Chapter 27
Cecily reached the landing just as the music swelled from the ballroom below. She slowed, one hand resting on the banister, her breath catching as her eyes fell on the couple turning across the polished floor.
Tobias moved with steady confidence, guiding his partner through the steps as the music filled the room.
At first, Viola followed stiffly, her posture a touch too rigid, her hand resting on his arm with a tension that betrayed her uncertainty.
Her eyes flicked around the room, checking who might be watching, who might be judging, and who might be whispering.
For a moment, she seemed almost unsure of herself.
But as they completed the first turn and more faces turned toward them, something in her shifted. Her shoulders loosened. Her chin lifted. The faint tightness around her mouth eased into a smile that grew more self-satisfied with each step.
Viola’s gown swept in a bright arc around her, the silk moving in soft waves that made her appear grander than she was. The fabric rose and fell with each turn, giving her an air of importance she clearly relished. The more the room watched, the more she leaned into it.
Her hand on his arm grew firmer, almost possessive, as if she wished to make her claim visible to every guest present.
Cecily felt her stomach tighten at the sight.
She forced herself to remain still, reminding her heart that Tobias’s expression held no warmth for the woman in his arms. She had known this moment would come, that Viola would seize any chance to appear close to him, but knowing did little to soften the sting of seeing it unfold before her.
Viola tilted her head back, smiling up at Tobias with a look that held triumph rather than joy. It was the expression of someone who believed the dance itself was a declaration, a victory she intended everyone in the room to witness.
Cecily remained still, half-hidden in the shadow of the staircase. The music rose, and Tobias turned, his expression polite but distant. Viola leaned closer, speaking softly, her lips curved in satisfaction.
No. It is only a ruse. He is keeping her occupied. That is all, Cecily thought, forcing her attention away from the pair below. She straightened her shoulders and stepped back from the railing.
She reminded herself why she had come upstairs in the first place.
Tobias trusted her with this part of the plan, and she would not falter now.
Whatever she felt watching him dance with Viola had no place here.
She took in a deep, slow breath, letting the purpose of the night settle over her, and turned away from the music below.
She slipped down the corridor, her steps light against the carpet. The farther she moved from the music, the stronger her heart beat, as though her body already sensed what waited ahead.
Silas Creed had been using one of the smaller rooms at the end of the hall as an office during Lady Viola’s stay. He did not sleep at the estate, nor did he have any true reason to claim a private space, yet he had taken this one without hesitation.
He said it was for correspondence and estate matters, but Cecily had noticed how often he slipped inside and how quickly he shut the door behind him. It had always struck her as strange, a man with no permanent place in the house behaving as though he had every right to one.
If he kept anything important, anything that might explain his behavior, it would be there.
She reached the door and paused, listening for any sound within. Nothing. The corridor behind her remained empty.
Her hand hovered above the latch, her breath held tight in her chest.
The lock gave without resistance, and she eased the door open inch by inch before stepping into the dim room.
Cecily stepped inside and let the door fall shut behind her with the faintest click.
The air felt cooler in here, still and stale, and she paused long enough for her eyes to adjust. The scent reached her first, a mix of ink and damp wool.
She progressed toward the desk, her steps slow, her ears tuned to every creak of the floorboards and every distant sound from the corridor.
Papers lay in a loose scatter across the surface, some half-unfolded, others crumpled at the edges.
She glanced toward the hallway again, listening.
Nothing. She took in a deep breath and began to sort through the mess, lifting each sheet with careful fingers.
Receipts for coal shipments. A list of supplies.
A letter from a merchant in town. All ordinary and all useless.
Her frustration rose, but she forced her hands to remain careful.
She could not afford to miss anything. She sifted through the papers again, searching for any detail that might hint at something hidden beneath the surface.
Each useless page made her pulse quicken, but she refused to let panic take hold. There had to be something here.
She paused and lifted her head as a faint sound echoed somewhere beyond the door. Her hand hovered over the next page. When silence returned, she exhaled slowly and continued, her fingers moving faster now, her eyes darting between the papers and the doorway as she searched.
Then she found it.
A crude map of the Fairbourne estate and the surrounding land, drawn in a rough, heavy hand. Several farms were marked with dark strokes. The mine was circled twice.
Her stomach tightened.
This means something. They were planning something. But it is not enough. Not yet.
She folded the map with deliberate care, aware that even this small discovery could shift everything. Yet she knew Tobias needed more than suspicion. He needed certainty. She slipped the map into her pocket, her breath unsteady as she listened for footsteps.
The plan is moving forward. But we need more. There has to be something more.
Cecily slipped out of Creed’s office and quietly pulled the door closed. She trod quickly down the hallway and kept close to the paneling as she rounded the corner toward Viola’s quarters, listening for any sound from behind the doors she passed.
She reached Viola’s door just as the latch turned.
Her heart lurched. She had expected the corridor to be empty, had counted on it.
The sudden sound sent a jolt through her, and she moved without thinking, slipping into the nearest room.
She pressed herself against the wall, willing her breath to quiet.
If Viola found her here, everything would unravel before it even began.
Viola stepped out first, her posture tall and controlled, and her expression smooth except for the faint crease of annoyance between her brows. A moment later, the maid followed, her shoulders slightly hunched, and her gaze lowered to the carpet as she trailed after her mistress.
“Your hem is holding, My Lady,” the maid said as they walked, her voice low and careful in the quiet corridor.
Viola gave a short, dismissive laugh. “It should hold. I cannot imagine how it came loose in the first place. You nearly had me tripping in front of half the county.”
“I am sorry, My Lady. I did my best with the pins.”
“Yes, well,” Viola replied, her tone sharp but airy, “your best will have to improve. I cannot keep slipping away from the ballroom to have you fix what should have been done properly the first time.”
The maid murmured another apology as their footsteps continued toward the music below.
When the corridor finally fell quiet, Cecily slipped out of her hiding place and hurried toward Viola’s room, her breath still uneven from the close call. She knew she had only a small window before she would be needed down below, and she moved quickly.
The door came into view, and she reached it without slowing. Her hand closed around the cool metal latch, steady despite the rush in her chest. She pressed it downward with firm, controlled pressure. The door yielded at once, opening just wide enough for her to slip inside.
The chamber was immaculate, every ribbon and trinket carefully arranged. Viola’s taste showed in the precise placement of each item, as though the room had been prepared for admiration rather than use.
She went first to the dressing table. The polished surface reflected the soft glow of the lamps, and she pulled open the top drawer with swift, careful fingers.
Handkerchiefs lay in neat stacks beside a small bottle of scent and a ribbon she recognized from earlier in the evening.
She sifted through them, lifting corners and checking beneath folded cloth.
Nothing.
She shut the drawer and moved to the next, her breath tight in her chest. Letters tied with silk, invitations, a discarded note listing fabrics Viola wished to order. All trivial. All useless.
Lord, please help me find something.
She crossed to the writing desk, her steps quick and silent. The chair scraped softly as she pulled it back. She opened the first drawer, then the second, her hands moving faster as she searched through folded letters, scraps of parchment, and a half-finished list of guests Viola hoped to impress.
Still nothing.
A faint tremor ran through her fingers. She pressed her lips together and reached for the final drawer. She pulled it open, her breath catching as she lifted the stack of papers inside.
More notes. More lists. A few pieces of correspondence that held nothing but idle chatter.
Nothing. Nothing useful.
She set the papers down, her heart sinking with the weight of them. She exhaled slowly, forcing herself not to give in to frustration. There had to be something. There must be. She would not leave the room until she had searched every corner.
She walked over to the bedside table, knelt, and pulled open the small drawer. A slim leather-bound journal lay inside, its edges worn from frequent handling. Cecily hesitated only a moment before lifting it out.