Rafe whistled down the stairs, his steps light. It had taken the better part of the day, but he’d managed to finish the gift for Hedley. He hoped she liked it. More than that, he hoped she loved it . . . and loved him still.
Giving the cask a pat for good luck, he strolled into the map room for a drink before dinner. Montwood was already at the sideboard, pouring three glasses, and Boris lay in front of the fire.
“What tune is that?” Montwood asked, turning to hand him a whiskey. His jaw was no longer swollen, but a faint purplish bruise lingered.
Rafe lowered the cask to the table and took the drink with a shrug. “Just a random melody.”
The cardsharp studied him. “You’re inordinately happy for someone who is about to lose a wager.”
And so he was, Rafe thought with a grin.
“Did I hear mention of someone losing the wager?” Everhart asked from the doorway, escorting his bride on his arm. “Do you see, my love, these matters tend to sort themselves out.”
“I never doubted it for a moment.” Calliope beamed, her gaze alighting on Rafe and then down to the box on the table. She let out a pleased gasp. “It’s Hedley’s cask. I’m so glad you purchased it. That horrible Mr. Lynch refused to give her a mere crown she’d asked for it, but only gave her half.”
“I paid considerably more, though I would not wish her to know.” Rafe kept his voice down and looked past Calliope and Everhart toward the doorway. “Where is she, by the way?”
Calliope gave him an odd look. “At Greyson Park, I imagine.”
“No, that is not possible.” He shook his head, lowering the glass to the table. They were teasing him, surely. But as he looked around, he saw no mockery. “She is supposed to be here. Did she not pay a call?”
“No,” Calliope said. “Valentine made no mention of her arrival when we saw him a moment ago.”
It did not make sense. Hedley should be here. “Mr. Tims said she’d come here.”
“Is something the matter?”
“Her sister and brother-in-law destroyed much of Greyson Park today. The house is unsafe. Are you saying that she never came here?” Panic surged through his heart, yet he felt sluggish and weighted. Rafe headed for the door, though he felt as if he were walking through waist-high mud. Please, don’t let it be true.
Calliope clutched his arm. “She did not. Where do you think she could be?”
“The house.”
“If Greyson Park is unsafe,” Montwood said from beside him, “then we must hurry.”
Boris let out a yawp and leapt to his feet. He was out the door before any of them. Everhart called out instructions to Valentine. Montwood headed for the stables for Quicksilver and Frit. Rafe started running.
The mire of dread within him gave way to terror and added an urgency to his strides that he’d never known before. Rafe raced across the acreage that separated their estates.
He whistled for Frit. By the time he was halfway there, his horse was beside him. Taking hold of his mane, he leapt onto his back. Montwood was a close second.
“Everhart and Calliope are bringing a carriage, just in case!” Montwood shouted.
By now, they all knew of Hedley’s fear, so the just in case would mean that they expected the direst of circumstances. Or perhaps they were hoping against it, as he was. They all loved Hedley. In such a short time she’d become part of their small family.
Greyson Park was dark. No smoke came from the chimney. The final glimmering light of day had disappeared beneath the horizon, leaving a faint purplish glow. He leapt off Frit and rushed to the door, kicking it open.
“Hedley!” He waited in the foyer for any answer. Any sound. But there was no response, only the creaking and groaning of the house. From what he could see, the small bench in the foyer was now broken in half, and there was a hole in the wall behind it, revealing the complete darkness beneath the stairs. Ursa and her husband must have returned to finish the job they’d started.
He cursed himself. He never should have left Hedley alone.
Montwood came in behind him and with an oath as well.
“Keep Calliope outside,” Rafe said. “It isn’t safe.”
Boris tore into the house and howled. Running toward the stairs, Rafe followed him, more by memory than by sight. There was scant light, enough to see that a few of the treads had been smashed and the railing torn away.
Boris turned down a hall and then stopped, sniffing the floor. Rafe opened the door and saw a bedchamber in disarray. Hedley wasn’t here. When he saw a trunk lying open, he realized that the mess around the room was the dresses from the crates at Fallow Hall. Now they littered the floor in torn scraps of fabric.
Ursa wouldn’t be satisfied until she took everything from her sister. Everything . . .
“Hedley!” he shouted again, panic seizing his heart.
Montwood was just coming up the stairs, shielding a taper with his hand. “You don’t think they took her, do you?”
“If they did, then I will need your help in covering up a murder.”
Boris turned toward the hall, ears quirked. In the next instant, he tore off in a scraping of claws against the hardwood. Rafe ran after him.
The servants’ passage had completely collapsed. The door splintered beneath the weight of the house.
Boris disappeared around the corner and released a low, mournful howl that turned Rafe’s blood to ice. The dog pawed at the attic door. The attic . . .
The knob was missing, leaving a hole behind.
“Hedley!” Rafe pounded on the door. There was no answer. He rammed it with his shoulder. The door wouldn’t budge. Of course, because he’d nailed it shut. Yet the fractured wood and a few exposed nail tips told him that someone had opened it recently.
Mad with desperation, he kicked in the door. It crashed open, hitting the wall behind it with a loud crack.
It was so dark that he didn’t see her at first. Not until Montwood came behind him with the candle. And then, she was standing just inside the doorway, tears streaming down her face. The most beautiful face he’d ever seen. She was alive.
Rushing in, he hauled her against him. “I shouldn’t have left. I’m so sorry, sweeting. It won’t happen again. I won’t let them take Greyson Park. They might believe they’ve destroyed it, but I’ll repair it brick by brick.” He would stand guard outside each day to make sure she was safe. He would never let them hurt her again.
“They won’t come back,” Hedley rasped, her voice nothing more than a raw breath. Lifting her hand to her throat, she tapped her fingertips against it. “Lost my voice . . . calling for you.”
He pressed his lips to her forehead to keep her from seeing the hot moisture stinging his eyes. She’d been calling for him, and he’d failed her.
Never again. “Then I’ll make sure that I’m never more than a whisper away,” he vowed.
She smiled at that, as if she thought he was teasing. He was prepared to correct her, but not with Montwood behind them. Even then, Rafe refused to let her go.
Montwood paused at the nails protruding from the doorframe. “What have they done—I’m going to kill them.”
Not if Rafe got to them first.
Hedley shook her head and let out something of a laugh as she lifted her hand for Montwood. “Not . . . worth it.”
“Don’t speak, sweeting. Save your voice.” Rafe had an important question for her . . . but it would have to wait until she could put this behind her. He didn’t want to overwhelm her.
She offered him a look of it’s too late for that.
And together they left for Fallow Hall.
After one of the longest days of her life and a soak in a steaming tub at Fallow Hall, Hedley donned a night rail and wrapper before curling up in the soft blue chair by the fire. She stared at the flames licking over the logs on the iron grate. While the heat of the fire touched her face and hands, it didn’t penetrate deep down inside her where she felt coldest.
Rafe’s words haunted her. “I won’t let them take Greyson Park. They might believe they’ve destroyed it, but I’ll repair it brick by brick.”
His main concern was Greyson Park. Of course, she’d known that all along. He’d never hidden it from her. So it made sense that he wanted to repair it and preserve his legacy. She understood his reasons. Especially now that she had seen, with her own eyes, what he strived so hard to keep safe.
Yet foolishly, her heart broke, knowing that he cared more for the house than he did for her.
Earlier, after trying for hours to open the attic door, she’d gone about searching the room as thoroughly as she could, hoping to find a secret panel that would lead her to a servants’ staircase. Unfortunately, she’d found nothing of the sort.
It wasn’t until the sun reached the west side of the house that she noticed the peculiar colored light slipping through windows. She’d thought they’d been boarded up. And they had . . . but not—as she assumed—for a lack of a window. No, they had been concealed on purpose.
Using all her strength, Hedley had managed to slip her fingers between the window casing and the warped board, where a nail had worked loose. With a screech of wood and metal, she’d succeeded. And then she stared, dumbfounded, at what she’d revealed.
Beautiful stained glass in a prism of bold, rich colors. A scene depicting a white-winged seraph placing a golden crown atop a bearded man’s head formed the center. Beneath it, letters spelled out Edward the Confessor. In that instant, she knew this was Rafe’s legacy. This window had once been part of King Henry III’s Painted Chamber. And what a legacy it was. His family were respected artisans, so valued that their work had been preserved all this time.
Now, it was a matter of proving it. Whether or not her love was unrequited, what mattered most to her was ensuring that Rafe’s ultimate goal was realized.
A soft knock sounded on the door before Calliope peered inside. “I hoped to catch you before you went to sleep.”
“I’m not likely to do that for some time. I’m too relieved to be here, among friends, to close my eyes”—and return to the darkness—“just yet.” She tried to suppress a shiver.
Calliope smiled as if in understanding. “You’ve been through a terrible ordeal, which is why I thought you could use a little cheer.”
Hedley blinked several times as she watched her friend lift a familiar rosewood box into view.
“My grandmother’s cask?” Her voice was still nothing more than a rasp. “But how did you—I hope you did not let that Mr. Lynch cajole you into paying a full crown for that, or I should be very cross. No matter how fond I am of you for the gesture.”
“It wasn’t me,” Calliope said, beaming with a secret smile as she placed it on Hedley’s lap. “It was Danvers. And I hope you don’t mind, but I peeked inside.”
Inside? Hedley stroked the fine wood grain before she lifted the tiny latch. Her breath caught in her throat. Six perfume bottles with stoppers. And not just any stoppers but beautiful crystal-clear glass that caught the firelight. Each one was in shape of a carnation.
“They’re . . . exquisite.” She touched the delicate blossoms gently with her fingertips, marveling over the detail, down to the clustered centers where the petals folded against one another.
“They’re his finest creation so far, in my opinion.” Calliope stood beside her, resting a hand on Hedley’s shoulder as they both gazed into the cask. “Then again, I believe artists create their finest works when inspiration comes from love.”
Hedley nodded absently. “He does love his work and rightfully so.”
“No, silly. You,” Calliope corrected with a laugh. “You are his inspiration. Surely you knew that already. Anyone can see it.”
That cold sadness spread through her. Not you, Hedley . . . “He may care for me, but he loves Greyson Park.”
“My dear sweet friend,” Calliope said as she patted her shoulder. “Remember, a gentleman’s heart is much simpler to understand if you listen to the things he doesn’t say.”