Chapter 10 #2
They have likely witnessed worse, she told herself. Old houses always have their secrets.
She climbed the stairs to the wing where the countess’s chambers were located, her mind still churning with possibilities and impossibilities in equal measure. As she approached the door, another worry began to surface.
What would she say to Lady Blackfen?
The countess had proven herself disturbingly perceptive on more than one occasion.
Those sharp eyes, which could turn vague and dreamy without warning, had a way of seeing things that ought to remain hidden.
What if she took one look at her and divined exactly what had transpired in her son’s study?
Verity paused outside the countess’s door, drawing a deep breath and smoothing her palms over her skirts one final time. Whatever awaited her on the other side, she would simply have to face it with what dignity she could muster.
A sound behind made her start.
Mrs. Harrow stood behind her, a laden dinner tray balanced expertly in her hands. The housekeeper’s dark eyes swept over Verity with a curiosity that made her want to flee back down the corridor, but her expression revealed nothing beyond professional courtesy.
“Miss Hale. I was just about to search for you. Her ladyship has been asking after you this past hour.”
“I apologize,” Verity managed, hoping her voice did not betray the tumult beneath. “I was … walking. The grounds are quite extensive.”
A flimsy excuse, given the cold and the approaching darkness, but Mrs. Harrow merely nodded.
“I have brought dinner for you and the countess. She does not care to dine alone this evening.”
“Of course.” Verity stepped aside to allow the housekeeper to enter, then followed her into the warmth of Lady Blackfen’s sitting room.
The countess was ensconced in her usual chair by the fire, an embroidery hoop lying forgotten in her lap. She looked up at their entrance, and something sharpened in her gaze as it fell upon Verity, something knowing that made Verity’s pulse quicken with alarm.
“Ah, there you are. I was beginning to think you had been spirited away.”
If only you knew.
Verity summoned a smile and moved to take her customary seat opposite the old woman. “I apologize for my absence, my lady. I lost track of the hour.”
Lady Blackfen’s lips curved in a smile that could only be described as sly. “I expect you did. The hours have a way of slipping past when one is otherwise … occupied.”
Heat crept up Verity’s neck. Surely, the countess could not know?—
But Mrs. Harrow was speaking again, drawing her attention. “Miss Hale, before I forget, a young gentleman called at the castle earlier this afternoon. He was asking after the countess’s companion.”
The warmth in Verity’s cheeks turned to ice in an instant. “A young gentleman?”
“Indeed. He declined to leave his card, and when I asked his name, he grew rather evasive. Most peculiar behavior.” Mrs. Harrow set the tray down on the small table between the two chairs, her brow furrowed slightly.
“I informed him we do not discuss our staff, and that Lord Blackfen does not receive visitors so late in the day, and that he might return in the morning if he wished to call properly. He seemed … displeased by this.”
Verity’s throat had gone dry. “Did he … did he describe whom he was seeking?”
“That is the strangest part. He asked after the countess’s companion but did not seem to know your name. He described only a young woman from the south with red hair.” Mrs. Harrow’s eyes met Verity’s, sharp with curiosity. “Do you know who he might be?”
Robert Fynn. He has found me.
The realization crashed through her like a wave of icy water, momentarily drowning out all other concerns. He had tracked her across the length of England. And now he was here, at Blackfen, mere hours after she had unburdened herself to Lucien.
Thank heavens I told the truth.
The relief that flooded through her was so intense it nearly brought tears to her eyes.
Whatever muddle she had made of things this afternoon, whatever complications might arise from her liaison with the earl, at least she had had the foresight to confess her secrets before Robert could poison the well with his lies.
“Miss Hale?” Mrs. Harrow was watching her with evident concern. “Are you quite well? You have gone rather pale.”
“I am fine,” Verity managed, though her voice emerged somewhat strangled. “It is only … I believe I may know the gentleman. An acquaintance from Somerset. I had not expected him to follow me here.”
“A persistent suitor?” Lady Blackfen inquired, her eyes gleaming with sudden interest. “How delicious. Competition always sharpens a man’s appetites.”
“Not a suitor, my lady. Merely … an acquaintance.” The word tasted like ash on her tongue. Robert Fynn was many things, but acquaintance was perhaps the kindest term she could apply to him.
Mrs. Harrow lingered a moment longer, clearly hoping for further explanation, but when none was forthcoming, she simply nodded and withdrew. The click of the door closing behind her seemed unnaturally loud in the sudden quiet.
“Well then,” Lady Blackfen said, reaching for the teapot with hands that trembled only slightly, “shall we dine? I find myself quite famished this evening. There is something in the air tonight. Can you not feel it, too? A sort of … restlessness.”
Indeed.
Verity accepted a cup of tea, grateful for something to occupy her hands. The liquid was hot and strong, and she sipped it carefully while trying to compose her thoughts.
Robert Fynn was here. He would return in the morning. And when he did, he would undoubtedly attempt to spread his poison, painting her as the wanton temptress of his imagination, destroying the refuge she had only just begun to build.
“You are thinking very loudly, my dear,” Lady Blackfen observed, peering at her over the rim of her teacup. “It is most distracting. Whatever is troubling you, I suggest you set it aside and eat. Problems are always less formidable on a full stomach.”
Verity obediently reached for a slice of bread and butter, though her appetite had entirely deserted her. She chewed mechanically, barely tasting the food, while her mind raced through possibilities and disasters in equal measure.
The countess, meanwhile, had begun to speak, a rambling monologue that wandered from the quality of the tea to the unseasonable cold to a detailed reminiscence of some long-ago hunt. Verity listened with half an ear, nodding at appropriate intervals.
Then she became aware that the room had gone quiet.
She looked up to find the countess watching her.
Not with the vague, wandering gaze, but with the fixed, penetrating stare that seemed to see straight through to her very soul.
Verity felt suddenly, inexplicably exposed, as though every secret she carried had been laid bare upon the table between them.
“My lady?” Verity’s voice came out barely above a whisper.
“The wolf has claimed his mate.”
The words landed like a thunderclap in the quiet room.
“I beg your pardon?”
Lady Blackfen smiled, a knowing, satisfied smile that made Verity’s stomach drop.
“I had begun to despair, you know. Lucien has always been so determined to deny his nature. But the blood will out, as they say. It always does.” She lifted her teacup, her eyes never leaving Verity’s face.
“You are the one who will end his foolish notions about ending the bloodline. I saw it the moment you walked through my door.”
Verity restrained the urge to squirm. Lady Blackfen was far too perceptive.
“Forgive me, my lady, but I am not certain what you mean. Lord Blackfen has made no declarations to me.”