The Sapphire Heiress (The Silver Order #1)

6 The Hunt

Chapter Six

The Hunt

T hroughout the day, Mae found herself staring longer than usual—for whole minutes at a time until something caught her attention and forced her to look up.

Mr. Locke’s presence had become all-consuming. Her questions never seemed to still.

What had he been searching for in her father’s office and what parts of Mrs. Dorris’s tale were true? There had to have been something. Was it not her father who’d told her that all tales, no matter how wild or abstract, always had some basis in truth? He, who—like the servants—had warned her never to venture into the Northern Woods?

She was restless. Her only hope for calm was her afternoon rides, which Mrs. Rosewood had hesitantly allowed. Out there in the fresh air, she felt like her old self again. Even the harsh, cool winds of early spring soothed her.

Beyond the misty hills, the faintest glimmer of sea enticed her forward. Beyond that was a world she could scarcely imagine, a place that seemed exclusive to Mr. Locke.

She envied him the privilege, of all that he had seen. The icy mountains of Sweden, perhaps? The deserts of Africa? Likely not a single dull moment .

She pulled back on the reins, the vastness of the green, gray moors no more. In her aimless ride, she had somehow led herself to the edge of the Northern Woods. She kneed Thomas an inch closer toward the tall, pillar-like trees, a strange sensation coming over her. Rather than the repulsion she’d felt all those times before, she felt drawn to its danger.

Mae searched the horizon like she might search a face for answers. Before her with the trees casting strange shadows and the eerie silence all around, the woods seemed more haunted than ever.

If not for the betrothal ensnaring him in reality, she might not believe Mr. Locke existed at all. That night of the storm, he’d seemed more like a ghost. The kind that appeared only at dark when one was alone.

Possibility had seemed so ripe then and she had failed to seize it. More likely, she never would. She was not one to take such bold actions anymore. That night, breaking decorum should have seemed easier with him, a man who was less so a gentleman.

In a coming breeze, the collective rustling of leaves resonated low and vast. Strange shadows flickered. When the crows began to caw, she needed no further warning. She twisted Thomas round and raced back to the manor with vigor.

Miss Rosewood awaited her at the stables. Perfectly poised in a new pink, muslin gown, she brushed the mane of her pristine, white mare.

“Miss Blackthorne!” She ran forward.

Mae brought Thomas to a walk and dismounted.

“Oh,” Mae gasped when Miss Rosewood took her in with a tight embrace.

“You will not believe what has happened.” Miss Rosewood pulled back. “Mr. Locke has proposed. I am officially engaged!”

Mae’s breath seemed to escape all at once, suffocating her for a moment. She should not have been so disappointed. She should feel nothing but the utmost joy for her pupil. Miss Rosewood expected it.

Her mind worked for something to say. She had to say something wise, something optimistic, but the words seemed impossible to conjure. She resented the very thought of marriage. A feeling so strong, it frightened her. When had she become so bitter? When, exactly, had her life become so hopeless that even love seemed dismal?

That day you became a governess , a voice answered. Men married for money and status, not love. A truth that dragged her down with the weight of a thousand stones.

Miss Rosewood, unfortunately, was not oblivious to Mae’s less-than-thrilled moods. Her gazes directed at her governess had often dripped with pity. “Father will throw the grandest ball.” In Miss Rosewood’s round, green eyes, the same pity caught Mae again. “Promise me you’ll attend.”

Mae shook her head. She could not endure all the familiar faces. She absolutely refused.

“But why?”

“Must I explain?” Mae turned to the horizon. Though it had been a beautiful violet that day, she saw nothing.

“Do you really want to be a governess forever? When Lenore’s married off, what will you do?”

“Seek another post, of course.”

“But surely, you don’t want that.”

“Then my only escape is what? Marriage?”

Mae didn’t fear solitude. Rather, she feared a life of poverty of shameful begging and charity.

“I meant you could meet someone. You could fall in love.”

Something in Mae responded to that remark, but she could not forget how sheltered Miss Rosewood was. Miss Rosewood had never experienced the harsh realities of life, nor did she understand the sacrifices of marriage.

Now wasn’t a good time to speak ill of love, though. Seeking marriage was the point of every young girl’s existence, particularly those of consequence.

“Promise me you’ll attend,” Miss Rosewood asked more sternly.

Mae stared on, silent.

“Please? Just so I could introduce you to my cousins. They have heard so much about you in my letters. They don’t mind that you’re—”

Mae snapped away. Worse than cruelty sometimes was kindness. She didn’t want it. “Forgive me.”

The concern in Miss Rosewood’s eyes didn’t last longer than a moment. How could it when she was only a step away from freedom?

“If you but knew how it feels…” With another wide, unable-to-contain smile, the naive pupil grasped Mae’s hands. “I love him.”

Mae studied her face so full of triumph. Miss Rosewood didn’t even know what love was. And neither did she, for that matter.

“You must meet him!” Miss Rosewood linked their arms and dragged Mae toward the manor.

“I mustn’t.” Mae wanted to pull back, but she found her feet stepping forward, eager to see Mr. Locke, if but for one more moment.

Entering the tearoom, however, Mae immediately regretted it. Mrs. Rosewood sat tall at the end of the settee in her best gown, the sea of grass-green taffeta far too much for the occasion.

Porcelain clinked atop the table.

“Clarissa.” Mrs. Rosewood stood up and tugged her from Mae’s arm. “Your father and Mr. Locke will be back at any moment.” She wrinkled her nose. “Have you been in the stables again?”

“I must introduce Miss Blackthorne, Mother.”

Mrs. Rosewood seemed about to object when Mr. Rosewood entered through double glass doors. Behind him, an even more distressing man followed.

“Mr. Locke,” Mae said, uneasy.

By then, it was much too late to disappear. He would finally know her family name. Why had she been so foolish, so curious for another glance? So lost was she in that desire, the consequences had not even occurred to her.

She wrung her hands and looked down at the carpet. She was tired of the embarrassing stories that passed around the neighborhood like a bad cough. The fact that he would soon know them too made her want to dissolve away. Like all the times she passed the servants and they stilled in their chatter, she felt herself trembling. Be stronger; don’t care; just survive , she told herself. But that wasn’t living, was it?

Mrs. Rosewood shot her a hard look, probably planning punishment later, as Mae had spoken out of turn. “Yes, this is Mr. Ethan Locke. Mr. Locke, this is Miss Mae Blackthorne, my daughters’ governess.”

At the mention of her name, Mae waited for a bewildered expression, but Mr. Locke betrayed none. He swept back and gave a bow. Today, he wore a waistcoat of black and gold buttons, his scandalous tattoos hidden from view.

“How do you do?” he said with all the manner of a gentleman. Except for the slightest hint of self-scorn, he played the part well.

As if there was any hope of improving her appearance, Mae tucked back her wild strands of hair and gave a quick curtsey in return. Her skirts, she realized as she lifted them, were covered with splashes of mud and she was certain some covered her face. She could feel the splotches crack as she forced a smile.

Mr. Locke, polite as ever, smiled back, but unlike their last meeting, his eyes were lifeless.

What had she been thinking, agreeing to meet him now? Even if it hadn’t been Mr. Locke before her, she was mortified. She could barely summon the words to speak.

“She is quite the horsewoman, as you can see.” Miss Rosewood strode over and touched his arm.

He flinched ever so slightly but covered it with a cough. “Yes, I can see that.”

“If I had known—”

“Clarissa, what were you saying earlier about a possible foxhunt this week?” Mrs. Rosewood returned to the tea service and began to pour.

“Oh, yes. I daresay I shall impress you with my equestrian skills, Mr. Locke. Miss Blackthorne’s advice in addition to my lesson has improved my skills vastly. She’s won many local races and she too has been trained by the best.”

“I would be happy to witness her skills—in addition to your own—firsthand come Thursday.” His gaze connected with Mae’s and held firm.

“Oh.” Mrs. Rosewood cleared her throat. The invitation was clearly not her intent in changing topic. “If that would please you, sir.”

Mae trembled at the idea. She must refuse. But instead, she was nodding. “I shall look forward to it.”

Mrs. Rosewood’s eyes widened, a sneer overtaking across her face. She quickly fixed it and turned to Mr. Locke.

“How do you take your tea?” she asked him.

Rather than await her own offer, which would surely never come, Mae curtsied again. She was desperate to take her leave.

“Excuse me. It was wonderful meeting you.” With a quick glance in Mr. Locke’s direction, she rushed out of the room.

In the windowless hall, a heavy darkness came over her. She could hear shrieks of laughter echo down the hall. Why couldn’t Mae find that same confidence?

She had had it once. Not more than a year prior, she could command an entire room, practice well the art of conversation. But stripped of her jewels, gowns, and fortune, her confidence had dwindled to nothing.

With a sigh, she stilled her fervent steps and steadied herself against the banister. She was still cringing from the look Mrs. Rosewood had directed at Mae after his invitation. She had been expected to decline.

What had caused her to accept? Perhaps Mr. Locke had drawn something out of her. Something that had been building since his arrival. Something dangerous.

*

Mae pulled on her cracked and faded riding boots, her stomach twisting in a tight ball of excitement. For the entire morning before the hunt, she couldn’t help but give in to her daydreams. In her thoughts, she had grasped him and so much more that night in the office. Now she might have another chance. Miss Rosewood and the rest of the family would be miles away. She saw only herself and Mr. Locke surrounded by bare, leafless trees with just enough cover to… She bit her lip, stifling the thought. How could she think like this? It was so wrong. As a governess, she must be stalwart and chaste at all times. She would display her skills, perhaps offer a tip or two, and that would be it. She would not endeavor to enjoy the excursion, either. That way, she could not be disappointed.

Not even when she arrived at the stables and found herself alone. Her stomach dropped. Had they left already? She would not be surprised if they had. But why hadn’t she heard any of the dogs or the guns?

Still unsure, she headed toward Richie, a rather scrawny young man, who was sweeping one of the stalls. A harsh wind brushed past her, bringing with it the sharp scent of manure. Despite the cloudless sky, it was not a good day for a ride, anyway.

She started. A figure appeared out of nowhere, blocking her path.

“Good morning to you.” Mr. Locke walked along the stalls, stopping at a beautiful chestnut gelding that was quite intimidating in size.

“I’ll require my mount,” he said to Richie, who rushed to oblige .

“Have you heard from the others?”

“I’m afraid none of them are coming.”

“Is everything all right?”

“It was upon my request.” The smallest trace of a smile on his lips. “I said I was feeling a bit under the weather and they elected to go to town instead.”

Mae was silent. She did not know what to think, what to do. For a moment, she simply stood there.

“Where is your horse?”

Mae looked to the stall across from her. Following her gaze, he went inside. Mae watched, stunned, as he proceeded to pick up her saddle and throw it over Thomas.

“I don’t understand.” She entered the stall in a daze. “What are you doing?”

“Saddling your horse. Today, you shall have a riding companion.”

“I don’t want one.” Mae ripped off her gloves. “It will seem odd and people talk, you know, and—”

“They always do.”

“I have a lot more to lose than my reputation, Mr. Locke. Mrs. Rosewood might—”

“I insist.” He tightened the saddle straps.

“I’m afraid I must decline.”

For some rebellious reason, he would not accept the imprudence of all this. The sharpened edge to her voice only seemed to rile him. He veered toward her with such a look of determination, she stepped back.

“I care little for these rules.”

“Well, I do. I must set a good example for Miss Rosewood.” Of course he was too much of a brute to realize that unlike some people who went rummaging through offices, she had a moral code.

“Even after all you have endured?”

Mae clenched her gloves. Of course he’d brought up her past. He was bound to.

Her only defense was to feign ignorance. “I don’t catch your meaning.”

“Why should you abide by society’s dictates?” he asked. “Society’s shunned you. After losing your fortune, they have left you to live what really isn’t a life at all.”

Mae wished he would cease all this. She had expected him to find out the scandalous tale from any number of people but never did she think he would speak about it with her, much less come to her defense. Once she’d thought it better to have all the gossip that way, behind her back. Now she wasn’t so sure. It felt freeing to have it out in the open, like she was more than just some caricature rather than a person.

He was right, of course. All of her friends—the ones who had gone with her to dinner parties and balls and who had made frequent calls for tea—had abandoned her at the mere rumor her business had been in trouble.

“It doesn’t fit you, a life obeying orders.” He curled his lip. “You don’t belong here like this. Rather, I think you’re fit for someplace else.”

“And where is that?” she demanded. Even if she had the courage to leave, she certainly hadn’t the means.

“Do you really not know anything about where your mother’s from?”

Mae stared ahead.

“I think you’d like it. I know I did.”

“You’ve been there?” She blinked. Of course he had. She wanted to ask so many questions. Mr. Locke nodded. “What I remember most are the sunsets. How they make the ocean look like a pearl. And at night, there are so many firebugs, the island practically glows.”

“What were you there for?”

“Work.” He quirked a brow. “I’m well-traveled. So was your father.”

“I’m aware.” Mae let out an exasperated breath. Whom would he mention next? William and his travels? All it had ever brought to him had been pain. She felt that ice water again, beginning in her heart and spreading outward across her chest.

“Maybe you don’t belong here, in such constraints.”

“Why do you say these things to me?” Despite herself, her voice croaked.

Mid-motion, he stilled. “I didn’t mean it as a slight.” He snapped the final buckle in place. “What I mean to say is that I, myself, care not for rules. Especially those that get in my way.”

Mae stepped back as if the words themselves had reached out and groped her.

“Please,” Mae ground out. “Leave at once.”

He laughed. “Still playing governess, I see.”

Mae’s cheeks flamed with offense. She had been quite wrong in coming here. She had not been thinking clearly. She had been consumed by his presence and now his words. “You don’t belong here like this. Rather, I think you’re fit for someplace else.”

It was a longing she’d carried every day, whether she admitted it or not. Her father, mother, and brother had all traveled from place to place, so why not she? Traveling was in her blood. But Mr. Locke had been the only one to confirm it, the only one to see the part of her eager for something better, no matter how difficult or scary that path may be. No matter how endless. His bold honesty made her long for something different, something new, burn brighter. A hopeless flame that had nothing on which to burn.

“I thought you wanted answers about me and my associations with your family. That night in your father’s office, you were pretty eager.”

Mae hesitated, her heart ticking with both excitement and fear. She wasn’t sure she liked the word “eager,” but she nodded nonetheless. “I do.”

“Very well, then.” Mr. Locke tipped his head toward her horse.

She did not like games like these. The stables, though empty, seemed suddenly full of onlookers. At any moment, the Rosewoods or some loose-lipped servant might appear. From there, rumor would carry like fire in the wind. Richie alone was enough cause for concern.

If they were to continue to speak in this manner, it could not be done here.

She hoped whatever he had to say, he would relay at once before the Rosewoods returned. She didn’t know what consequences awaited governesses who went on morning rides with engaged men—and a man betrothed to her own pupil, no less. It wasn’t respectable. Nor dull or uptight. She hated the rules. She wanted to forget them all. Pretend decent society didn’t exist. Beside him, it seemed easier to do.

Mae shot Mr. Locke a hard glare, then, mounting Thomas, raced out into the fields. Did he really think she was fit for someplace else? The words should have provoked bitter shame for all she had once been and for all she was fated to become. Instead, she felt mad with excitement, as if maybe she was something more than a penniless governess with only fond memories of the past to keep her warm.

She couldn’t forget her position in life, the horse that didn’t truly belong to her anymore, nor the cotton dress that had replaced her silk ones. She struggled not to slump out of her tall posture. One look at her and it was evident why Mr. Locke was marrying Miss Rosewood. Her pupil was proof that respected family names and money did not always go hand in hand, but if there was one that could stand on its own, it was money.

Mr. Locke closed in, a loud crunching of grass indicating his proximity. She tried so hard to be brave, but her stomach still wrenched with worry. What would happen if the Rosewoods returned early? What possible explanation would she have, would he have?

“You had some business with my father.” Mae severed the silence. “ Alastair Blackthorne. He died, you know, in the winter of ’35.”

Locke remained silent.

“If he owes you some debt. It can’t be repaid.”

“There is no debt.” This was a surprise. “What other reason have you to speak with me alone like this?”

“Seeing that you are the true lady of the estate, I thought I might indulge you with its fate.” He cleared his throat. “My marriage to Miss Rosewood means I will be the estate’s new master… at least while the Rosewoods are in town.”

“Mr. Rosewood will give you full rein?”

“It’s the least he could do for taking the whole of my land. So you can rest assured the estate will be in better hands.”

“What does that matter?” Mae snapped her gaze away.

“Because. If you care not for the estate, then why are you here? The question has plagued me for days now. After your descent to governess, do the memories not overwhelm you?”

“At times, but—”

“You’d rather stay?”

“How could I leave? I thought…” She fought to keep her words steady. “Childish though it may be, I feel safe here.”

“Why, you’re holding on to something you should have resigned years ago. Change is—”

“Inevitable? I know. No matter if I stay here or not, I’ll pass on. The estate, all the generations before me, the legacy they hoped would last forever will cease to exist, everything to be forgotten.”

Mae looked out into the distance, where a line of trees met the pale-blue morning sky. A bright green was already beginning to make its way across the branches and the dead silence of winter was no more. Weaving in and out of the sky, birds chirped one by one, each adding different notes, pitches, and rhythms to the first.

She wondered why Mr. Locke cared to tell her this at all. How easily it seemed to wash away her previous notions of him .

“Have you fallen for the beauty of the home too?” she asked. “Is that why you wish to marry Miss Rosewood?”

He gave a little laugh. “Material things have little sway over me, Miss Blackthorne.”

“I know you do not love her.”

He smiled, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “How do you know that?”

“You’ve met her all but once and you two have barely even talked,” she said with outrage. “Not to mention the utter lack of compatibility.”

“Oh?”

“Because of the life you lead,” Mae explained.

“And what life is that?”

“One that must be far from dull, to put it kindly.”

“Bristol is my home too. Why not settle here after my travels? Ever consider that?”

Mae lifted her shoulders. He had successfully put her in her place. But she had yet to run out of questions. She half-opened her mouth to ask another—particularly about his travels—when he interrupted.

“But alas, you are right. I do not love her.”

“Then—Then…” Anger lit inside her like a torch. “Why must you do it? If you have no want of fortune…”

“I have my reasons.”

Mae opened and shut her mouth. She wanted to convince him to do otherwise, but what hope had she of that?

“Do you think me incapable of making her happy?” He pulled back in evident outrage.

“Of course I do. You do not love her. If I could keep her from you, I would.”

“You must have a very ill opinion of me…and care for her a great deal, too, I suppose.” He raked a hand through his hair, his face full of thought .

“She may not be beautiful enough to tempt a duke, but she has enough wit and generosity of heart to make any man willing to see that happy enough.”

“You think I cannot grow to love her?”

Was he teasing her now? Mae gripped the reins so tightly, she feared the leather might melt in her hands. “I happen to think a man like you incapable of loving anything.”

The rogue jerked in his saddle. “‘A man like me’?”

“Yes.” Mae kept her chin high and her words strong. “You haven’t the manners fit for a saloon. Like Mr. and Mrs. Rosewood, you have not a hint of decency. You know nothing of honor, dignity, or kindness, let alone love. Like I said, you are incapable of it.” As soon as the words had left her lips, she regretted them. Nonetheless, she followed it up with a weak mumble. “I am sure of it.”

What about the shelter he offered me that night in the storm? she immediately thought. Then again, what about the night I caught him in my father’s office?

Mr. Locke shifted his horse closer so that he brushed against her. Then, taking her gaze, he held it. “Unwilling, perhaps. But incapable, no.” His eyes held a feverish, lewd gleam, sending her imagination flying.

She shook herself free of the thoughts at once. She couldn’t forget where he’d be mere months from now: in Miss Rosewood’s arms.

Frankly, Mae had given up on any notion of love long ago. His warm, brown eyes were nothing to be fawned over. Not even his smiles.

“We’re near your woods.” Mae slowed her pace. The wall of trees loomed higher, their limbs stretching toward the bright, cloudless sky. “You can leave me.”

“It is a warm day.” Mr. Locke’s hard gaze fixed ahead. “Some shade would do you good. For a moment at least.”

Mae knew she should refuse. The forest offered far too much privacy. She had to say no . But on this path of defiance, there seemed no hope of slowing. Without a word, she galloped ahead.

Just as she entered the darkness, Mr. Locke, who trailed behind, called out. The shout dissipated, unintelligible, within the confinement of trees.