Chapter Eleven
N iall jumped with both feet back into a resumption of normal life, but it took Kara nearly a week to truly accept that the threat was over. For days she still found herself watching out windows, scanning the horizon, and listening for a shout of trouble.
She did not understand why the end was so difficult for her to accept. Perhaps it had been the sight of Petra Scot’s body. The woman had been as much a force of nature as a storm that blew in, demanded attention, dictated movements, and overthrew the natural order of things. Seeing her so still, quiet, and somehow small—it had not felt real. And that expression, frozen on her face… Kara just could not imagine Petra afraid of anything . She would have expected the woman to meet death with defiance and bluster, no matter the form it came in.
She wondered if it was just because the whole thing felt anticlimactic. Their last struggle with the woman had ended in abduction, intrigue, fire, and death. It had brought down an international conspiracy. To find the woman dead with no notion of what happened to her just felt…too easy.
And perhaps that was it, after all. Life had been one adventure after another since she’d met Niall on that fateful day in Mr. Grant’s study. Could it be that peace and quiet didn’t feel like the normal state of things anymore?
Niall clearly suffered no such doubts. He threw himself happily into constructing his marshland-themed gates. His conversation was full of details about beaver tails, willow, and meadowsweet.
Stayme returned to his own home. Turner went back to work, having received clearance and a warning to take things slowly from Balgate. When Harold wasn’t helping Niall or studying, the lad was practicing his lunges on the fencing strip or trying to conquer the rope climb in her gymnasium.
It was Gyda who finally pulled Kara from her haze. Her friend’s happiness was brilliant, bubbling, and contagious—as was her enthusiasm for her new beau’s project. Gyda convinced Kara to connect Lord Charles with a couple of bright young inventors she funded. In making the introductions, Kara found herself swept up in plans for the new museum. She even agreed to take a week’s turn in the living creation spot at the new venture—and thrilled Harold when she asked him to act as her assistant.
Together, the two of them discussed which projects they would work on during their time in the new space. They debated public interest versus what would move Kara forward on her latest commission. They decided to ride into Town one morning with Gyda, to measure the workspace, inspect the light, and finalize plans for their preparation.
It was a pretty, sunny start to the day. Kara could feel the approach of spring in the air as they set out for the train station and see it in the first push of bulbs through the earth. They booked a first-class car, and Gyda spoke of the work already accomplished at the museum during the short ride to London, while Harold worked on a sketch for the sword he meant for his Green Man automaton to carry.
“Charles was so lucky to find Ansel,” Gyda was saying. “The building in Soho Square could not be more perfect. Ansel had already begun updating the rooms into gallery space. His connections in the art world have been invaluable. He’s had plenty of time to audition artists, while Charles has screened the craftsmen. There are still a few more to be seen, but all is on schedule for the museum to open on time.”
“I can scarcely believe everything you have accomplished, and so quickly,” Kara marveled.
“Just a few days left before the grand opening gala,” Gyda said brightly. “I’m so proud of Charles.”
“I’m proud of you , too. You’ve all worked hard.”
“But the vision is all Charles’s. And his dedication is unmatched.”
“And he still finds time to make you happy.” Kara grinned at her friend. “In my eyes, that is his greatest accomplishment.”
Gyda leaned back against the seat and threw her hands in the air. “In that, he is very accomplished indeed.”
Kara laughed, and Harold looked up from his sketch. “Have we reached London?”
“Soon,” Kara told him. “Soon.”
After the train, they took a hansom cab to Soho Square. They found Lord Charles Osbourne standing outside, waiting to greet them.
“Your Grace,” he said, bowing low over Kara’s hand. “What a pleasure to welcome you. Gyda can scarcely wait to show you the space.” He shook Harold’s hand. “Both of you.”
“We can scarcely wait to see it.” She admired the exterior, her smile growing. “May I presume that Gyda had a hand in choosing the color?” It was the sort of dusky blue that her friend adored.
“You may not!” Gyda protested. “Charles chose it to please me. I had no notion of it beforehand.”
“The color is stunning against the white trimmings. And it certainly stands out,” Kara noted. The neighboring houses in the row were all russet brick or white.
“That is the idea,” Lord Charles said. “We wish to be easy to find and tempting enough to draw people in.”
“You have a bowed window,” Harold said. “Can I go inside and look out?”
“Of course. Come. Let us show you around.”
Kara exclaimed over the inside. It was bright and airy with many windows letting light in. The walls were all done in subtle white paint or patterns instead of the often obligatory scarlet or red.
“We want the art to be the focus,” Lord Charles explained. “We’ll have the paintings in this front room and the craftsmen set up as you move through the rest of the building.”
Servants bustled through the rooms, doing last-minute cleaning and carrying in furniture. In one corner, a chair and an easel were being set up.
“Ansel means to do some painting in here at times,” Lord Charles said.
“I’m sure the attendees will find it fascinating,” Kara replied.
“Oh, watch behind you,” Lord Charles said, and Kara turned in surprise to find a section of the wall, complete with hung artwork, swinging outward. “Apologies. We wanted to maximize the wall space, so made the servants’ entrances into hidden doors,” he explained.
Kara stepped closer to examine the piece that hung there. A seascape, it showed rugged cliffs over startling blue water and a vivid pink sky. “Oh, how lovely. Is that Cornwall?”
“It is. You have a good eye. It will be joined by other works by Mr. Nicholas Locke, who has traveled all along the coasts of our fair isle. His work highlights the differences along our shores, but also the beauty of them all.”
Kara’s eyes widened as she moved along the wall and on to the next corner. “Well. This one is different, isn’t it?” It was a depiction of Caligula at the Colosseum, feeding his own citizens from the audience to the lions. Catching her breath, she leaned forward. “Good heavens. Is Caligula supposed to be Lord Palmerston?”
Lord Charles bit back a smile. “It is. Mr. Sculley has a series that depicts some of our society’s best-known members in tableaus from history and mythology.”
“A satirical series, I take it?” she said with a grin.
“Indeed, although his work is vivid and memorable.”
“Well, that should draw in a few more attendees.” She blinked. “Wait. Did you say Sculley? Not Mr. Douglas Sculley?”
“I do! Do you know his work?”
“No, but I met him very briefly, recently. I look forward to seeing the rest.”
“Oh, he had a great many more than we had room to use.” Lord Charles’s mouth twisted. “And I did have to forbid one piece that depicted our own good queen as the Queen of Sheba—atop a camel.” He shuddered. “That sort of attention, we have no need of.”
Kara laughed, and he took them on through and stopped to answer questions about a wood and metal frame being set up in one room. “It’s to be a bobbinet machine,” he told them. “A machine that crafts lace. An amazing invention, one that has stood the test of years, with only a few improvements to change the originally patented machine.” He glanced at Gyda. “I am in awe of the craftsmen who create beauty and function with their hands and hearts and the knowledge they hold. I am also a bit enamored of the inventors who create machines to imitate their work.”
“Tell them your idea for this display,” Gyda urged. “And how it came about.”
Her beau smiled at her. “One of the older tenants on my father’s home estate makes handmade lace. I’ve been fascinated by the process for years, and she very obligingly allowed me to watch her as she worked. How her fingers would fly as she would intersect, tie, and knot the threads on her pillow! I was enthralled, seeing her twist and mesh and weave. I was stunned, as a young man, when I heard there were machines that could perform the same functions. I could not imagine coming up with a design to replicate Mrs. Hastings’s work. It was one of the first machines I searched out as a young man. When we were talking about the idea behind this museum, I had the idea to place them both in this room, so that people may marvel over both creative processes. Mrs. Hastings has agreed to attend the opening gala and demonstrate her art, next to the machine.”
Lord Charles showed Kara and Harold the alcove adjoining the front room, where they would set up their work and interact with attendees when it was their turn to take a week in the space. It was also brightly lit from the square-facing windows. “It’s definitely large enough for us to fit two tables in here,” Kara told Harold.
“Two projects at once?” Lord Charles asked. “That will be a treat for us all.” He beckoned Harold to the windows. “Tell me about the project you’ll be working on while you are here? Perhaps passersby will peek in and see you at work—and then come to investigate.”
Harold began to tell him all about his Green Man automaton. As he answered Lord Charles’s questions, Kara wandered back to the main room and went to stand at the bow window. It looked out onto the square, with its green grass, statuary, and tall trees. A peaceful scene, with couples strolling and children at play under the watchful eyes of their nannies.
As she watched, though, a chill began to swirl around the base of her spine. Kara started to step back from the window, but something made her pause. She moved closer, instead, and scanned the park again.
What was it? Everything looked calm and routine.
There. A woman stood in the shadow of a towering tree. She had one hand on the trunk and her gaze fixed on the window where Kara stood.
Not a woman.
Petra Scot .
The familiar figure stared at her—then flashed a malice-filled grin.
“Gyda,” Kara croaked. She needed to know if her friend could see the woman as well. Her tone grew louder as panic set in. “Gyda!”
But her friend had gone to the back rooms to inspect some of the paintings that Ansel had already chosen to mount for their opening. “Kara?” she called. “What is it?”
“Come here, please! Now, Gyda!”
The figure had not moved. The open threat in her stare had not changed. Kara gasped for breath. Fear and shock hit her like a lightning strike to the top of her head, branching all through her body.
“Kara? What is it?” Harold slammed into her, his face full of concern. “What’s wrong?”
She looked down into his worried face and clutched him close. “I…I thought…”
She looked back toward the tree, but the woman was gone.
*
With small, careful strikes, Niall molded delicate petals, one after the other. He would need a great many of them to create a swell of meadowsweet to adorn Blundel’s gates.
Pausing a moment, he set down his tools and flexed his arm. He had tired it out earlier, hammering out crossbars that would both form the gate and provide structure to which he would attach the elements of the marshland theme. But these smaller strokes he used now would let him get in a couple of more hours of work, as long as he stretched the arm.
He’d just picked up his hammer again when Kara came rushing into the forge. The surge of pleasure he felt drained away when he saw the strained expression on her face.
“What is it?” He threw the hammer down. “Are you well?”
“I don’t know,” she moaned, coming straight on until she burrowed in his arms. “I think perhaps I am losing my wits.”
He held her tight a moment before leading her over to the small table and chairs in the corner. He settled her, then poured her a glass of water from the pitcher that the maids kept fresh and cool. “Take a drink,” he ordered her.
She did as he asked.
“Tell me,” he said, taking the glass back.
She hesitated.
“Kara?”
“I don’t want you to think less of me,” she whispered.
“Not in a hundred years,” Niall vowed, kneeling before her. “There is nothing you cannot say to me. I hope you know that, for I have certainly held tight to the belief that I can say anything to you.”
She reached out to clutch his hand. “Of course you can. I trust you. I do. I trust us . It’s just—I’ve seen something that makes me wonder if I can trust myself.”
He nodded, encouraging her to continue.
Haltingly, she began to speak.
He listened carefully as she told him what she had seen, and also about the thoughts and feelings that had been haunting her. She heaved a sigh as she finished, as if relieved, but she still peered anxiously into his face. “What do you think? Have I lost my grip on reality?”
“No,” he said firmly.
“But you don’t think it was her?”
“No,” he repeated, with almost the same force. “We saw her body, Kara. Lying right there on the table in front of us. Petra Scot is dead.” He stood and pulled her to her feet. Dropping into her chair, he tugged her into his lap. “Do I think that your mind created something that wasn’t there? It’s possible. The human brain is an incredible tool—and yours is more powerful than most.”
She snorted. “I’ll assume that is a compliment.”
“It’s meant as such,” he assured her. “But I think it is equally as likely that someone is trying to upset you.”
She looked surprised at the idea. “But…who? And why?”
“Petra had confederates,” he reminded her. “Someone was hiding her away. Plenty of others spent years doing her bidding. Perhaps they are carrying on with her mission. They might not even realize she is dead. There has certainly been no mention of it in the papers. Nor will there be.” Shrugging, he asked, “How clearly did you see the woman?”
“Clearly enough.” She thought back. “I was convinced. I saw the same height and form. Dark hair. It was the same attitude , Niall. The direct stare, challenging me. The posture—all so antagonistic. If it was staged, it was done exactly like when she’s attempted to stare me down in the past.”
“Probably done purposely,” he mused. “The same way she taunted you a few nights ago. We know she is a master of misdirection. She might have put this doppelg?nger in play before she left London. Perhaps to make us believe she was still here.”
He felt a great deal of the tension melt out of her frame. “I never thought of that. Thank you, Niall.” She nestled in against him.
He gripped her tightly. They sat that way for a while. She felt so warm and soft against him, so small in his lap, yet her heart stretched so large and giving and generous. He knew he was the luckiest man in the empire.
Burying his face in her hair, he inhaled her scent—womanly florals cut with just a hint of metal filings and clock oil. So uniquely Kara. As always, it sent desire rolling hard through him.
“My arm could use a rest.” It came out nearly a growl. “Why don’t we go upstairs, and you can rub it for me?”
She grinned up at him. “Your Grace! Is that an indecent proposal?”
He gave her a look of affront. “I am a duke,” he said loftily. “All of my proposals are decent.”
“Well, in that case, I accept.”
“I am a bit sweaty,” he warned.
“Just the way I like you,” she murmured, waggling her brows.
He laughed at the echo of the comment she’d made before and let her climb out of his embrace. Taking his hand, she kept a hold of it as they walked leisurely through the grounds to the main house. Niall struggled to maintain a casual mien, but the servants they encountered all noted their clasped hands and turned away, smiling.
“Odin’s arse, forget decorum,” he said as they started up the stairs. “They all suspect what we are up to, in any case.” He bent down and swept her into his arms, taking the stairs two at a time and entering her room, because it was closest.
She was laughing and trying to muffle it in his chest. He kicked the door closed behind him—and then stopped cold.
She started to place kisses along his neck, above the line of the linen shirt he wore to work in.
“Kara.”
She raised her head and pulled away, examining his countenance. “What is it?”
He nodded toward her bed.
She turned to look—and gasped.
“Well, now we know.” He let her feet slide down the front of him. “Whatever you saw, it was not all in your head.”