Chapter Ten
Maggie had no idea what to expect from an English mansion that was probably hundreds of years old. Suits of armor? Small,
interior moats? Maybe a jester in residence? But what she found on the other side of the door was a wide, open space that
stretched to the back of the house. Giant columns rose into a high, arching ceiling and the floors were polished wood. It
felt more like a cathedral than a home, and there wasn’t a doubt in Maggie’s mind that, if she’d yelled, she would have heard
an echo.
The only thing out of place was the staircase, which was two different colors—like patchwork. Eleanor fell on the stairs , Maggie’s tired mind remembered. Someone had started a repair job that they hadn’t quite had time to finish, but aside from
that, the whole house seemed to be brand-new and incredibly old at the same time. She was just starting to wonder how that
was possible when she heard footsteps and a high voice crying out, “Well, there you are!”
The girl couldn’t have been much over twenty, with long blond hair pulled back in a headband that matched her pale pink sweater.
There were pearls at her neck and French tips on her nails, and when she stopped beside a pair of antique dueling pistols,
she looked like she was getting ready to pledge Kappa Kappa Murder.
“You went outside!” the girl exclaimed in an accent that sounded more like Alabama than Great Britain. “In the cold! Without
a coat!”
“And lived to tell the tale,” Eleanor replied in a singsong tune.
“Now, Aunt E, you know what the doctor said—”
“Cecilia.” Eleanor cut off what was sure to be a lecture she’d heard before. “Come meet our guests. Ethan. Maggie. May I introduce
Cecilia Honeychurch?”
That was when the girl seemed to notice the guests. Or, well, guest . Because her eyes went to Ethan and never left. His hair was wavier than usual and his eyes a little sleepy but, wouldn’t
you know it, Ethan Wyatt made jet lag look good.
Meanwhile, Maggie’s hair was tangled and her skin was dry, and when she looked down, she saw a blotch of omelet on her sweater.
Not that anyone was looking at her.
“Well, hello there.” The girl held out her hand to Ethan. “I’m Cece.”
“Eleanor?” Ethan’s voice held a teasing lilt. “Why didn’t you tell us we’d be meeting your slightly younger sister...”
He trailed off, realizing... “Too much? I think that was too much?”
But even that sounded charming and Eleanor smiled. “I appreciate the effort.”
Cece batted her eyes and slapped him playfully on the arm, lingering on those frankly ridiculous biceps. “Oh, you’re a big
flirt.”
He lowered his voice. “Among other things.” He dropped his hold on Maggie and she stumbled away. “And who might you be, Cece?”
Cece tucked a piece of hair behind her ear as if she wasn’t already wearing a perfectly adequate headband. Then she exclaimed,
“I’m Aunt Eleanor’s niece!” as if aunts and nieces weren’t typically related. “When she heard I needed a job, she said I could
move to England and be her companion and secretary and... well... just sort of all-around aide.” She turned to Eleanor
and raised her voice. “We have a lot of fun together. Don’t we, Aunt E?”
If the look on Eleanor’s face was any indication, she and Cece had very different definitions of the word fun , but there was something else in her eyes, too: patience and curiosity—like someone who was working on a plot and pulling
at strings, not sure which ones would make a knot and which would make them all unravel.
But then something over Maggie’s shoulder caught Eleanor’s attention. “How is it out there, James?”
Maggie turned to see the driver walking down the hall. He must have come in through a servants’ entrance because he’d traded
his coat for an apron and carried a stack of mail on a silver tray.
“Gonna be a bad one, ma’am. Glad you folks landed when you did. Now, I’ll take your bags to your rooms. If you need anything,
just let me or Miss Cecilia know.”
Cece reached for the tray. “I’ll take that, James.”
“I’ve got it.” Eleanor started flipping through the letters and Maggie couldn’t keep from staring because even Eleanor Ashley’s
mail was fascinating. Red envelope ( probably a Christmas card ). Green envelope ( Christmas card ). White envelope with a picture of a light bulb ( utility bill? ). Blue envelope with a staff and snake ( medical bill? ). White envelope ( personal letter? ).
Maggie was just standing there, thinking she would happily read Eleanor Ashley’s utility bill cover to cover when Eleanor
shoved the mail under one arm and leaned a little heavier on her cane. “Cecilia, would you mind showing our guests to their
rooms? I’d prefer to stay off the stairs as much as I can.”
“Oh, of course! You poor thing.” Maggie might have been stunned and exhausted but she knew one thing: there was nothing poor
about Eleanor Ashley. Still, that didn’t stop Cece from shouting, “Why don’t you go lie down?”
“I’ll do that.” Eleanor pasted on a smile but whispered, “Perhaps you can tell her there’s nothing wrong with my hearing?”
And then she walked away.
As Maggie watched her go, it felt like coming awake after a long nap—the kind where you’re not sure if it’s day or night,
summer or winter. Like you don’t know if you’ve been sleeping for an hour or a year. The one thing she knew was that Ethan’s
arm was heavy and warm as it fell around her shoulders, guiding her toward the stairs.
“That’s Eleanor Ashley,” she mumbled numbly. “We’re... we’re spending Christmas with Eleanor Ashley.”
She kept waiting for Ethan to tell her she was crazy, that she was wrong. But he just kept looking down at her with something
like fondness in his eyes. And when he said, “Let’s get you to your room, Maggie,” her name sounded just right on his lips.