Chapter 5 #3
Phoebe ignored Vivienne entirely. She walked over to the chess table and began placing the ivory pieces back into their wooden box.
“A very attentive secretary,” Phoebe mused, her voice low enough that only Corinna could hear.
“Yes,” Corinna replied softly, watching the space where Edmund had been sitting. “Very attentive indeed.”
Just as Eleanor was suggesting they prepare for their trip to the modiste, the butler appeared in the doorway for a second time.
“The Dowager Countess of Ravenswood and Miss Arabella Ashford,” the butler announced loudly.
Lady Margaret entered the room with quiet, dignified grace.
She was fifty-two years old, with silver-streaked dark hair and fine, delicate bones.
She wore a high-collared dress of deep mourning black.
She carried herself with the profound sorrow of a woman who had genuinely loved her husband, leaving her hollowed out but not broken.
A young woman walked quietly beside her mother. Corinna assumed this must be Arabella, the earl’s sister. She looked terribly uncomfortable, keeping her eyes firmly fixed on the carpet as if she expected the floorboards to give way at any moment.
Eleanor rushed forward to receive them, completely overwhelmed by the honor of the visit.
“Lady Margaret,” she said, dropping into a deep curtsy. “We are so deeply honored. Please, take the most comfortable chair by the fire.”
Lady Margaret offered a gentle, composed smile.
“Thank you, Mrs. Ashwell. I apologize for the sudden intrusion. I leave for my sister’s estate in the countryside within a few days; my health and my grief require some time away from the noise of London.
But I could not let the Season pass without calling on your family at least once.
Our husbands were such wonderful, dear friends.
It is a tragedy that our families never properly came together during their lifetimes. ”
“It is a tragedy indeed,” Eleanor agreed softly.
Lady Margaret looked warmly at Vivienne and then at Corinna. “You have beautiful daughters, Mrs. Ashwell. I only wish to see them settled and happy. I have long meant to spend some time at my sister’s country estate, once my health allows it.”
Vivienne immediately launched into a speech full of practiced, sugary sympathy, expressing her deep sorrow for the countess’s loss.
Corinna said very little. She sat quietly and watched the exchange. She watched Arabella, who stood slightly behind her mother’s chair. The girl was wringing her gloved hands together in a continuous, nervous motion, refusing to meet anyone’s eye.
She looks exactly how I feel at these terrible gatherings, Corinna thought with a spark of genuine sympathy. Like a prisoner waiting for the warden to look away.
Eleanor sat with Lady Margaret for a moment longer once Vivienne finally stopped talking. The two older women exchanged a few quiet, private words about the heavy burden of grief, trading a silent understanding that neither would ever repeat to anyone else afterward.
Lady Margaret took her leave within fifteen brief minutes. She expressed her hope to return to London before the Season completely closed, and then she was gone, taking the highly nervous Arabella with her.
Later that evening, the townhouse finally fell quiet. Vivienne was asleep, exhausted from her afternoon of ordering new dresses and complaining about ribbons.
Corinna sat at the small writing desk in her bedroom. A single candle burned steadily next to a fresh sheet of thick parchment. She dipped her quill into the inkwell and began to write a letter to Thomas Briggs, the estate steward back in the country.
She did not mention names. She did not mention titles. She simply described the entire confusing situation using the only language that made sense to her.
Dear Thomas,
I find myself playing against a very unusual opponent. Their moves are incredibly clever and completely unhesitating. They command the center of the board with absolute authority. But they never once show what piece they are actually protecting. They hide their true position behind a wall of pawns.
What would you do against an opponent like that? I strongly suspect they could be beaten, but only if I could manage to see one full turn ahead of them. Please send your advice. London is proving to be a much more dangerous game than I anticipated.
She signed her name, folded the heavy parchment, and sealed it with a drop of red wax. She pressed her family crest into the warm wax, fully determined to uncover the truth behind the quiet companion’s unreadable face.
As the candle flickered low, Corinna realized the game had shifted.
The board was no longer confined to boxwood and ebony.
It had expanded to include the entire room, and she had absolutely no intention of losing.
She looked out the window at the dark London streets, feeling the electric hum of curiosity that only truly difficult puzzles could provoke.
Somewhere, out in the sprawling city, a man was hiding behind a secretary’s coat, and she was going to find out exactly why.