The Sapphire Heiress (The Silver Order #1)

17 William

Chapter Seventeen

William

M ae gripped a clump of smooth silk. The images of the nightmare were still fresh in her mind. She let out a calming breath, trying to ground herself back to the present. She saw the same cellar that had stolen away much of her sleep these last few days. But never before like this.

Illuminated by the weak flicker of candle, Ellsworth loomed over her knife in hand, his gaze narrow and mischievous. She felt his repeated blows, the way the blade broke through her flesh. Things she had never before remembered. She didn’t know how bad it had truly been. The fear she had felt.

Tears sprang in her eyes, terror filling her again. She hoped Pierce’s men had captured Ellsworth and that he wasn’t still out there. In the midst of all that, what might have happened to Miss Rosewood? There was still so much that could go wrong.

Locke’s near-death had almost broken her. That familiar pain she’d endured with William had returned, fresh and raw again. She couldn’t bear it. Even now, she felt its effects as sharp as the day she had discovered her brother’s body. Like shards of glass, dread still lingered in the pit of her stomach.

She released the sheets and touched her cheek. What was sure to be an ugly bruise ached with pain. She wanted to forget everything about the day before, worrying instead about the day ahead.

She sat up. Drapes of the richest velvet disguised day or night, she wasn’t sure. Across a rug-covered floor, a marble fireplace radiated gentle heat. With a chandelier and cavernous, ribbed ceiling, not even the antiquity of Blackthorne Manor could compare.

Locke was nowhere to be seen, but at least they were in this place together. Whatever would befall him would befall her too. Despite all that had happened and could still happen, she found solace in that reminder.

She supposed she had woken up in worse condition. She clutched her arms as if to make sure she was indeed wholly intact. She still wore her dress, smelling again the salt of the sea. She had been too tired to remove it. At the very least it was dry by now. In a place like this, however, it would not do.

Pulling the bell, not one but several servants arrived. Like a parade, they carried goods befitting her royal surroundings: kettle after kettle of steaming water, bars of soap, whole sprigs of lavender, and a large, copper tub. Two women stayed behind, presumably to help her wash.

But where was Locke? When would he come up to see her? When would he explain what was to happen?

Despite her persistence, the servants ignored her questions. They worked in silence, splashing water into the tub and burning incense in each corner of the room.

She breathed in the thick, heady soup of smoke. It was a strange, crisp aroma. She recognized cleansing lavender and soothing chamomile, but there was something else she couldn’t place. She breathed it in deeper, trying to figure it out.

Each time, her panicky urge to ask questions lessened. The conflicts of the last few days drained away. Somehow, it was easy to forget. Rather than fight, she simply let the servants do as they would.

They stripped off her clothes and directed her into the bath.

With each exhale, she fell deeper into relaxation. It was like being seduced. She had no choice but to surrender. Why not enjoy it?

Her troubles were distant now. They couldn’t touch her, not here. Here, she had no need to think. Here, her mind had been emptied.

Hands reworked her braids, buckets poured over her head, her skin scrubbed with soap.

Between tangles of smoke, she took in the ornamental gold that edged the ceiling. Just about every piece of furniture was draped with velvets, furs, and piles of pillows. She wanted to rub her cheek over each of them. But moving from the tub seemed impossible—a task she would rather not do.

When the smoke finally cleared, she found herself blinking as if waking from a long, undisturbed sleep.

Reluctantly and with pruned hands, she lifted herself from the water’s clutches. In a methodical routine she remembered faintly, servants gathered round her. They laced up her corset and bodice with easy precision and pinned up her braids.

She was still too dazed to speak or ask questions, but with each breath of fresh air, she could feel herself returning to normalcy.

The silence, save for the gentle cracking of the fire, continued.

She was almost glad for it. Regardless of what had produced it—be it the calmed warmth of the bath or the sharply scented incense—she’d needed that hour of relaxation. Her frayed nerves that had once felt beyond repair were finally recuperating.

In fact, she’d never felt better. Standing there, she felt every bit of the woman she had once been. Looking up into the mirror, she almost didn’t recognize herself. She was struck by the finery draped over her. Never had she seen quite this shade of purple both dark and luxurious, nor the kind of corded lace that capped her shoulders. Chantilly, perhaps? She couldn’t be sure.

Between her fingers, she traced the delicately sewn floral design. Surprisingly light, row after row of lace draped down the entirety of the skirt. Hours of work Mae didn’t want to imagine. Wearing it, she didn’t even mind the bruise that marred her face.

“Be bringing you down to Mr. Locke shortly…”

The servant, a freckled woman younger than herself, grinned at Mae in the mirror. She had noticed her friendly demeanor early on and had been grateful for it. If anyone was to give her relief from worry, it was she.

“Wonderful.” Mae was sure the dress could induce the same stares she’d achieved the night of the ball. The simple yet elegant design suited her perfectly. Not an inch of fabric needed to be taken in.

“How did they know my size so exactly?”

“Oh, yes, that.” The maid yanked the bodice strings tighter before tying. “You need not worry yerself with thoughts of the like. You’d sooner go mad. They just be knowing things ’round here.”

Mae wondered what secrets, if any, the woman might be privy to. Did she even know what this place was? Despite a sudden urge to ask, Mae held her tongue. She focused again on her dress, twisting back and forth at the waist, allowing the material to swirl around her.

“The dress suits you very well.” The servant stepped back to take in the sight. From her extended gaze, Mae knew she was being sincere. Though it gave her no added confidence.

When the maid led her down a flight of stairs, her nervousness was building. She had no idea what to expect or what she might need to be prepared for. Would there be fighting or mere surrender?

In a parlor well-lit by a series of windows, Locke had been pacing. At her arrival, he paused and for longer than what was polite, took her in. So much needed to be said, so many concerns that itched to leave her tongue. But with Pierce hovering, they could do no more than exchange meaningful glances.

Compared to his previous state, Locke seemed to have shifted into the skin of a different man altogether. In a pale-blue waistcoat, he had strayed from his usual darker shades into Pierce’s more eccentric fashion taste. The color more than suited him—it brightened his features.

“You are well rested, I hope?” Pierce asked.

“I’m fine,” she answered absently. She preferred to study Locke a moment longer but couldn’t think of anything to say.

“I’m glad to hear.” Glancing back and forth between his two guests, Pierce seemed to notice everything. No longer in his black cloak, he was dressed like any other gentleman of wealth in cool, silver buttons and patterned, red silk. He was no longer a dangerous enemy, but an eager host.

“Are you a recent acquaintance of Mr. Locke?” Pierce asked Mae without so much as tilting his head in Locke’s direction.

Locke sniffed. Pierce was teasing her. He knew they had become so much more than acquaintances. What he was really implying was that she worked quickly.

Mae felt herself flush. The time between them had been short, but it hardly seemed like an acquaintance of only a couple of weeks. Acquaintances spent dinner and afternoons together, not the whole of their days and nights. She didn’t want to be just an acquaintance, either. These past few days seemed to account for something deeper.

She settled on saying, “Somewhat.”

Pierce led her to the settee, where further interrogation would no doubt begin. Smoothing out her skirts, she made herself smile. She would be pleasant at least for a little while.

“Tell me the story of how you met,” said Pierce, still standing beside Locke.

Dear lord… Mae flushed again. This man was making it seem as though she and Locke were engaged to be married. She was almost angry when a worse realization dawned. Beneath all his words and forcefulness seemed an undercurrent of menace, an ulterior motive to get at something else.

“In a storm,” Locke answered for her.

“A storm, you say? My, must be quite the tale. ”

“But surely not so interesting as yours,” Mae put in before another question could come. Taking in the room’s details, it was clear the man had an obsession.

Like her room, relics of no doubt priceless value decorated on every table, shelf, and bit of floor space, giving the room an ancient yet wild allure. Almost like a treasure room. Perhaps that was what the place was.

“You have quite the assortment of antiquities,” Mae remarked. She would gladly accept the challenge of naming the culture and time period of each piece. She recognized the Greek vases first with their distinct warrior caricatures drawn in black. On the opposite wall hung a floral tapestry that seemed to speak of Italy or Madrid. The stone statues set into the walls were more difficult to place. If anything, the place seemed part Spanish monastery with its rich, wooden furniture and, given the room’s gold-trimmed ceiling and classical paintings, part LouisXVI of Versailles.

“This place is centuries old.” He gestured grandiosely. “The ruins they were built upon date back even further.”

Mae swallowed at the historical significance. The place was a bloody museum. Though no one had ever paid any mind to style or consistency, the room was no less extravagant. If not pleasing, it was at least the most intriguing room she had ever seen.

“Perhaps after tea, you’d like a tour?” Pierce asked.

“A tour? A tour of what?” Locke flinched, allowing Mae to slip from his gaze. He glowered at Pierce. “Surely, you mean the outer gardens.”

“God, no. What do you take me for? I mean to show her this very building. Every significant room.”

Mae expected Locke to say, “Splendid,” or something of that variety. Instead, he knitted his brows. “Do you really think that would be appropriate? For an outsider, I mean…”

“‘An outsider’?” Pierce gasped. “Nonsense. ”

Mae questioned the word too. Most likely, he meant anyone outside this secret society. Nevertheless, it had been a word she’d resented all her life.

Locke argued further, but Mae ignored this. She eyed the tea service ready for her to indulge in. The sight was repulsive. How could she so much as take a sip when Miss Rosewood was in their grasp somewhere? At least she presumed as much. The way Pierce’s men had gone after the pair left few other outcomes.

“Forgive me.” She sharpened her voice to a razor’s edge. “I am rather concerned about my pupil Miss Rosewood.”

“My apologies for not informing you sooner,” Pierce replied. “She is quite safe, I assure you. As soon as we get a handle on things, we shall release her.”

“‘Release her’?” Mae shot up from her seat. “Do you mean to say she is locked away?” How her own situation was much different, though, she couldn’t say.

Pierce opened his mouth then exchanged a look with Locke. “No need to fret. I can attest to her comfort myself.”

“I must see her. She is my responsibility.” Mae gathered her skirts. “Now, please.”

“My dear.” Pierce sought to calm her with a cooing yet sardonic voice. “There are other matters we must attend to first. Ellsworth—”

“Keep him, for all I care, but release Miss Rosewood at once.”

“Mae.” Locke placed a hand on hers, searing her skin. “She’s on Ellsworth’s side now. She made that clear on the coast.”

Mae snapped her hand away. “I just need to speak with her. Miss Rosewood may be na?ve, but she’s not—”

“Pierce will release her. In time. I’ve struck a deal. Pierce has agreed to let you go as well. He will handle Ellsworth too.”

“What? Why? In exchange for what?” Nothing, especially here, could come for free. “For the sapphire?”

“I’ve already relinquished the stone.” Locke pulled at his cuffs, unable to meet her gaze.

“Then what? What will you exchange?”

“I’ve agreed to join them.” Locke set his jaw.

“You what?” Her voice came out high and urgent. Had this all been for nothing? He couldn’t do that, not after all they had been through, not with how much she— bloody hell . She caught herself.

Clutching at her neck, she sank back into the settee. When had this happened? Had it been in the theater? That day at the coast? As early as their first meeting in the forest? Whenever it had been, she’d felt the full force of it when she’d seen him bleeding on that rock. At that moment, she’d been willing to kill for him. No one could separate them. The thought she couldn’t endure then, she couldn’t endure now.

“It is a small price,” Locke reaffirmed. “I am to travel the world, just as I’ve always done. I am to look after their ships.”

“But—”

Before Mae could form her plea, Pierce cleared his throat. “Of course, you two need not be parted. If you are interested, we’d gladly accept you too, miss.”

Locke cast her a hard, pointed look. This place must have been just as sinister as she thought. Or perhaps he wanted to stay, to be parted from her for good, to return to his true lover: the sea. Her breath caught in her throat.

“No.” She swallowed a heavy lump of hurt. “Keep your deal.”

“As you wish.” Pierce bowed his head in concession. “Now you must be ravenous.” He leaned over the tray. “How do you take your tea?”

Tea? Mae wanted to snort. How long was he going to keep up these pleasantries? Everyone in the room knew they were little more than prisoners. The thought made her want to scream. “ Really , sir.”

Pierce jerked upright—as anyone might have, given her extreme rudeness. But she would not be fooled by his kindness. He had no right to imprison them like this and Mae would not let him forget it.

“Have I done something?” Pierce asked stupidly.

Out of the corner of Mae’s eye, Locke had stepped closer.

“I don’t trust you,” she said.

“Of course not. Such things don’t happen instantaneously. You must try, though. Truly, I mean to be your friend. I want to protect you from this Ellsworth chap. Give you some justice.”

“‘Justice’? I can only assume you mean death.”

“Yes, but…” Pierce held up a finger in pause. “We have a rule here. I must know the facts. I must know everything.”

“You’re saying that if I tell you Ellsworth’s crimes, you’ll… What? Have him killed? Murdered?”

“I will take the matter to the council first thing. If that is what will indeed keep you safe, I am sure they will agree.”

“Council?” she questioned. “What Council?”

Pierce folded his arms behind his back.

“ Our Council. The ruling body of everyone who belongs to the Silver Order. And”—he grinned—“even a few outside of it, though they may not know it.”

Locke was suddenly on the settee beside her. “Tell me.” Forget him , his eyes told her. And for a moment, they were in the theater again. Just them and all that empty space.

Mae took a moment to settle the chaos of her thoughts. She had never told anyone before, but already, the memories were clawing to the surface.

If only she had let William talk. If only she had believed… Things would have been so damned different.

“Start from the beginning.” Pierce took up a cup of tea and sat down.

“I suppose that would be William’s return from sea. Or maybe a month prior, when I’d lost all hope.” She looked up from her hands at Locke. “I’d given him up for dead, you see.” Who could have blamed her? For almost four years, not a single letter. After the first year, people had already begun to talk.

“Probably a shipwreck, pirates or the French, they said. I had prepared for the worst. Sooner or later, I’d have to oversee the family business. Even though no one prepared me for it, I’d have to make choices and give directives. We had a manager for the business, yes, but in his hands, things had taken a turn for the worse.” She smiled at the next part. “It was the arrival of the letter that changed everything. A miracle. All of the servants declared it so. We had been at risk of losing everything—or at least what I thought was everything.”

Because while she had inherited the family fortune and shipbuilding business, the family name would be lost the moment she married. A disgrace to all the generations of Blackthornes who had come before her.

She could still feel the relief in her brother’s embrace all those years ago. She felt no trace of that joy now. Not even close. Since that day, her life had begun a downward spiral. She had lost her family’s fortune regardless of her brother’s return. And in the end, he’d still met with death.

“Our manager insisted I take out loans. It was foolish, all that I did to save the business. But what did I know of such things? I wasn’t educated in those ways. I was taught to sing, draw, dance—nothing of business. It was of little surprise that the loss of our trade, our home, our legacy…fell to my lot.”

Locke’s mouth opened, ready to protest. “It was your manager—”

“I know that now. I should have sacked him. But I didn’t.”

“You merely trusted the wrong person,” Locke said. Pierce nodded in kind.

Mae shrugged. How could she have known the manager would only sink them into further ruin? As far as she’d known, the business had prospered for years under that manager.

“In the end, there was only one thing I could do: marry well. Ellsworth ”—she choked on the name—“had made his wishes known. He sought my hand long before William’s disappearance. My father had hated the man, of course. He was our competition, our rival. So it wasn’t until after his death that I began seeing Ellsworth at dinner parties and balls—rather, every social gathering I attended.”

Mae shivered at the memory of his touch, the unwanted advances she’d often evaded. He was rooms away, somewhere far off in this place, but she had a sudden urge to flinch and push him back, to get away.

“Against my brother’s wishes, I eventually accepted his proposal. I grew weary of it every day, but what choice did I have? We were about to lose not only the business, but our home. William was in no condition to work. He had changed. He drank heavily, stayed up till dawn, slept far into the afternoon…”

Mae trailed off, noticing Locke’s troubled, almost-fearful gaze. She couldn’t take it.

“I managed,” Mae added, hoping the look would dissipate. There were so many things she could never say. That she much rather hoped to forget. When she began again, she tried to sound unaffected.

“He had gone mad—or at least that was what I thought. Not long after he’d returned and learned of Father’s sudden death, he began rifling through the house, turning up shelves and whole pieces of furniture.” Mae knew now that he had been searching for that alternative will.

“The cottage—that was where he discovered it. He tried so hard to tell me. If only I had known then. If only I had let him speak.”

In the presence of the two men’s watchful eyes, she tensed. When had the room become so stifling?

“Ellsworth and I—chaperoned by my lady’s maid, of course, as if I’d ever want to be alone with that man—were watching the fire after dinner when William rushed in. He was frantic, not himself. He grabbed at me, twisted my wrist to take the promise ring from Ellsworth off my finger. ‘You don’t have to do it!’ he shouted. ‘I thought I’d never find it, but I found it, Mae. I found it!’ I thought he had gone mad, so I called out for Ellsworth to help. Told him he was drunk.”

In her head, she could still hear the struggle, the rustle of clothing, William’s screams. “The worst of it is he was drunk. Too drunk to get out what he needed to say before it was too late.”

Locke placed a hand over her shoulder, but she wanted him to do so much more. The past had returned to her so vivid, so fresh. The panic, the sorrow, the anger… All the feelings mingled together in a whirlwind that had left her reeling.

“Ellsworth took William into the next room to calm down. He must have found the letter on him then. I’m certain of it. Rather than leave us to our wealth, Ellsworth hoped to claim it himself. He had murdered for it. He murdered William.”

Her poor William.

Not even time could lessen the pain. It could only be replaced with anger.

Since his death, she alone had known the truth. Something, whether instinct or logic, had convinced her that Ellsworth had been behind William’s death. He’d known the house well enough by then, so he could have easily made his way inside without her knowledge. The possibility had been reason enough to decline Ellsworth’s proposal and seek work. Days ago, the villain had even admitted to his actions. She’d been right to trust her instinct.

“When did you find his body?” Locke asked.

“That very morning when it happened.”

Something had woken her early. Dawn had just spilled over the lawn. She had been admiring it when she had heard the thud that would forever echo in her memory. On the paved drive, his leg had been twisted around in the most unnatural manner. His head a pile of flesh and hair. Splashes of blood strewn everywhere, even across the white marble steps of the entrance.

Mae squeezed her eyes shut, but that did nothing to erase the memory from her mind. She heard her own scream, even felt the texture of the curtain as she’d gripped it.

Some people, she once read, forgot traumatic moments of their past, whole days altogether, but not her. As hard as Mae tried to forget, the memory lingered in fine detail. Even horrific memories of the cellar had managed to come back.

“Why did you not apply to the police?” Locke asked in soothing but curious tones.

“There was an inquiry. A short one,” Mae said. “None of the servants had seen Ellsworth enter the house after that evening, so there was no witness, no proof.” Just a conviction in her heart that had almost driven her mad.

Locke turned to Pierce, both their eyes sorrowful, their lips speechless.

*

Locke stepped into the hall. After Mae’s story, he and Pierce had agreed to give her some time alone in her private chamber.

“She’ll need the rest of the afternoon,” Locke said. But Pierce wasn’t listening. His thoughts were somewhere else. He held out the key, staring at its detailed, ethereal design.

“This fortune,” Pierce said. “Where is it now?”

Locke shot toward him, his mood shifting from concern to blazing fury in less than a second. “Ellsworth murdered a man for the mere promise of gold, came near to doing the same to Mae, and you have a mind to—”

“Apologies.” Pierce placed a hand on his shoulder, extending the other with the key on his palm. “Here, take it. Give it back to her.”

Locke coolly pocketed the key. Everything was in order, it seemed: the fortune was back in Mae’s hands, the sapphire back in Pierce’s, but he still regretted the path that had led him here, the fact that he had partnered with Ellsworth. There seemed no end to his evils, no end to all he had wanted to gain.

Locke tightened his fists, only too willing to hand Ellsworth death himself. Alas, he didn’t find himself reaching for his blade as quickly as he’d expected. He simply wanted him gone. He wanted Mae safe.

“Just trying to be practical,” Pierce said.

“The man means to kill her.”

“Locke, please. Rest easy. The man is as good as gone. And the lady will be grateful for justice, won’t she?” He tapped a finger to his chin. “I was thinking—”

“Damn your thinking!” Locke wanted to swing at him, straight into the jaw. “Is everything a series of favors and debts to you?”

“I am always thinking how the Silver Order might prosper and advance. As I should.”

“Just have the deed done. Get one of your guards to do it. I care not.”

“You wouldn’t face him in a duel,” he teased. “At dawn?”

“No.”

He only wished there was something more to be done. Perhaps Pierce had a way to turn back time, to erase her tragedies. In all of it, she had been helpless yet so strong in the face of danger and despair. But short of turning back time, there was nothing much to do.

“Join me for tea?”

“I think I’ll stay.”

“Stand guard, will you?” Pierce teased for what best be the last time. He cleared his throat. “We’ll talk details soon, you hear.”

“Yessir.” Locke came near to rolling his eyes.

Alone, he tried not to think once more of what Ellsworth had tried to accomplish in the cellar all those days ago. The feeling sank into his stomach like a brick. He had underestimated the man.

*

Outside, Mae could hear the constant thudding of what could only be Locke’s footfalls. She opened the door and leaned against the frame.

His steps ceased. “How do you feel?”

Frankly, Mae didn’t know. She thought she would have felt relieved knowing Ellsworth would soon get his due, but somehow, she didn’t feel anything. She felt numb.

“Fine,” she lied.

She grabbed Locke’s hand and pulled him deeper into the room. A voice begged her to keep her distance. What she felt would only cause her pain. But she had had enough of being alone in that room. Hell, of being alone in general. And now she wanted only him, to feel the same comfort and protection he had provided these last few days. A feeling she wished she could hold on to forever.

Locke closed in and eyed her still-tender bruise. He grazed it with his finger, bringing back the shock of the blow. She had wished Ellsworth suffering then. Why didn’t she now?

“He hurt you.” Locke began the expected reassurances.

“Please.” She held up a weary hand. She didn’t care about any of that.

There was something else much more important that preoccupied her thoughts. What she’d merely thought had been lust was something much more. Nothing could eclipse it. So clear and unwavering, these intense feelings had been there all along, yet somehow, she had been so unaware. Until now—when it was too late. A fact that seemed to gnaw at her soul.

“There must be something we can do… You can’t stay. We can escape. Make our way to London and from there—”

“Fate won’t have it that way.”

She hated that he sounded so cold, so distant, a world apart from how he had been these last few days .

“Then we won’t leave it to fate.” She remained resolute. “I stay. I don’t care about the danger. No matter the consequences, I stay with you until we can—”

She pressed forward, but his stiff arm held her back.

“But why?” Mae gulped. He seemed so adamant about his decision when she had hoped to quite easily change his mind. Had she read him wrong? Didn’t he want her like he had in the theater? In his eyes, it had been so evident then. Now they weren’t eyes at all, but stone.

“Why?” Her teeth clenched, lips shaking. He couldn’t end things here, not like this. Life could be utterly terrifying with him, yes, but it contained a certain spark long absent from her life. He was what she had been missing, precisely what she had craved, and she hadn’t even known it.

“It has already been decided.”

“But the fighting, the violence…” She could not allow him to live that way again. It had pained him too much. A pain that might as well be her own. “Don’t pretend you want that life.”

“Pierce said—” He sighed. “He said this place was my future…that they could see such things.”

“Pierce doesn’t control your fate.” Her voice rang with angry disbelief. But if sapphires that gave everlasting life could exist, why not impossible visions?

“You’re right. He doesn’t. Truth is, I can see myself doing this. For you. ”

So he cared for her, no matter how worthless that was now. Somewhere his future self had already made his choice and his past self was helpless to change it. A conundrum if there ever was one. It was so insane, she refused to try to make sense of it. She stuck only to a simple truth: a future between them did not exist.

“There’s no changing it,” Locke confirmed.

“Then it’s a lie. It can’t be true. Not when I know my own will,” she bit out. “And my will is to have you in my future. I don’t care about anything else or what anyone says.”

“I told you I would keep you out of harm’s way and I will,” he said, the sight of him suddenly strange among the elaborately carved ceiling, lacquered walls, and velvet curtains. “Everything that has happened to you falls to me. After the cellar, the coast… At least give me this.”

Mae opened her mouth to defend his efforts but stopped herself. Was that all that had made him do this? Just his guilt? Maybe she’d been a fool to believe in a future with him. He was too wild, the type who belonged to no one place and no one person.

She had sensed it from the beginning. Perhaps the Silver Order and another set of adventures was his future. Maybe a future with her just didn’t make sense. She worried her teeth into her bottom lip.

“See here.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out the key. “You still have your inheritance. You can have the life you were always meant to.”

The words were like a swift jab to the heart. But diverting her gaze, she took the key from him nonetheless.

“I owe you many thanks,” she murmured, the words sounding silly and meager.

“No need.” He took her hand quickly, as if she might run off, and squeezed it hard. His brows pinched together in a rare expression of pain.

She could almost fancy a glimmer of love in his eye. As she retraced their brief history, she was certain he loved her, didn’t he? She knew she did. More than anything. However unlikely it once seemed, he had become all the words she had forgotten these last few years: everything good, happy, and beautiful. All the things she never wanted to forget again.

Mae took him in, every inch of his face, her eyes running down to his neck. She wanted to reach out, to finish what he had started in the theater…but that felt impossible now. Like he was already a thousand mi les away.

“History has a way of repeating itself, doesn’t it?” Like William, Locke was as good as gone. And like William, she had no hope of forgetting these tragic memories.

“Put it behind you. All of it. Losing your home, what happened in the cellar—it will poison you if you let it.”

“I know.”

“You can still have a life. Travel. Find a simple-minded husband. Be happy.”

Almost laughing, Mae shook her head. Despite his persuasive words, his eyes wanted something else. In them, she could see the truth.

“Miss Blackthorne?” At the sound of a different voice, she started, her shaky fingers wiping away foolish tears. She hadn’t even noticed Pierce’s approach.

“Feeling better, I presume?” He made his way down the hall. “I hope you don’t mind, but I took it upon myself to find someone for you.”

With a shriek, Miss Rosewood stampeded toward her. She leaped into Mae’s arms with a tight, suffocating embrace.

Despite some slight shivering, Miss Rosewood didn’t seem any worse for the wear.

“You must forgive me,” she croaked as she quivered. “I was just scared. So scared. Mr. Ellsworth promised he’d help me find you two. That’s all I wanted.” She glanced at Locke but only briefly before looking down at her hands. “I didn’t know what to think. I thought you were having second thoughts. My mother said it is only natural. I hoped I could change your mind.”

“Miss Rosewood—” Locke began softly.

“I didn’t actually believe you two could be together until I saw it. That was when I knew the engagement was as good as over.”

“I shouldn’t have entered into it in the first place.” Locke bowed his head. “I had other motivations. For that, I am sorry.”

“Thank you.” Miss Rosewood sniffled.

“I’m sorry to you too,” Mae added. “I should have been more honest about everything.”

Things would have been so different. Most likely, Ellsworth would have been locked away in prison. At the very least, Miss Rosewood wouldn’t have been ruined.

“I never should have believed Mr. Ells— Ellsworth ,” Miss Rosewood spat, her eyes pooling with tears. “He’s ruined me many times over.”

“What do you mean?”

“He attacked me.” Miss Rosewood swallowed. “But I fought him off. Just like you told me. Remember?”

Mae nodded, grasping at her skirts, desperate to hold back her horror. At the time, Mae had hoped it was advice Miss Rosewood would never need.

“He must not have thought I was worth the fight,” Miss Rosewood finished.

“This is all my fault.” Mae shook her head.

“It doesn’t matter.” Miss Rosewood pulled Mae in for a hug. How slim she felt in Mae’s arms. She couldn’t forget that Miss Rosewood was little more than a child, so easily persuaded.

“I want to return to things as they were.” Miss Rosewood accepted Pierce’s handkerchief and dabbed her tears. “I want us to go home.”

Mae stepped back, looking at Locke and Pierce.

Miss Rosewood sucked in a breath. “You’re coming, aren’t you?”

“I can’t.”

“But mother will be forced to find another—”

“It’s for the best.” Mae cut her off before she could even say the word. The old post was her past now. “As soon as it is arranged, you will begin your journey home.”

“We are happy to make arrangements for you as well, Miss Blackthorne,” Pierce said. “But are you sure you must leave so soon? ”

“Yes,” Mae confirmed, though shakily.

“My parents are going to be so angry.” Miss Rosewood covered her face. “My reputation will never recover.”

Mae rubbed a hand over her shoulder. “Your mother is clever. Maybe she’s come up with a lie that could explain your disappearance. Society may never know.”

Miss Rosewood scoffed. “She’s not so clever as you, Miss Blackthorne. I need you, please .”

“I’m afraid I can’t.” Mae assumed her governess tone and took in Miss Rosewood’s state of dress. Not only was her gown dingy with dirt, it was also ripped across the bodice. Mae tried not to think of her in Ellsworth’s company. She pursed her lips, lest she give a horrified expression. “We should find you a new gown. One to travel in.”

“We shall find her something very suitable, indeed.” Pierce gestured them down the hall and they all—save Locke—retreated. While Miss Rosewood beamed at the prospect, Mae looked back at Locke growing smaller and smaller in the distance.