Chapter Fourteen
Leticia turned slightly, adjusting the fall of her gown as she studied her reflection.
On the vanity before her, the brooch lay in a shallow dish, a teardrop stone in an aging silver setting, crooked in the clasp as though someone had tried to mend it and failed.
She had picked it up twice that morning, her thumb brushing the bent edge. Twice, she had thought to pin it in place.
And twice, she had put it down again.
Her aunt had once called it “a piece of paste,” but Leticia had loved it because it was hers. Because it had been her mother’s. Because sometimes value wasn’t measured in gold or worn for others to see.
A knock at the door pulled her from the moment.
“Come in,” she called.
The door opened to reveal Erica Notley, perfectly composed in a pale lilac day dress trimmed in velvet. Her gloved hands held a flat parcel tied with satin ribbon.
“I hope I’m not intruding,” Erica said, her smile just short of warm. “Lady Pembroke asked me to deliver this, some updated fabric samples. She’s in a frenzy of decisions and asked your aunt for help. I offered to deliver them on my way.”
Leticia accepted the parcel with a polite nod. “Thank you. I’ve just come from Ashcombe Hall myself.”
Erica blinked. “How lovely. I haven’t been in ages.”
“It was… more welcoming than I expected.” Leticia paused, then added, “I saw a portrait there, of my aunt, my mother, and the previous Lord Ashcombe.”
Erica’s smile shifted, almost imperceptibly. “A rare piece. I remember that one. Your mother? I didn’t know she was part of the Ashcombe family’s history.”
“I was just as surprised as you are,” Leticia said evenly.
Erica said nothing for a breath too long. Then, with practiced ease: “I imagine the tea was excellent, too.”
Before Leticia could respond, another knock interrupted them. Gabriel stepped into the doorway, Lady Eastbury just behind him.
“My apologies,” he said. “I hoped to steal Lady Salisbury for a walk, if she’s amenable.”
Erica turned with practiced ease. “Gabriel,” she said, almost fondly. “Still punctual. I was about to trouble your Lady Salisbury myself, but it seems I’ve been outmatched.”
Gabriel smiled faintly. “You’ll forgive me for the interruption?”
“Of course.”
Lady Eastbury crossed to Leticia’s side and took the parcel. “We’ll look these over after tea, shall we?”
Erica’s smile returned. To Leticia, it was cool and polished rather than warm.
Gabriel glanced toward the hallway. “I’ll leave you ladies to it.”
“If you’re stepping out, I’ll join you,” Erica offered quickly, her tone light.
Lady Eastbury’s voice interrupted, light but firm. “Miss Notley, you haven’t forgotten why you came?”
Erica blinked. “The samples. Of course.”
Lady Eastbury tilted her head. “It won’t take long.”
Something passed between them, sharp as flint. Erica’s posture shifted, chin lifted as if to object. But her gaze met Lady Eastbury’s, and she reconsidered.
“Of course,” she said again, with a different smile. “We’ll do that first.”
They moved into the small sitting room, where Lady Eastbury had already laid out a swatch book and a half-dozen folded fabrics beside the tea tray.
Erica sat gracefully, smoothing her skirt as though she were preparing to be painted.
Her tone was pleasant, but Leticia heard the faint hollowness beneath it.
Lady Eastbury lifted the first sample, a rich cream silk with a faint gold embroidery.
“For the Bainbridge wedding,” she said aloud, more for Leticia than Erica. “Lady Pembroke wasn’t satisfied with the original selection. Too stiff.”
Erica nodded as if she agreed, though she hadn’t been present. “It’s a fussy fabric. Never sits right on the shoulder.”
Leticia made a polite sound, but her attention kept drifting. Erica’s eyes flicked between the tea tray and the door.
Halfway through the samples, another voice called down the hall.
“Anyone home? I’ve brought cake and scandal.”
Mrs. Bainbridge swept in, cheeks flushed, curls rebelliously escaping her bonnet. She carried a small box tied with twine, eyes sparkling with mischief. Lady Eastbury raised an eyebrow. Leticia sat straighter, braced for something unexpected.
“Perfect timing,” Lady Eastbury said smoothly.
“Oh, good, I thought for a moment I’d be crashing a duel,” Mrs. Bainbridge said brightly, then noticed Erica. “Oh. Hello, Miss Notley. Don’t let me interrupt.”
She crossed to Leticia and handed her the box. “Lemon cake. I bribed the cook. It’s not for sharing, mind you, unless you’re feeling generous.”
Lady Eastbury arched a brow. “You’ve arrived at just the right time.”
“I always do,” Mrs. Bainbridge said, then looked to Erica, her tone feather-light. “Of course, if I’ve interrupted important conversations about questionable fabric or even more questionable intentions, I shall simply hover and glean.”
Erica rose, her smile tighter now. “I was just going.”
“You’ll take something sweet before you do?” Lady Eastbury asked.
“No, thank you.” Erica gathered her gloves. “Another time.”
Leticia watched the door close, a faint chill prickling her spine.
Mrs. Bainbridge was already helping herself to a second cup of tea and examining the discarded fabric samples.
“I’ve never seen a woman make cream silk look like mourning garb,” she muttered, flicking one edge. “Honestly, who sends Erica Notley to deliver anything delicate?”
Leticia gave a weak laugh. “She’s … composed.”
“So is a marble statue,” Mrs. Bainbridge replied. “But at least statues don’t try to listen through doorframes.”
Lady Eastbury offered no contradiction. Her silence spoke enough.
They remained in companionable silence as the fire crackled softly. A faint breeze stirred the curtains.
“Do you like her?” Leticia asked.
Lady Eastbury poured herself a fresh cup of tea. “I trust her to behave as she always has. And I watch closely, just in case.”
Leticia almost laughed. “A diplomatic answer.” Yet beneath her smile, a knot of unease coiled tighter.
“My favorite kind.”
There was another knock. Gabriel returned alone, hair slightly tousled by the wind. His expression was pleasant, but his eyes settled on Leticia.
“She’s off, isn’t she?” he said after a moment.
Leticia tilted her head. “Erica?”
He nodded. “She talks in circles. I never noticed before.”
“Because you trusted her?”
Gabriel’s jaw tightened. He didn’t answer.
“I’ll call tomorrow,” he said instead. “If you’re free.”
Leticia hesitated, gave a faint nod. “I’ll be here.” The words cost her more than she expected.
He took her hand and bowed over it. A kiss to her knuckles, warm and brief, left her heart unsettled. She watched him go, as though the air he displaced lingered in the room long after.
When the door closed, Lady Eastbury crossed the room and sat beside her.
“You’re sharper than you let on.”
Leticia leaned back in her chair, pulse still unsteady. “I didn’t know what I saw. I only knew I didn’t like it.”
“A good instinct. Will you see him tomorrow?” her aunt asked.
“Yes.” She paused. “I want to believe in him. In us.”
Lady Eastbury was quiet for a moment. “And if you change your mind?”
Leticia smiled. “I’ll know better than to wear borrowed hope.”
Her aunt reached over, took her hand, and gave it a gentle squeeze.
“Your hope isn’t borrowed. You’re simply learning where to plant it.”
The firelight threw shadows across the carpet. Curtains shifted with the night breeze, whispering against the casement. The house seemed to listen.
Leticia went to her room after she and Mrs. Bainbridge left.
She walked to her writing desk and opened the small drawer where she kept letters and small treasures.
The sight of them stole her breath. Silvered edges glimmered in the lamplight, and the air was heavier, as though memory itself pressed close.
Some things didn’t glitter. Some things didn’t need to. That, she realized, was what made them dangerous. Especially when they were hers.