Chapter 7 #2
He inhaled sharply, his broad shoulders tensing as he pulled his hand away. The gesture was clearly meant to look proper and unaffected, but it came a full beat too late to be convincing.
“My apologies, Miss Ashwell,” he said. His voice sounded unusually hoarse, stripped of its usual calm detachment. “The path is quite narrow.”
“It is perfectly fine, Mr. Marsh,” Corinna replied. She kept her eyes fixed firmly on the gravel path ahead. She did not look at him, fearing what he might see in her eyes.
She said nothing further, but she was acutely, overwhelmingly aware of exactly where his hand had been for the entire remainder of the walk. Her skin continued to tingle with the memory of the heat.
As the park promenade began to wind down near the grand iron gates, a loud, breathless voice shattered their quiet moment.
“My dear Mrs. Ashwell! What a delightfully crowded morning we are having!”
Lady Sophronia Quill descended upon their group like a heavily feathered bird of prey. She carried a bright orange parasol and an expression of absolute, unadulterated glee. Aunt Phoebe, who had been walking quietly near the edge of the group, moved closer to listen to the incoming chaos.
“Good morning, Lady Sophronia,” Eleanor said politely, though she looked slightly overwhelmed by the feathers.
“I simply had to find you,” Sophronia announced, fanning herself rapidly despite the crisp morning air. “Have you heard the news? The entire ton is buzzing like a disturbed hive.”
“We have heard nothing, my lady,” Vivienne said. She eagerly stepped forward to receive the gossip, practically pushing the earl aside to get closer to Sophronia. “Do tell us immediately.”
Sophronia leaned in conspiratorially. “Did you hear that Lord Fife purchased a notoriously bad-tempered stallion? Or that Miss Bingley actually wore last season’s lace to the opera? But that is absolutely nothing compared to the real scandal.”
“Please, Lady Sophronia, the suspense is terrible,” Vivienne urged, her eyes wide.
“A striking woman arrived yesterday at Grillion’s Hotel,” Sophronia declared with great relish.
“She is traveling entirely alone, which is scandalous enough on its own. But she is exquisitely dressed. Copper-haired, elegant, and she possesses an accent that suggests she has spent a great deal of time in Paris.”
Corinna watched the faces around the group. Vivienne looked highly intrigued by the prospect of a new rival. Eleanor looked mildly scandalized at the very idea of a woman staying in a hotel alone.
“She dined last evening with old Lady Featherstone,” Sophronia continued happily. “And nobody knows who she is! She is a complete mystery woman arriving right in the middle of the Season. I find it outrageous and delicious in equal measure.”
Phoebe listened with an expression of mild amusement. “Perhaps she is merely a wealthy widow seeking new scenery, Lady Sophronia. Not every arrival is a grand conspiracy meant to entertain us.”
“Oh, I am certain she is up to no good,” Sophronia insisted. “Women traveling alone with copper hair and Parisian clothes always carry trouble with them.”
Corinna glanced to her right, looking directly at Mr. Marsh.
He was standing slightly behind the earl.
For a fraction of a second, the secretary’s entire body went perfectly, unnaturally still.
The careful mask of the bored companion vanished completely.
His blue eyes widened in shock, his square jaw locked tight, and a look of profound dread washed over his features.
The expression was there and gone in the blink of an eye.
The earl turned his head slightly, shooting a panicked, urgent look at his secretary.
Mr. Marsh recovered his posture immediately. He smoothed his features back into a polite, impenetrable blankness, giving a tiny, almost imperceptible nod to his employer.
“It sounds like a matter for the hotel management,” the secretary said blandly, his voice perfectly even. “Nothing to concern ourselves with.”
Nobody else in the group noticed the silent exchange. Vivienne was already speculating loudly about the copper-haired woman’s hidden wealth. Eleanor was complaining about the lack of morals in modern establishments.
Corinna filed the sudden stillness away in her mind, turning the puzzle piece over carefully.
Why would a simple secretary freeze at the mention of a woman from Paris?
she wondered. And why did the earl look to him for instruction?
She did not know what it meant, but she was absolutely certain it meant something important.
The carriage ride back to the townhouse was deafeningly loud with Vivienne’s endless commentary on the morning’s great success.
Corinna retreated to the quiet sanctuary of her bedroom the moment they crossed the threshold.
She needed absolute silence. She needed to think about the burning touch in the garden, the ridiculous conversation about the Serpentine, and the panic she had witnessed in the quiet companion’s eyes.
She found a letter waiting for her on her small wooden writing desk.
The heavy parchment bore the familiar, unhurried handwriting of Thomas Briggs, the estate steward. Corinna broke the red wax seal eagerly, unfolding the pages.
Dear Corinna, the letter began.
I received your highly concerning assessment of your current opponent in London.
I must tell you that a player who never shows his position is not necessarily playing you false.
You must remember that some men simply learned, somewhere in their difficult past, that showing your position gets it immediately taken from you.
Corinna sat down on the edge of her bed, smoothing the parchment over her skirts. Her eyes scanned the ink carefully.
You must stop trying to trap his king with aggressive openings.
Instead, you should watch what the man protects, not what he reveals.
What is he keeping entirely off the board?
What pieces is he absolutely refusing to sacrifice?
You have always been far better at reading people than you give yourself credit for.
Stop watching his hands, Corinna, and start watching his eyes.
Corinna lowered the letter to her lap, staring blindly at the opposite wall.
Watch what he protects, Thomas had written.
He was protecting the earl from making conversational blunders. He was protecting a secret hidden somewhere in Paris. She just needed to figure out why he was hiding behind a wall of pawns to do it.
She lifted the paper to read the final few lines.
On a much lighter note, the estate’s hedge maze finally has its winter pruning completed.
The gardeners found three lost tennis balls and a very confused squirrel.
I must admit, you are sorely missed at the chessboard in the steward’s office.
The new footman agreed to play me yesterday, but he is terribly honest and easy to beat.
No one here cheats quite as creatively as you do.
Play carefully, Corinna. And remember, a knight on the edge of the board is completely useless. Bring him to the center.
Corinna folded the letter slowly. A small smile touched her lips. Thomas was entirely right. She had been playing too defensively since arriving in London. She had allowed the loud noise of society and her sister’s constant demands to push her to the absolute margins of the board.
It was time to move her pieces to the center.
She stood up, walked to her vanity mirror, and looked at her reflection. She remembered the intense heat of his knuckles brushing against hers in the park. She remembered the deep, terrifying intelligence shining in his blue eyes.
The quiet companion was not a simple secretary. He was a master of the game, holding secrets that could unravel the earl’s perfect facade. And Corinna was finally ready to play him in earnest.