Chapter 12

Misty stood in front of Rosamund’s opulent home, noting once again at how beautiful it looked from the outside. It almost looked like a small palace, its large pillars holding it upright as the sun gleamed off the home’s many windows.

“Good afternoon, my lady. Miss Swire has been eagerly awaiting your arrival. May I show you to her at once?” the kind, raspy voice asked.

“Yes, thank you,” Misty replied, nodding slightly as she flashed a smile.

With that, she was headed toward uncertainty, a place that looked warm and welcoming, but she knew the person behind it all was anything but. As the butler opened the front door, Misty followed behind closely, amazed at how the magnificence of the interior far succeeded the exterior.

“This way, my lady,” he said.

They walked slowly down a long hallway, its olive tiles paving the way like colored bricks with patterns etched into them. The walls were a beige color, with a decorative finish that showcased beautiful, vibrant flowers throughout the long corridor. Several portraits hung on those walls, most likely portraying the lineage of Rosamund’s family.

One of the portraits was a painting of an older, refined woman from years past. She and Rosamund looked alike in some ways, but the smile on the old woman’s face seemed more sincere than any Misty had seen on Rosamund’s face since she arrived in Wyoming. She hadn’t realized that she had stopped moving, entirely captured by the image of the woman.

“There you are,” said a familiar voice.

Misty turned, her heart falling as she saw Rosamund. “I’m so sorry, Miss Swire. I didn’t see you there.”

“Oh, there’s no reason to apologize,” Rosamund said, an exaggerated smile creasing her lips. “I see you are admiring this particular painting. This was my great grandmother. She is said to have ruled this family with an iron fist for decades. Of course the men will never admit to such a thing,” she added, laughing loudly at her own remark.

Misty smiled out of courtesy, but she must have left her sense of humor at home, because nothing about Rosamund seemed funny to her in the slightest. Rosamund stood there beside Misty, talking to her as if they were friends, but Misty knew otherwise. There had to be a reason that she was invited.

“Shall we retire to the parlor for tea and cakes?” Rosamund asked, still smiling brightly.

“That would be splendid,” Misty said with a forced smile. It was a tiresome game to pretend to be so happy all the time, but it was a routine to which she had grown accustomed.

Rosamund now stood at the end of the hallway, only a few feet away from the portrait of her great grandmother. She motioned for Misty to enter as the butler walked by, and then walked toward a setting of chairs.

Misty sat in the chair opposite of Rosamund, placing her purse on the floor beside her. She was unable to keep her eyes from wandering around the room. The far end was lined with two pillars at its entrance, while a large, beautiful fireplace stood front and center on the wall. “This is quite lovely,” she said.

“Thank you,” Rosamund said “I just wanted to meet with you to welcome you to town. Are you finding it suitable?”

“Yes, it is much different to San Francisco, but a refreshing change of scenery nonetheless.”

On the table sat a small tray of cakes. They were small, square-shaped pastries with four smaller squares on them which alternated between red and white.

“You must try one,” Rosamund said.

Misty wondered what Rosamund was up to. She knew the woman had her heart set on Cody and that Cody’s mother was encouraging the match. Cody had told her so at the ball. And while she trusted Cody completely, she did not trust Miss Rosamund Swire, not one little bit. Still, the woman was hardly likely to poison her, so she reached out for a cake.

The cakes, however, were set on a table out of her reach. Rosamund picked up a single cake already deposited on a fine porcelain plate and extended it to Misty. As Misty touched the plate, it fell to the ground. It was clear to Misty that Rosamund had deliberately dropped the plate

“Would you call for a maid?” Rosamund asked. “The bell is on the wall just outside the parlor.”

Misty swallowed hard. What was Rosamund up to? There was a bell next to Rosamund, after all. Still, Misty could hardly point that out, so she walked out of the room to ring the bell for the maid.

Misty returned and was about to take her seat, when Rosamund stood up abruptly. “Our meeting is over. I do have another pressing appointment.”

“Thank you for your invitation.”

“My pleasure, my pleasure entirely,” Rosamund said, looking smug and pleased with herself. “Carson will show you out.”

Misty was unsure what to make of such an odd encounter. Misty picked up her purse and followed Carson to the door. She was increasingly anxious. Something about the entire meeting had felt wrong, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on the reason. Perhaps it was nothing, she thought.