Chapter 6
Afine carriage arrived at the house before the sun had begun to warm the day.
Two solid raps upon the door announced the man who stood in front of Ceridwen’s home. She recognized him from yesterday, still dressed similarly to the Ainsworths’ butler, but even more refined. Today’s jacket was a dark gray that accented the silver frock of hair over his forehead, so different from the darker portion of his salt-and-pepper hair pulled tightly behind his head and secured with a ribbon.
His face was serene, impassive. Had he stood still, she might have mistaken him for a painted statue. “Miss Ceridwen Kinsley,” he greeted her as she stepped next to Bronwyn, who’d answered the door. “I am Jackoby, Lord Winterbourne’s butler and chief aide.”
Bronwyn pursed her lips when he did not turn and address her as well.
Another man emerged from around the carriage—the younger man from yesterday. He, too, had his brown hair tied back, the end brushing the base of his neck. In all likelihood, he was only a year or two older than Adair. “Kent here will see to your things,” Jackoby said.
This man did bob his head to Bronwyn, which earned him a half smile in return.
Without delay, the sisters showed the men into the sitting room where Father and Jaina sat with the trunk of Ceridwen’s things. She’d already said her farewell to Gerard before he left at dawn to fulfill a job at the docks.
Kent lifted the chest with more ease than expected and carried it off toward the door sitting agape.
“Now, say your farewells, and come along,” Jackoby continued.
Farewells?Her throat tightened, and she grabbed Bronwyn’s hand without thought.
“I’d like to see where my sister will be staying and get her settled,” Bronwyn insisted.
Jackoby looked her up and down as if seeing her for the first time. “Only Miss Ceridwen is permitted entry, no others.”
“May we please ask Lord Winterbourne?” Ceridwen asked, hesitant to loosen her grip on her sister lest the reality of her situation finally take hold.
“My lord was very specific,” he insisted. “I will not go against his orders.”
“He said I must stay, but he mentioned nothing of others not being allowed.”
“Do you wish to back out of your arrangement?” He raised a careful brow.
“No, but—”
“It’s all right, Ceridwen,” Bronwyn said. Ceridwen started to protest, but Bronwyn pulled her into a bone-crushing hug. “I’ll see what I can learn,” she whispered. “I’ll write and visit if he’ll allow it. We all will.”
Tears burned the corners of Ceridwen’s eyes. She bit her lip hard, willing them away, and nodded within her sister’s embrace. They’d never been separated, not once in all their years.
Jaina was on the edge of tears herself as Ceridwen pulled away from her sister, and the look on her father’s face… Even notes from debt collectors didn’t make him seem so forlorn.
“I’ll see you soon,” Ceridwen promised.
With a last round of farewells, she steeled her will and followed Jackoby to the carriage. Kent already waited in the driver’s seat behind the two sturdy brown horses whose manes and tails had been trimmed and groomed to perfection. The lacquered wood of the doors shone in the morning light, more evidence of the wealth and station of the man who owned it.
Jackoby climbed in after her, more graceful than a king. Before the horses snapped into motion, Ceridwen broke the silence with a question. “Have you been Lord Winterbourne’s butler long?”
He frowned. “No.”
She bit her lip, debating her next question. Learning more about Jackoby might help her gather some insight about Lord Winterbourne, if the man would give her more than one-word answers.
“Whom did you butler for before him?”
“No one,” he replied. “Which is why I will do my very best to be suitable for the honor Lord Winterbourne has bestowed upon me.”
Something. Better than nothing. And most intriguing that a noble, much less a Lord Protector, would select an unseasoned butler.
When the carriage rocked to a stop, Ceridwen shielded her eyes and looked up at the towering manor walls whose gray stone gleamed in the morning light. The tallest spire, one that soared above the other structures of the manor and where at least one light always gleamed at night, reached high above the wall, even from this perspective.
Iron gates blocked the carriage’s passage. The inner yard beyond stood empty. If she didn’t know better, she would think the place abandoned despite the manicured, yellowing green grasses lingering late into the season and the well-kept appearance of the space. Jackoby exited and requested Ceridwen remain seated.
Though she lived but a few blocks from the manor, she’d never come this close. There’d been no reason to, despite her curiosity of the place. The houses nearest it stood empty, their little yards barren, as if the whole area were dead and cursed. Ceridwen shivered, more from that thought than the late autumn chill that clung to the morning.
The metal clicked and groaned as Jackoby unlocked the heavy gate to allow entry.
In moments, the carriage rolled into the yard. A knot stuck in Ceridwen’s throat when Jackoby locked the gates behind them, sealing her promise along with any hope of escape. How many of the city’s residents had ever stood where she did now? Likely very few. None recently that she knew of.
Another man entered the yard, grabbing the reins from Kent, who promptly strode to the back and lifted the trunk with ease. Jackoby helped Ceridwen from the lavish carriage as Kent disappeared into the manor.
No sooner had Ceridwen stepped away from the carriage onto the pathway leading to the manor than the other man led the horses off toward a large side door.
Hair rose on the back of her neck, bringing her feet to a sudden halt only a few steps across the gravel pathway. She peered around the yard, but nothing new greeted her. The tingling came again on her head, her shoulders. She glanced up at the tall tower, the highest levels just visible from this angle. The windows were dark this morning, as they always were in daylight, pits of shadow in which nothing but darkness was visible.
“Miss Ceridwen?” Jackoby asked, looking back with concern as he waited for her to follow.
No matter how she stared, nothing took shape in the dark depths. She shook her head. “It’s nothing.” Ceridwen faked a smile despite the gooseflesh creeping up her arms before following Jackoby into the manor.
Inside, the halls shone with the same pristine beauty and care as the outer yard, yet like the outside of the manor, it lacked life. Only their footsteps echoed through the richly appointed dim halls. Heavy curtains were drawn over many of the windows, allowing meager light from outside to slip through their seams and edges. Ornate golden sconces glimmered with low flames, offering just enough light to see by.
Although Kent entered only a few minutes in front of them with Ceridwen’s things, she neither saw nor heard him. His destination remained a mystery, almost as though he’d vanished with the trunk in tow. Her flute she had packed separately, a request made by Jackoby before they departed. She carried the little box by its handle in front of her, a token of comfort in this strange place.
Rich tapestries hung from walls along with fine paintings even Bronwyn would be impressed by. The rooms and alcoves they passed were filled with an array of lavish furnishings: lamps wrought of gold and silver; finely carved, polished tables; and seating made of exotic wood and fine cloth. Yet all were empty—silent as a tomb at midnight.
The beauty and grandeur chaffed. The contents of one room could change her family’s fortunes for generations, yet the reclusive Lord Protector kept it all locked away. To not even invite the citizens under his protection to view and enjoy it was unthinkable.
“Here we are,” Jackoby said, drawing to a halt in front of an ornate wooden door.
He led Ceridwen into what appeared to be a study containing more of the breathtaking furnishings that occupied the rest of the manor. On the far wall stood a large stone fireplace that crackled with orange flame. Soon, such a fire would be necessary, but not yet, not if they opened the windows and let in some fresh air. Wood smoke perfumed the air instead, mixing with the faint scent of old parchment and leather. A cozy scent, or it would be anywhere else.
Ceridwen thought the room empty until a voice spoke from a high-backed leather chair turned toward the fire. “You’ve brought her.”
The deep timbre rolled over her skin and sent her back stiffening. A hand moved on the armrest, holding a glass of dark liquid that glimmered in the firelight.
“Yes, my lord. Miss Ceridwen Kinsley, as expected.” Jackoby bowed slightly at the waist, though Lord Winterbourne could not see him from where he sat.
“Thank you, Jackoby,” he replied, swirling the contents of his glass. He made no move to rise or turn. “Perhaps Ceridwen would indulge me with a song?”
So that’s why Jackoby had me carry the flute separately.Lord Winterbourne must have informed him of his wishes early this morning.
The glass clicked on a wooden table as he set it away, still reclining in the chair, hidden from view.
“Any requests, my lord?” Ceridwen asked before setting the flute case on a little table and removing the precious instrument.
“‘The Tale of the Maiden Fair.’”
Ceridwen’s blood chilled in her veins. It was the same song she’d played the night the monster attacked. She yearned to tell him no, to deny knowing the song, but she pushed the urge away. Better not to offend her patron during her first assignment.
She nearly gasped as Lord Winterbourne rose in one fluid movement. He stood tall over the high-backed chair. Long, unkempt hair trailed down between his shoulder blades. Dark clothing hugged broad shoulders. Though she could see little of him, what she saw reminded her of the wild men who lived in the deep wood, far from cities and towns. Yet this man was supposed to be a noble lord? Their protector?
His face sported a beard as dark and ragged as the hair that hung about his head. Had he never used a comb? Scissors? His butler appeared more a lord than he did. The fine dark jacket hugging his arms and shoulders shone with silver stitching. A light-colored shirt poked out from between its front lapels, crisp and clean. The pants and boots, too, spoke of wealth, yet the man…
In one movement, he lifted the chair and twisted it around. The heavy object thumped into place upon the carpets before he reclined in it once again.
Icy blue eyes locked with hers, staring Ceridwen down in return. Heat rose to her cheeks as she dropped her gaze to the ground. Even if he chose to act a hermit and keep his hair and beard like one as well, he was still a noble, and she chided herself for watching him so boldly.
“Whenever you’re ready,” he prompted.
A sudden tightness threatened to steal her song, but she swallowed her nerves and took a deep breath.
The first notes came out warbly, airy, and a little flat. But after a few bars, the tune strengthened. The notes rose and fell in crescendo and decrescendo, escalating to a ringing forte during the climax of the song and falling to a soft pianissimo as the tune drew to a close. At some point while playing, she’d closed her eyes, letting herself drift far away with the music. She still held them closed as the last note slipped into the heavy silence. She heard nothing, not even the beat of her own heart or the crackle of the fire.
Nothing, until a slow, loud clap drew her back to the present and caused her eyes to fly wide. It was the same reception she’d received at her house the day before.
“Perfect, just as I remembered,” Lord Winterbourne said as he halted his applause. “You will uphold our agreement?”
Ceridwen swallowed and gave a jerking nod.
“Do not leave the manor grounds, nor enter the high tower. You shall attend dinner in the formal dining room and play the flute for me each day. Anything else is your own discretion.”
A heavy breath slipped from Ceridwen’s lips. No odd commands. Nothing to dishonor her. Perhaps she truly would be treated as a guest in this empty, lifeless place.
“That will be all, Jackoby,” he said. “Ceridwen, please stay.”
Her heart raced as Jackoby bowed once again and headed for the door. She followed him with her gaze, silently begging him not to leave. Terror gripped her chest at the thought of being alone in a room with this strange man. Each step increased her worry until her face flushed as the door slid shut behind the butler.
When she turned to Lord Winterbourne, he no longer sat.
“Come with me. I’ll show you to your room.”