Duke of Thorns (Heiress Games 1) (15 page)

“I wasn’t aware that I was needed here,” Callie said, sidestepping the implied question of where she had been.

Prudence grinned. “Are any of us needed here?”

That grin wasn’t the smile of someone who sat in judgment of Callie’s actions. Callie smiled back, still slightly wary. “I suppose not. But this is all very unusual.”

“Don’t worry yourself too much,” Madeleine said. Then her eyes turned serious. “But I would suggest not leaving the house with Thorington again.”

“His sisters were with us,” Callie said.

“Yes. But he could have absconded with you in an instant.”

Callie snorted. “You make him sound like a villain in a Gothic romance.”

Prudence and Madeleine exchanged glances. “That’s not so far from the truth,” Prudence said.

“Yes, I heard he abducted you,” Callie said. “But it appears that it all came right in the end.”

Prudence looked shocked. “Who told you that?” she asked, dropping her voice.

“Was it a secret?” Callie asked.

“I would prefer that no one in London knew, if that’s what you mean,” Prudence said in a low whisper.

“I see.” Callie paused, wondering how to proceed. But she had never been good at subterfuge. “Thorington confessed to it this afternoon. He seemed to want me to know how dangerous he is.”

Madeleine grabbed Callie’s arm, pulling her closer to the window and farther from the nearest guests. “He is dangerous,” she said flatly. “He may have a title and vast wealth, but he would be a horrible husband.”

“Who said anything about marrying him?” Callie said in the drawl that an afternoon in Thorington’s company had drummed into her.

“In my experience, you don’t have to say anything about marrying him. He’ll decide it for himself,” Prudence said.

“He’s a villain,” Madeleine declared. “I find it difficult to believe he escorted you to the cliffs as a mere social excursion.”

“Lord Rafael and his sisters were with us as well,” Callie said. “I like them all well enough. And as you said, it can be difficult to get one’s bearings at a party like this. At least they offered to pass the afternoon with me.”

Something like guilt passed across Madeleine’s face. “I should have thought to invite you to join us in the library this afternoon.”

“A walk to the cliffs sounds vastly more interesting than the work we did with our correspondence,” Prudence said. “Especially with a villain.”

And then she winked at Callie in an entirely conspiratorial manner.

Callie smiled. “I must admit I would take the sea over the sitting room any day.”

“That’s a fine preference for America, I’m sure,” Madeleine said. “But you must be careful here. Especially with Thorington.”

She sounded worried enough that Callie decided not to take offense at the implied slight on her American ways. “You don’t need to worry, your grace. I shall be careful.”

The conversation moved on to the weather, Callie’s impression of Devonshire, and Prudence’s assessment of the history of Maidenstone. It was all pleasant — more than pleasant. And Callie slowly began to relax, to let herself be charmed by them.

But that comfort wasn’t destined to last. Lucretia approached them.

“Miss Briarley, may I have a word?” she asked stiffly.

Callie eyed her cousin, feeling her hackles rise even before Lucretia finished speaking. “Must you?” she said.

Lucretia flushed. “I only need a moment.”

Madeleine and Prudence were gracious enough to leave without being asked — more gracious than Callie had been. Callie had enough awareness to feel just a bit of shame at that.

And her shame grew after Lucretia drew her onto the terrace and began speaking. “I wanted to apologize for yesterday,” Lucretia said. “I was rude, and I am sorry.”

Callie’s stomach shriveled, twisting on itself. She didn’t like Lucretia.

But was it possible that Lucretia was a better person than she was?

“I am sorry as well,” Callie said. “I shouldn’t have stolen your horse.”

“No, you shouldn’t have. But I should not have kept you waiting for a room. I’m sure you needed more time than you had last night to make yourself presentable for dinner.”

Lucretia’s dark eyes, so similar to Callie’s own, seemed contrite enough. But there was an edge to her voice that didn’t match her apology.

In fact, it almost sounded like an insult.

“I thought I looked presentable enough,” Callie said. “Particularly after the voyage I had.”

She’d thought she looked more than presentable the night before. After she’d calmed her nerves in the drawing room, she’d enjoyed wearing her white dress. And her hair hadn’t fallen out of its pins — Mrs. Jennings had surpassed herself.

But Lucretia sniffed. “You looked well. But you don’t know the first thing about Maidenstone.”

Callie stopped feeling guilty. “Is this still an apology?”

Lucretia didn’t say anything for the longest time. She turned toward the gardens instead, looking out over the formal shrubs and paths to the remnants of Maidenstone Wood in the distance.

Callie should have looked at the landscape as well. But she watched Lucretia instead. Her cousin could be quite pretty. Her complexion was clear, and her figure was trim enough to show advantageously in the straight, simple dresses that were so in fashion. She wore white, with a set of pearls around her throat and another rope twined through her hair.

She could have been one of the fashion plates that Callie used to look at, before she realized she didn’t need fashionable attire to manage a shipping company.

But while Lucretia was beautiful when frozen like this, the despair in her voice marred it.

“Do you remember anything about Maidenstone?” she asked, still looking at the gardens.

“My father told me...”

“No,” Lucretia interrupted. “Do you remember anything personally? From when you were a girl?”

Callie shook her head, but Lucretia wasn’t looking at her. So she said, “No. I had a moment on the staircase in the Tudor wing yesterday when I thought I remembered playing there once, but nothing beyond that.”

“You don’t remember me or Octavia?” Lucretia asked.

“No. But I wasn’t even five when we left England. I do not recall my father spending much time here in the years before that.”

“Tiberius never liked my father. He was still alive then, and still at Maidenstone, so it makes sense you wouldn’t have come.”

Lucretia’s father would have inherited, if he hadn’t died when Lucretia was a child. But all of that was decades ago. “I am pleased to see Maidenstone now,” Callie said. “It’s more charming than I expected.”

“You say it as though it’s a mere curiosity,” Lucretia said. Her voice developed a slight, but very perceptible, edge. “I took my first steps in the nursery. I rode my first pony on the drive. I took my first communion in the chapel. I had all my lessons in the schoolroom. I played at being princesses with Octavia in Maidenstone Wood.”

Lucretia paused again. Her voice had dropped off on the last statement, into something that almost sounded mournful.

“Where is Octavia?” Callie asked. “I thought she would have arrived already.”

“Octavia will not be attending,” Lucretia said, in a final sort of way that left no room to ask why. “Which leaves you.”

She turned to Callie as she said this. Her voice was shored up again, supported by some reservoir of will.

“I will give you five thousand pounds if you give up your claim to Maidenstone.”

Callie laughed.

“It’s an earnest offer,” Lucretia said.

“You must do better than that,” Callie said. “I have lived abroad most of my life, but I know the value of a pound. And I know the value of an estate. Five thousand pounds is nothing compared to Maidenstone.”

“But it isn’t about the money.”

“Everything is about money,” Callie retorted.

Lucretia had made a fine effort of seeming contrite earlier. But now her eyes narrowed. “Maidenstone’s legacy isn’t about wealth. But you don’t know anything about that, do you? You’ve never cared for the family, only your own needs.”

Callie was too confused to be offended. “What are you going on about?”

“Grandfather was most put out that you didn’t come home after Uncle Tiberius died. You should have obeyed him.”

“Obeyed him? I can’t say I even remember him, save for the miniature my father kept of him. What cause did I have to obey him?”

“He was the head of the family,” Lucretia said impatiently. “I never would have dreamed of disappointing him.”

Callie frowned. Her cousin seemed truly upset that she hadn’t danced to the old earl’s tune. As though it would have changed anything — the title still would have died at his death. There was nothing any of the girls could have done to avoid that fate.

But while Callie didn’t particularly like Lucretia, she didn’t want to further upset her. So she said, with more care than usual, “Would you like an apology? I did not know that I had caused any of you pain.”

Lucretia snorted. “It’s late for an apology. You can give it to Grandfather the next time we decorate the mausoleum. It’s traditional for Briarleys to apologize to the dead, since we don’t do it to the living.”

“I would offer one to the living, if it would make a difference,” Callie said.

She could very nearly taste the bitterness in the air as Lucretia paused. The other girl still looked lovely — but there was such a depth of darkness in her eyes that Callie wondered, suddenly, what tragedy she had suffered.

Callie would wager it was something far beyond losing their grandfather at the natural end of his days.

“It wouldn’t,” Lucretia said finally. “And it’s not necessary — you did nothing to cause offense, save for ignoring us. Perhaps I would have been happier if I’d done the same.”

“It’s not too late, you know,” Callie said. “You aren’t tied to Maidenstone any more than I am.”

If there had been a bit of wistfulness and something approaching understanding in the previous moment, Callie’s encouragement killed it. “You don’t know the first thing about Maidenstone, or its history, or the people who depend upon it for their livelihood,” Lucretia snapped. “If you win, you would destroy it all just to turn a profit. I won’t beg your forgiveness when I say that I’ll do whatever I can to make sure it stays out of your hands.”

Lucretia didn’t wait for Callie to respond. She returned to the drawing room instead, stomping more than a lady should have.

Callie should have followed her. But she was still too stunned to face anyone.

She looked back out over the gardens instead. Had her instinct to put down roots been killed by Tiberius’s perennial wanderings? This land, with the ancient forest ahead of her and the magical house looming behind her, was built for roots. It was saturated with history — both the bloody kind and the sweeter, simpler ties of tradition that stretched across generations. And it was so very different from Baltimore. Maidenstone Abbey was a place that would
stay
, not a place still finding its footing in a new world.

She wanted roots.

She just wasn’t sure she was capable of growing them. Already Baltimore seemed so far away. She had spent over seven years there — seven times longer than she’d spent in Jamaica, which was the longest she’d remembered living anywhere. She had thought it was home. But her house there was just a house. Her things there were just things. She couldn’t remember anything she’d left behind, beyond a few books and trinkets. The things that mattered to her — the Briarley Bible, her mother’s jewelry, the only doll that had survived her wandering childhood — had come with her. The rest of it could be abandoned if necessary.

Lucretia would fight for this place. She probably would have welcomed their grandfather’s original idea of a duel — for all that she was too stiff with propriety, Callie could still see Lucretia trying to put a sword through her throat to keep her from winning Maidenstone.

But Lucretia didn’t fight for wealth or status. She fought because it was the only thing she could do for the place that meant everything to her.

And Callie knew, then, that she was jealous of her cousin, and a terrible person besides. Because she wanted
that
— that conviction, that desire — more than she wanted Maidenstone. She wanted a place to care about.

And she was willing to take Maidenstone from Lucretia if it helped her to feel it.

CHAPTER TWELVE

“You may demonstrate singing or pianoforte,” Thorington said the next morning, as soon as Callie had walked into the music room. “I have no preference.”

“If you want to see my best talents, I should demonstrate knot-tying,” Callie said. “My father said I was quite proficient.”

Thorington didn’t smile. In fact, his expression exactly suited the displeased, disapproving governess he’d offered to become for her. “Unless your knot-tying is for the purpose of fashioning a purse, forget the skill. You’ll have no need of it as Lady Anthony.”

Thorington and Portia had been waiting for her in the music room when she arrived. Thorington may have offered to teach Callie what she needed to know to survive the ton, but she still knew that if anyone caught her alone with him, society would bury her for it. Not that Portia was an adequate guard for Callie’s morals, even if her presence could help stave off a scandal. The girl seemed a little too eager to seek out mischief.

“I would quite like to learn how to tie knots,” Portia said.

“Your enthusiasm is noted and declined,” Thorington said.

“Unfair,” Portia said as she returned to the stack of sheet music she’d been leafing through. “Wouldn’t you like for me to know how to tie knots when I run away with a cavalry officer?”

Callie could almost hear Thorington counting silently in his head. But the man’s voice was as cool as always when he finally responded. “If you are pea-brained enough to run away with a cavalry officer who won’t tie knots for you, you’ll deserve your fate. And don’t encourage Miss Briarley. You are the daughter of a duke. She is not.”

“Even daughters of dukes can learn how to tie ropes,” Callie said. “Lady Portia might prove quite good at it.”