Hilde
She most certainly did not have time to think about that toast he’d made, praising her character nonsensically and apologizing for everything that had gone amiss between them.
Had it been sarcastic, meant to chide her for her misdeeds?
Or had he somehow been in earnest? No, that was impossible.
He could not think that he was at fault, when he had offered her everything he was capable of and she had behaved so unkindly again and again.
No, no, she did not have time to think about any of that.
She spooned rhubarb pudding into her mouth, chewing it without tasting.
She needed to use this time to plan. The storm was both a curse and a boon.
A curse because, much like Lord Elmwood the night prior, she was not prepared to host overnight guests.
Rooms should have been aired, linens freshened, fires set.
Unexpected overnight guests were a minor disaster, but the situation was also a gift.
It would keep Elmwood at Croftholde and make it possible for her to speak with him privately.
Which she needed to do. So that she could bribe him with his dog.
The problem was that the longer she sat here across from him, the more certain she became that she couldn’t bear to do it.
“Should I prepare rooms, Lady Croft?”
Hilde twitched, surprised, as Francie whispered into her ear.
“Yes,” she said reflexively. She addressed the table. “Francie and I will go and ready lodgings for you all.”
“No, no,” said Miss Floret. “We cannot retire directly after eating! It is not done. We must have some sort of entertainment first.”
“Perhaps, given the circumstances, we might forgo such niceties,” said Mr. Winthrop, frowning at Elmwood, who was still sickly pale.
“I was…very much hoping that I might take the opportunity to play something for my darling Erol,” said Lady Isobel. “Surely you have a harpsichord or pianoforte, Lady Croft? Erol has never heard me play, you see, and there is no instrument at Merewyth.”
Hilde stared at the poor girl, so baffled as to how a harpsichord concert might solve any of their problems that she was rendered speechless.
“We have a piano,” said Han, and there was something in her voice that made Hilde take notice, despite all the other thoughts warring for her attention.
Han sounded…eager? Han so rarely betrayed her emotions when she spoke, unless she was angry or frustrated.
It forced Hilde to truly consider her sister for the first time that evening.
There had been so much going on, but even so, how had she failed to notice that something odd was happening with Han?
“Oh!” said Lady Isobel. “Do you play, Han?”
“Just a few old tunes,” Han said, eyes downcast, voice low.
Now that Hilde was paying attention, it was all horribly obvious. Hilde knew her sister had dallied with a few girls in the village, but she’d never seen her so…smitten. Han was smitten with Lady Isobel.
“Oh, but I adore old tunes!” said Lady Isobel. “That settles it. We must play together.”
Her words hung in the air, and Hilde was about to object and put a stop to whatever this new mess was trying to be, but she was not fast enough.
“If it pleases you,” said Han. She stood, seemed to consider it, then offered her arm to Lady Isobel. “May I escort you?”
Watching with a sort of morbid fascination, Hilde observed as Lady Isobel looked sidelong at Elmwood through her lashes, as if gauging his reaction.
If she’d hoped to see jealousy, she must have been disappointed, as he was quite lost in thought and hardly seemed to notice that people were leaving the table, let alone that he had a competitor for Lady Isobel’s favor.
Lady Isobel bit her bottom lip, then turned to Han.
“It would be my pleasure,” she said.
Instead of taking Han’s elbow and allowing herself to be escorted, Lady Isobel slid her hand into Han’s and grasped it tightly, then tucked it under her own arm, as if they were old friends.
Hilde was shocked that Han didn’t flinch at the more intimate, unexpected touch.
She actually leaned into it! Sweet saints, was Hilde going to have to do something about this?
The last thing she needed was for Han to be morose when Elmwood and Lady Isobel departed for the greener pastures of married bliss.
The thought struck her then that Han wouldn’t be the only one.
Han led Lady Isobel out. That left Miss Floret and Mr. Winthrop, both still staring daggers at Elmwood. He was oblivious. So oblivious that her concern for him flared anew.
“Will you escort me, Lord Elmwood?” said Miss Floret pointedly. At the sharp sound of her voice, Elmwood seemed to remember where he was.
“Escort you where, Miss Floret? I thought we were to stay the night at Croftholde.”
“To the drawing room for music, young man. Really!”
Elmwood gave her a strange little smile that sent a nervous tremor through Hilde’s heart. It was not his real smile at all.
“My apologies, Miss Floret. I recommend you make Winthrop your escort, as I’m not entirely certain how I’m going to get up out of this chair, let alone drag myself to wherever the piano is located. No, you all go ahead, and I’ll make my way in my own time.”
“Lord Elmwood! Have you forgotten our conversation?” demanded Miss Floret.
He smiled that wrong smile again, and this time, Hilde could see anger behind it.
“Indeed I have not, Miss Floret, but unless you wish to have it again right now, in front of Winthrop and Lady Croft, I recommend you do as I have suggested. Rest assured, I will be along as soon as I am able, to admire your niece’s musical talents.
I even promise to applaud at all the right interludes and bob my head appreciatively. ”
“Well!” she spluttered. Then she reached out an arm to Winthrop. “Mr. Winthrop, if you will be so kind?”
“Of course, Miss Floret.”
She took his arm and the two of them swept out of the room, leaving Hilde alone with Elmwood.
He was still leaning back in his chair as if the effort of sitting up straight were too much to bear.
She had an intense longing to walk around the table and touch him and beg him to stop thinking whatever thoughts were making him so wretched.
Well, she knew one thought, at least, that was making him sad, and she had the power to rectify it.
“I have Rollo,” she blurted out.
He let out a surprised little huff of air.
“You do?”
“Yes. They found him in the village and brought him here. He’s perfectly safe.”
He lifted a shaky hand to run it through his hair, which had mostly slipped out of its fastening, as it always did.
“I am relieved to hear that, Lady Croft. Very relieved, indeed. Thank you.”
This was it. This was the place where she must tell him that if he wanted Rollo back, he would have to Charm Thorgoode. But the words would not come out. She couldn’t bear it. She couldn’t cause him more pain than he was already enduring.
“Lord Elmwood, I…”
Then Mr. Winthrop came popping back into the room.
“Came to see if I could give you a hand, Elmwood,” he said pointedly. “The other ladies are waiting.”
“Yes, Win, I’m coming,” he said. Then he looked up at her again. “But I believe I would rather have Lady Croft’s hand than yours. Can I trouble you, Lady Croft?” he asked.
Instantly and without thinking, she grasped the hand he held out to her.
The faintest little Charm thrill passed between them as she helped him leverage himself to his feet.
For a moment, he was quite close to her.
One of his loose curls tickled her cheek.
“I meant what I said, at dinner,” he whispered. “Thank you.”
There was something about the way he said it that gave her a chill.
“Rollo’s in my study,” she whispered quickly. “On the second floor, with trees painted around the door.” She paused, then added recklessly, “Meet me later, once everyone is asleep.”
The corner of his mouth quirked up, and he was close enough that she could hear the little humming sound of consideration he made before he murmured, “How clandestine. I find I am unable to refuse.”
Then he crossed to Winthrop, leaning heavily on his cane, and the two of them went out into the corridor.
Once Hilde had sorted things out with Ed and Francie and was certain everyone would have an acceptable place to sleep, she made her way to the drawing room.
Han and Lady Isobel were seated together on the bench, performing a duet, an old song about birds and lost love. Lady Isobel was indeed a fine pianist and a better soprano, and Han’s alto slid gently alongside it in harmony. There was something about the scene that made Hilde’s throat tight.
The song drew to a close, and everyone clapped.
“Oh, Han, you play beautifully!” cried Lady Isobel, and then she kissed Han on the cheek.
Hilde was certain that Han would flinch away at the unexpected kiss.
To her dismay, Han held perfectly still, her eyes fluttering closed, as if she were memorizing the sensation of Lady Isobel’s lips upon her cheek.
It was as though all of them were intruding on something intimate by watching, and that really wouldn’t do at all.
“Your rooms are ready,” Hilde said, and her voice sounded shrill to her own ears. “If you wish to retire.”
“Won’t you play another?” said Han, who had reopened her eyes to stare at Lady Isobel, intensity sparking off her like wet wood on a fire. Lady Isobel seemed to see it, too, finally, and looked down at the piano keys, blushing.
“I think we’ve had enough music,” said Miss Floret pointedly. “We must get our rest, must we not, Isobel? Say good night to your betrothed.”
“Of course, Auntie,” Lady Isobel said, then turned back to Han. “Thank you for singing with me, Han. I enjoyed it immensely.”
Han said nothing, only nodded once.
Lady Isobel rose from the piano and crossed to where Elmwood sat. “Good night, my darling,” she said, and kissed him on both cheeks, lingering a bit on the second side.
Gritting her teeth, Hilde stood aside as Francie showed her guests to their chambers.
Since Croftholde’s early days as a border keep, the original structure had sprawled somewhat, gaining a tower here and a Myran-chapel-turned-cowshed there and some rather nice Relancian glass windows in the Hall, purchased during one of the truces.
But Croftholde’s stones had never truly forgotten their original purpose.
This meant that each of the four floors had a limited amount of room.
The kitchen nestled halfway underground, dug out of the gray stone that surrounded the keep.
The first floor was largely taken up by the Hall, along with the drawing room, which Hilde suspected had once been an armory, and several smaller receiving rooms. The second floor held Hilde and Thorgoode’s chamber, then Thorgoode’s retiring room, then Hilde’s study—she supposed that originally they had all been part of one large solar.
The third floor had three guest bedchambers, and the top floor had one, as well as the smaller rooms occupied by Francie and Ed and some storage areas.
Cook slept in a cozy little room off the kitchen, and Han slept in the gatehouse.
It had been something of a puzzle determining where to put everyone for the night.
Hilde considered offering Elmwood her chamber, so that he could easily meet her in her study and to spare him climbing up so many stairs, but she suspected that it would scandalize Miss Floret, and besides, the thought of Elmwood in the bed she had shared with Thorgoode made her so uncomfortable that she quickly dismissed it.
So Elmwood would have to sleep on the third floor.
The other two rooms on that floor, which adjoined, would have to go to Lady Isobel and Miss Floret.
That meant Mr. Winthrop was left with the fourth floor.
In the end, everyone seemed fairly content to retire to their rooms without complaint.
Hilde went to her own room and changed out of the absurd velvet surcoat she’d worn for dinner and into her shift and dressing gown.
It was undeniably scandalous attire in which to have a late-night rendezvous with Lord Elmwood, but she’d been sweltering all evening in the surcoat, and besides, there had been so many embarrassing intimacies between them at this point that a dressing gown seemed like the least of her worries.
The greatest of them was what she was going to do about Thorgoode and Rollo and the terrible mess she’d made. What was it about Lord Elmwood that made it so impossible to follow through with a simple plan?
Still unresolved as to what she should do, she opened the door to her study to check on Rollo and wait for Elmwood to come.
When she entered the room, it was empty.
Rollo was gone.