Now, what about that dress?”
“If I know clearly what you want and start right away, I can get it done. Provided I can find the proper material,” she added.
Pink bloomed in the matron’s cheeks, and her eyes sparkled. “I’d like something in chiffon. Very elegant and flowing, with lace framing my face. Maybe in white.”
Addie feared she knew exactly what Mrs. Eaton was talking about. “You wouldn’t prefer something in brocade or silk?” Something more suited to her age.
Mrs. Eaton shook her head. “I want the latest fashion. Brocade is so matronly.” She picked up a magazine and thumbed through it. “Like this.”
Addie rose and took the magazine from her employer’s hand. It was as she suspected—something much more suited to her age than to Mrs. Eaton’s.
Truth. The truth in love. “Ma’am, I fear this would not suit you well. Would you give me leave to try a pattern I saw in the latest Godey’s? It’s quite elegant, and no one else in town would have anything approaching its magnificence. It has a matching turban that’s all the rage in Paris.”
"Paris?”
“It would highlight your splendid eyes,” Addie said. “They are a beautiful shade of green. I’ve never seen such lovely eyes.”
The older woman preened. “Very well, Adeline. I’ll trust your judgment. Don’t disappoint me.”
“I’ll do my best,” she said.
The work would be constant. Addie had very little experience with frills and lace. Her designs tended toward good lines and quality fabrics, not lavish trim and ruffles.
She rose. “I need to run to the falls and find my book. I dropped it yesterday.”
“Very well. Breakfast will be ready in a quarter hour. And do put up your hair and come in shoes.”
Addie hurried from the room. She had to find the book, get back, and finish her toilette in fifteen minutes.
A mother quail and her babies ran through the morning fog across John’s path. He waited for them to pass, brushed aside the towering ferns, and entered the redwood forest. The air smelled heavy with the scent of vegetation and pine. Birds chattered overhead, and insects hummed by his ears. He strode toward where he’d left Miss Sullivan yesterday to see if any evidence of her ordeal remained.
He reached the roaring Mercy Falls and peered through the mist curling around the water. There, the matted grass showed their path back to the manor. He followed the faint trail until it widened into a more flattened area. This must be where she’d been tackled. A burlap sack lay near a tree. He picked it up and caught the scent of oranges. Using his foot, he prodded the vegetation for anything else that might illuminate the incident.
The toe of his shoe struck something in the weeds. He parted the greenery and saw a book on the ground. Miss Sullivan’s book of poetry. When he picked it up, it fell open, and his gaze was drawn to the scrawled words in the margin of a poem called, “A Man’s Requirements.”
John North. What a strong name. I was lost the moment I gazed into his eyes. So dark. So compelling. As if he knew me and I knew him. Is that not strange? Did Elizabeth Barrett Browning feel this pounding in her blood the first time she saw Robert? Must pray and see what God would say about this.
He blinked and read the words again. His first inclination was to laugh at her naïveté. So innocent and childlike. Then he read the words of the poem.
Love me Sweet, with all thou art,
Feeling, thinking, seeing;
Love me in the lightest part,
Love me in full being.
Something in the words stirred him. Had he ever been the focus of a heartfelt longing? Not even Katherine had thought of him as her hero, nor, for that matter, had wanted to share her innermost thoughts. She certainly hadn’t loved him with all her being. What might it be like to be loved like that?
Something rustled in the grass behind him, and he whirled with the book in his hand. Addie stepped into his line of vision, with her dog tagging along. She was singing “When the Red, Red Robin Comes Bob-Bob-Bobbing Along” in a clear, sweet voice. Her bare toes peeked from under the gray skirt she wore. He couldn’t look away from her long hair, which caught a shaft of light that slanted through the leaves.
Her smile came as soon as she saw him. And dimmed when she spotted the book in his hand. The open book.
Pink rushed to her cheeks. “You found my book.”
He shut it and held it out to her. “I stumbled across it when I was looking for clues that might point to your attacker.”
Her fingers closed around the book, and she clasped it to her chest. She didn’t meet his gaze, and her color heightened. He was sure she wondered if he’d seen her notes. The truth would embarrass her further.
Her gaze finally rose to his face. “You read it, didn’t you? I can see it in your eyes.”
“You’re very direct,” he said. His own face burned, a sensation he didn’t think he’d ever felt before.
She lowered her lids and twisted a long curl through her fingers. “I’m sorry. It’s not very ladylike to say what I think, is it? You must forgive me. I grew up with only my parents for company.”
“Your honesty is refreshing,” he said. If she didn’t ask again whether he’d read her note, he wasn’t going to offer up the information. “Is Edward up yet?”
She nodded. “He’s having his breakfast, and I came out to find my book.” She fell silent and bit her lip. “I should explain about the note.”
He held up his hand. “Please don’t. It might dilute the pleasure I took in knowing you find me somewhat attractive.”
Her face turned a brighter shade of pink. “You’re mocking me,” she said in a choked voice.
“That’s not my intention,” he said before falling silent.
How could he clear the air between them? Right now he’d like to ask her to dinner and the nickelodeon. He suspected most women who flirted with him at a social event were more interested in his bank account or the fact he was a naval officer. Women found the role strangely dashing and romantic, but few really saw him for who he was. No one had ever remarked on his eyes. He studied her downturned face. She was no more capable of subterfuge than the moss under his feet was.
He removed his bowler and rubbed his thick thatch of hair. “Can we start over? You mentioned earlier you’d like to be my friend. I’d like that too.”
She stared at the ground, and he followed her gaze to her bare toes. He’d never seen a woman’s bare feet except for Katherine’s, in the privacy of their bedroom. The young woman was unlike any he’d ever met. He wanted to find out more about her, hear her views.
“Please?” he said, putting a plea into his voice.
She smiled, a timid curve of her lips. Her long lashes swept up, and those green eyes smiled too. “Do you promise never to bring up this book again?”
“I promise,” he said.
She rested her chin on two fingers, and her dimple flashed. “If you break your promise, you have to jump in the waterfall.”
“Deal.”
But he was talking to the wind in the trees. She had turned and fled the way she’d come, her auburn hair flying behind her.
Addie pumped cold water over her feet. What was she thinking to have gone out without her shoes and with her hair down? This wasn’t the beach. There were standards here she needed to abide by. She sat on the edge of the rock garden and dried her feet with the hem of her dress. The ugly wet spots on the fabric looked terrible. Now she’d have to change her skirt as well.
“Addie?”
She glanced up to see Mr. Driscoll approaching. “Good morning, Mr. Driscoll,” she said.
He’d discarded his sling and wore a gray jacket and waistcoat. “You’re out and about early.”
She held up her book. “I dropped this in the forest yesterday after that man knocked me down.”
“I’m glad you found it.”
She noticed his eyes shone, and a smile tugged at his lips. “Do you have news?”
“You’re a very bright girl,” he said. “I do indeed. I received a call from my investigator. He’s located the attorney.”
She held her breath. “And?”
“The lawyer refuses to reveal his client, but he told my agent where the money is located. My agent managed to discover that there’s quite a sum in the bank in San Francisco.”
“I told you I don’t care about the money. Ma—Josephine can have it.” In spite of her word choice, Addie realized she still thought of Josephine as her mother.
His smile flickered and went out. “She cannot, Adeline. It’s not right. That money belongs to you, and I mean to see you get it.”
She stood and shook out her skirt. “I just want the proof so we can tell my father the truth.”
“I want that as well. And we’re getting close. Another couple of days, I suspect.”
“I want to know more about my mother and the rest of my family. It’s hard to ask questions without appearing nosy.”
“Check out the attic. Some of her old dresses are probably packed away in trunks. Maybe pictures and diaries as well. There are traces of Laura around.”
Addie wanted to run straight to the attic and see what treasures it contained, but she restrained herself. She was expected at the breakfast table. “Won’t the family wonder what I’m doing poking around in the attic?”
“I doubt they’ll notice. No one but the servants ever goes up there.”
“I’ll find a time to slip up there, then. What about the attack on you? Any word from the police?”
“No.” He offered his arm, and she took it. He led her toward the back door. “I discovered the name of Henry’s rival. The one whose son committed suicide. Samuel Tuttle. He lives in Crescent City now.”
She stopped just shy of the door. “Near our lighthouse. Is it mere coincidence, or something more?”
“My question too. I think I’ll travel up to speak to Mr. Tuttle personally. He might be the culprit.”
Addie shuddered. “Revenge is so pointless. It can’t bring his son back.”
Mr. Driscoll held open the door for her. “Revenge can be sweet if the offense was grave enough. At least that’s what I’ve heard. Maybe that’s Tuttle’s view as well.”
“If he’ll admit it, at least we’d have our proof.” And her family would welcome her with open arms.