inspected each other in silence. With all trace of emotion gone from her face she was as unremarkable as her clothes—her height was perhaps a little on the tall side of middling, but what figure he could distinguish beneath her shapeless pelisse was too slim to fit society’s vision of proper proportions and the pelisse’s hue, a worn dun colour that hovered between grey and brown and was an offence to both, gave a sallow cast to her pale skin. Only her eyes were in any way remarkable—large and a deep honey-brown. Even devoid of expression they held a jewel-like glitter which made him think of a tigress watching its prey from the shadows.
‘Who are you? What are you doing here?’ she demanded, her voice surprisingly deep and husky for someone so slight. That, too, was unusual. Similar demands were fired at him by friend and foe since he’d joined the army and not nearly as imperiously. Predictably he felt his hackles rise along with his suspicions.
‘I could ask the same question. Are you another of Lady Ermintrude’s nieces? I thought I had met the lot.’
She moved along the desk as he approached, putting it between them, but he concentrated on what lay on top. Piled high with papers and books, it was much more chaotic than he remembered and he wondered if his cousin or the young woman were the cause.
He glanced at the slip of paper she’d inspected with such concentration. It was a caricature of a camel inspecting a pot of tea through a quizzing glass, grey hair swept back in an impressive cockade over a patrician brow. The resemblance to his cousin’s antiquarian friend Phillip ‘Poppy’ Carmichael was impressive and a fraction of Chase’s tension eased, but only a fraction. This particular scrap of paper might have nothing to do with Huxley’s message, but any of the other papers here might hold the key to understanding it.
He returned his attention to the woman. She was younger than his first impression of her—perhaps in her mid-twenties. Her hand rested on a stack of books at the edge of the desk and she looked like a countrified statue of learning, or a schoolmistress waiting for her class to settle. She did have rather the look of a schoolmistress—proper, erect, a little impatient, as if he was not merely a slow pupil, but purposely recalcitrant. With her chin raised, her eyes had a faintly exotic slant, something an artist would attempt if he wanted to depict a goddess to be wary of.
And he was. If there was one thing he’d learned was that appearances could be and often were deceptive. So he leaned his hip on the desk, crossed his arms and gave her his best smile.
‘It is impolite to read another person’s correspondence. Even if he is dead.’
‘I didn’t mean...’ The blank façade cracked a little, but the flash of contrition was gone as quickly as it appeared and she raised her chin, her mouth flattening into a stubborn line that compressed the appealing fullness of her lower lip. ‘As I am betrothed to Lord Huxley I have every right to be here. Can you say the same?’
‘Unfortunately not. He wouldn’t have me.’
She gave a little gasp of laughter and it transformed her face as much as that brief flash of contrition—her eyes slanting further, her cheeks rounding and her mouth relaxing from its prim horizontal line. Then something else followed her amusement—recognition.
‘I should have guessed immediately. You must be one of the Sinclairs, yes? Henry said one of you would likely come to Huxley Manor because of Lord Huxley’s will.’
‘One of us. You make us sound like a travelling troupe of theatrical performers.’
‘Much more entertaining according to Miss Fenella.’
‘My cousin Fen was always prone to gossip. You can stop edging towards the door; I have no intention of pouncing on Henry’s freshly minted betrothed, whatever the requirements of my reputation. I am surprised, though. I had not heard he was engaged.’
‘We...we are keeping it secret at the moment because of the bereavement. Only Lady Ermintrude and the Misses Ames know. I should not have told you, either, but I assume Henry will have to tell you if you are staying at the Manor. Please do not mention it to anyone, though. It would be improper...while he is in mourning...’
Unlike her previous decisive tones, her voice faded into a breathy ramble and the defiance in her honey-warm eyes into bruised confusion. Perhaps she was hurt by Henry’s refusal to acknowledge her position?
‘Of course the proprieties must be observed,’ he soothed. ‘But that still does not explain why you are here alone at the Folly, reading Cousin Huxley’s papers. Shouldn’t you be at the Manor flirting with Henry or paying court to Lady Ermintrude along with everyone else?’
‘Henry is fully occupied with his land steward and Lady Ermintrude and Miss Ames and Miss Fenella are busy with preparations for the annual meeting of the Women’s Society, which apparently trumps all mourning proprieties. Since my embroidery skills are on the wrong side of atrocious, I am persona non grata and had to find some other way of passing the time.’
‘I imagine your embroidery skills are the least cause of your lack of popularity among the womenfolk of the manor. However, that, too, doesn’t explain why you are here.’
‘Henry showed me the hidden key when we explored yesterday. I merely wanted some place quiet to read.’
‘To read other people’s letters,’ he said softly. She flushed, but didn’t answer, and he felt a twinge of contrition himself. He was becoming too much like Oswald—ready to suspect everyone of everything. She was no doubt bored of being slighted and indulging in a sulk—in which case he was being unfairly harsh.
‘Is Lady Ermintrude making your life difficult? I am not surprised. She always intended that my cousin would marry one of her nieces.’
‘Yes, she made that only too clear. I thought Henry was exaggerating, but...’ She stopped and cleared her throat, throwing him a suspicious look, as if realising she was being far too frank with a stranger. He smiled and tried another tack.
‘You still should not come to the Folly unaccompanied. The tower itself is solid enough, but all these boxes and stacks could prove hazardous. It always looked as though a whirlwind has passed through, but it appears to have reached new levels of chaos since I was last here. Is his study in the east wing as bad?’
‘Henry did not take me there. He said the will specified all the contents of the east wing went to you and your siblings so he did not wish to meddle. He only showed me the Folly because it is such a peculiarity and I was curious to see inside. Perhaps I should not have insisted.’
Chase wondered at his growing sense of discomfort. There was something about this young woman that was...off. It put him at a disadvantage, which was precisely where he did not like being put.
‘He was always a biddable fellow.’
‘Henry is polite and considerate. That is very different from being biddable.’
‘You are quite right, it is. I apologise for maligning him.’
She snorted, her opinion of his apology all too clear. The hesitation and vulnerability were gone once more and the watchful glitter was back. She looked too soft to be so hard, another discordant note. Chase considered moving so she could access the stairway, but remained where he was.
‘Excuse me, Mr Sinclair.’ She looked up and he saw the schoolmistress again—in the light from the window the honey in her eyes was sparked with tiny shards of green
