Chapter 4 #2
“He chooses the tree line over the open road,” Corinna observed, her voice barely louder than a whisper. She did not look at Edmund, keeping her eyes fixed on the bird. “He knows the open sky is just a place to be hunted.”
The observation was so dry and so remarkably astute that Edmund spoke before his common sense could stop him.
“I understand the impulse perfectly,” Edmund said softly.
Corinna snapped her head around. Genuine shock registered on her face, clearly surprised that the quiet secretary had answered her at all, let alone understood her meaning.
Her gray eyes searched his face, seemingly looking for the polite mockery that usually accompanied a conversation with a gentleman.
She found none.
They stood frozen on the gravel path for a fleeting second. It was a brief moment of shared understanding that had absolutely no business existing between an earl and his intended bride’s sister.
She sees the trap of this city just as clearly as I do, Edmund realized, his heart giving a strange, heavy thump.
“Mr. Marsh!” Julian called out loudly, breaking the fragile spell. Standing by the carriage, Julian held Vivienne’s hand in farewell. “We must return to Mayfair. The morning post awaits.”
Tearing his eyes away from Corinna, Edmund bowed stiffly to the ladies. “Good day, Miss Ashwell. Madam.”
Julian appeared to enjoy himself all the way back to the townhouse, talking cheerfully and apparently oblivious to Edmund’s silence. He was delighted by how easy it was to be charming when charm was his only required task.
They arrived back at the Mayfair townhouse shortly after noon. Handing his hat and gloves to the waiting footman in the grand entrance hall, Edmund rolled his stiff shoulders, eager to retreat to the sanctuary of his private study and bury himself in the estate ledgers.
He had walked halfway across the black and white marble floor when a figure stepped out of the drawing room.
“Edmund!”
Edmund froze. It was his younger sister, Arabella.
Having clearly just arrived from their country estate, she still wore a heavy woolen traveling cloak, her soft brown hair slightly windblown.
Without waiting for him to speak, she crossed the entrance hall with desperate urgency, throwing her arms around his neck and burying her face against his shoulder.
Instinctively, Edmund wrapped his arms around her. “Arabella. What is wrong? Why are you in London?”
Before Arabella could utter a word of explanation, the front door swung open behind them.
Looking up over his sister’s shoulder, Edmund felt the blood drain completely from his face.
Phoebe Cavendish was stepping into the entryway, a small wrapped book in her hand.
True to her word at the park, she had come to drop off the volume of Italian landscapes.
Stopping dead in her tracks, Phoebe stood perfectly still, watching a young, unchaperoned country girl desperately embrace the man who was supposed to be a mere secretary.
Panic seized Edmund’s chest. The masquerade is over. Right here. Right now.
Julian moved with terrifying speed.
Rushing forward from the parlor doorway, Julian grabbed Arabella by the shoulders and forcibly pulled her out of Edmund’s arms and into his own.
“Sister!” Julian cried out warmly, his voice echoing loudly through the grand hall to ensure Phoebe heard every syllable.
Pulling the terrified, rigid girl into a brief, overly enthusiastic hug, he acted as if this were the most normal occurrence in the world.
“My dear sister, what on earth are you doing here in London? We did not expect you for weeks!”
Stepping back, Julian kept a firm, warning grip on Arabella’s shoulders.
Arabella pulled back, staring at the strange man holding her.
She looked at Julian’s unfamiliar face and then looked past him to her actual brother, who was standing frozen near the stairs.
An expression of complete and utter bewilderment washed over her gentle features. She opened her mouth to speak.
Please, Edmund pleaded silently, shooting her a desperate look. Do not say a word.
Standing near the door, Phoebe watched the entire bizarre exchange.
Her expression remained completely unreadable.
She looked at Julian. She looked at Arabella.
Finally, her eyes locked onto Edmund. A dangerous, quiet calculation burned behind her gaze, making Edmund’s stomach twist into tight knots.
She did not ask a single question.
Handing the wrapped book to the nervous footman, Phoebe offered a polite smile that did not reach her eyes.
“I bid you all a very good day,” she said smoothly. Her tone was perfectly courteous, but it held an edge that sliced through the heavy tension in the room.
Turning on her heel, she walked out the front door, leaving a suffocating silence in her wake.
The heavy mahogany door clicked firmly shut. The latch fell into place with a loud, final thud.
Arabella waited for three long seconds to ensure they were truly alone. Reaching up, she shoved Julian’s hands off her shoulders with surprising force and took two large steps backward.
She turned slowly, looking directly at Edmund. Her gentle brown eyes were filled with absolute fury and deep confusion.
“Will someone,” Arabella demanded, her voice shaking with controlled anger, “please tell me what in God’s name is going on in this house?”