“You’re coming to my party,” he announced from up on the animal’s back. “The carriage will pick you up at seven. You’ll revel until midnight, as if you’re Cinderella, then I’ll have you delivered home.”
She bristled with frustration. “You’re not listening to me.”
“Well, you’re being silly, so why would I listen?”
“I’m never silly.”
“You are to me. I doubt I’ll be able to stop by before Saturday. If not, I’ll expect you to be ready when my driver arrives. Don’t disappoint me.”
“You are mad, Captain Ralston.”
“Yes, I’ve heard that about myself occasionally.”
He grinned his devil’s grin, tugged on the reins, and trotted away.
She watched him depart, and she was scolding herself for being such a milksop. She hadn’t agreed to the arrangement, but when his carriage rolled up to fetch her, she was positive she’d climb in.
To her great disgust, he’d become important to her. She wanted to please him, and she couldn’t tamp down the impulse.
She whipped away and went inside. Clara bounded down the stairs, and she asked, “Is the Captain gone?”
“Yes, and guess what? He and his sister, Mrs. Howell, have invited me to a party on Saturday night.”
“My goodness!” Clara clapped her hands with glee. “That’s the prettiest news we’ve had in ages.”
“It is, isn’t it? It’s been such a long time since I’ve been dancing.”
“I have my own party with my classmates that night, so you won’t have to worry about me. This is meant to be.”
“I’ll keep telling myself that it is.”
She crept into her workroom, and she debated forever, then she walked over to the chest in the corner where she had several locked boxes. Some of them contained ancient recipes. Some contained lists of herbs and the remedies they produced.
One was stuffed with private papers. She withdrew an envelope her Aunt Pru had left, and she sat down at the table and studied it, struggling to decide if she shouldn’t relent and read the message.
She’d given it to Joanna when she’d been ailing, her body preparing to pass away. It’s about Clara, Pru had said. It’s about her parents. In case you ever need to be apprised.
Aunt Pru had been sworn to secrecy about Clara’s birth, and she’d taken the vow seriously, but Pru had recognized too that Clara’s lineage might be an issue in the future. For example, if there was a boy who wished to wed her, Joanna had to verify they weren’t related. So Pru had written the letter.
Yet she’d counselled that not all secrets should be revealed. If Joanna didn’t ever have to know, she shouldn’t look.
Finally, she broke the seal, and she froze for an eternity. She wasn’t surprised by the mother’s name, but the father’s name was definitely a shock.
“Oh, Aunt Pru,” she whispered, “if you were aware of this dilemma, why move us to Ralston Place? Of all the spots in the kingdom, why here?”
There was a fire lit in the hearth, and she glared at it, figuring she should toss the damning page into the flames. But in the end, she didn’t. Who could predict how a path might unfold? It might be wise to have the note as proof.
She put it back in the box, but first, she resealed the envelope with her own wax, so no one could snoop. She was extremely disturbed by what she’d discovered, and hopefully, she’d never have to open it again.
Jacob glanced around the ostentatious parlor. He’d bumbled down to supper a few minutes early, so he was alone.
Roxanne had altered their nightly meal into a grandiose extravaganza, where everyone dressed as if they were headed to the theater. There was a constant stream of guests, and he was conflicted in his opinion about the situation.
When his mother had still been alive, supper had been a grim affair, where she’d either stewed in silence over unspecified grievances or she’d quarreled viciously over petty complaints. Jacob was glad that era was over, but he wasn’t persuaded that he liked Roxanne’s plan instead.
Surely there was some middle ground, where the family could dine quietly and pleasantly without a table of strangers drinking all their liquor.
Roxanne had returned to Ralston Place before Jacob or Margaret had managed to stagger in. Once they’d arrived, she’d been in charge, as if she and Jacob were already married. Margaret hadn’t been in any condition to take over, and Jacob was never even in England.
Was there a reason to protest the arrangement? She’d soon be Jacob’s wife, and the manor would be her kingdom. What did it matter if she’d started running things prior to the wedding being held?
Margaret strolled in, and she stopped by the sideboard to have the butler pour her a glass of wine, then she came over to Jacob.
“You’re looking much better,” he told her.
“Thank you. I am much better.”
“Miss James must dispense miracle tonics.”
“It’s not her tonics so much as her encouraging me to quit moping. I’ve been raging over stupid topics. I’m home now, and I need to focus on that and let the past fall away.”
“It’s a terrific attitude to have, and I should have my lawyers harass your husband’s family for a bit. You were notified that he was bankrupt, but I’m betting he’ll have stashed away some assets. If his kin are hiding them from you, you should be entitled to claim a widow’s stipend.”
“I would like to torment them—merely so they realize I’m not a helpless baby. Mr. Howell died suddenly, and I was so stunned that I didn’t stand up for myself in a single argument. I even permitted them to have the rings on my fingers.”
“You were by yourself in a foreign land. It had to have been hard to handle his death on your own.”
“It was very hard.”
“I have a secret I’ve been meaning to share with you,” he said, “but you’ve been so morose, I didn’t inform you. You’ve improved, so I’m debating whether it might send you into a relapse.”
“What
