Page 37 of An Earl’s Sacrifice (The Clandestine Sapphire Society #3)

The faint glow of a single candle illuminated the dust-choked room, its flickering light casting eerie shadows across the faded wallpaper, sagging bookshelves, and draping cloths.

Her father was hunched behind the desk and appeared weary.

A figure of decay among the rest of the desolation. A small shudder rippled over her body.

His coat, usually a pristine sign of his status, was now a part of the dust-covered furnishings, his cravat, rumpled, his hair askew.

A shocking sight, to be sure. The sheet covering the desk had been pushed back and he was rummaging through a stack of papers.

She had never seen him like this—so diminished, so… human.

“Papa?”

His body jerked as if she’d poked him with a hairpin which did not sound like an entirely horrible idea. “What are you doing?”

His spine stiffened, before he turned toward her, his features etched with a mix of annoyance and surprise. His eyes, bloodshot and shadowed, locked onto hers, and for a fleeting moment, she thought she saw a flicker of something unspoken—fear, perhaps, or guilt.

“Meredith,” he said, his voice rough and low. “What are you doing skulking about at this hour?”

“I might ask the same of you.” She moved farther into the room though cautiously, cognizant of her one escape route. The air was thick with disuse, the scent of damp and neglect mingling with the acrid tang of old papers. “What are you looking for?”

The tension in his frame was palpable. “Tying up loose ends,” he said gruffly. “Nothing that should trouble you.”

Aggravation pierced her, pushing out any tender thoughts that had sprouted. “This is my home,” she reminded him crisply, taking a step closer. “Anything that happens at Perlsea Keep concerns me.”

His jaw tightened and the flicker of guilt was replaced by his steely resolve. “Then I trust you’ll respect my judgment,” he replied, his tone even but pointed. “Some things are better left to experience, Meredith. You’ve done well here, but this… this is a matter of history.”

“History,” she said, startled. The deliberate way he avoided answering her directly was as condescending as it was typical. “I insist on knowing what you’re hiding, Papa.”

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair—something of which she’d never witnessed of him. “If I told you, what then? Would you fix what cannot be undone? Or would you carry a burden you shouldn’t have to bear?” He turned his back on her, moving to the window. “It’s best you leave it be.”

Something in her father’s tone—regret?—tugged at her. But this was Rathbourne. “That sounds almost as if you care,” she said.

“Of course, I care, Meredith. You are my only offspring. My legacy goes through you.” Bitterness emanated from him, coating her skin. “Now that your husband has deserted you… once again.”

“How touching,” she bit out, the dig sharp as a dagger in her heart being twisted.

She closed her eyes, drew in deeply and released her breath in a slow stream.

“Papa, my husband has not deserted me. He is, er, due home today. Besides that, I am not a child.” Keeping her voice firm but not unkind was one of life’s most important lessons taught by the duke himself.

“If there’s a burden to carry, I’d rather know the weight of it than stumble beneath it in ignorance. ”

For a moment, he looked as though he might relent. His shoulders sagged slightly, and his lips parted as if to speak. But it must have been an illusion as the familiar mask of utter disdain returned. He straightened and his voice cooled. “Leave it be, Meredith. This is for your sake, not mine.”

Such a statement was so out of character, she opened her mouth to refute him—

“Lady Pender?”

She spun around and found Mr. Verity in the arch of the door.

“You’ve a visitor, my lady. I’ve placed her in the library.” He hesitated, then appeared to think better of saying more, inclining his head instead.

“Bring tea, please. I’ll be there momentarily.”

“Now you’re entertaining the villagers?” her father said, disgust coloring his tone.

“I’m not expecting anyone, Papa,” she said with a resigned sigh. “You’d best remove yourself from this chamber, Papa. It’s a hazard.” She turned on her heel, escaped the cold to the library which seemed a tropic in comparison, and stopped.

“Miss Hale?” Meredith’s surprise bounded against the walls. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s nice to see you, too,” she said with a barely disguised smirk. Her gown of soft yellow suited her complexion.

Miss Docia Hale hadn’t changed in the five or so years since Meredith had last seen her.

At her friend Abra’s come-out ball where Miss Hale had behaved abominably toward Abra.

The blonde curls still framed her elfin face and now, like then, her blue eyes flashed their irritation.

Needless to say, Miss Hale and she were not the closest of friends.

She was much older than those of Meredith’s set.

Though now that Meredith peered closer, there did appear something… hmm, softer about her.

A moment of self-gratitude, and vain-ness truth be told, touched Meredith that the library’s renovation had been completed.

Watching Miss Hale survey the gleaming wood, the warming fire, the gentle glow of the gas lighting in the overhead chandelier was highly gratifying.

Mostly, it was the surprise on her face. “Ah, Lady Perlsea—” she started.

Meredith cut her off. “Pender.”

Miss Hale’s eyes flew to her looking somewhat— and no surprise —puzzled. “Pardon?”

“It’s Lady Pender now,” she corrected her mildly.

“My husband is now the Earl of Pender.” If memory served, Miss Hale had greatly resented Abra’s higher station as a marquess’s daughter and address as “Lady” compared to that of her own address of “Miss” being the daughter of a missing viscount. Apparently, it still grated.

“Oh, ah, yes. Forgive me.” The overly sweet smile with which Miss Hale graced Meredith made her teeth ache. “ Lady Pender,” Miss Hale said with an incline of her perfectly coiffed head. “I was hoping to speak with Lord Pender.”

“Pender was on his way to London yesterday,” the duke said in all his haughty arrogance, appearance notwithstanding.

Meredith bit back the sharp laugh that threatened to erupt at Miss Hale’s widened eyes, watching her father stroll in as if he owned the place.

“How lovely to see you again so soon, Miss Hale.” Papa speared Meredith with a sharp look. “When is Pender due to return?”

“Today,” she murmured and restrained the impulse to roll her eyes as if she hadn’t told him that very thing not five minutes ago.

Papa turned to Miss Hale. “Meredith is thrilled to have you, my dear. She’s been out of society much too long. It appears she’s forgotten how to issue an invitation.”

With no other option, Meredith tipped her head, concurring.

“Of course, Miss Hale, you are most welcome.” She went to the bell chord and tugged.

“I’ll inform my housekeeper to set up the—” She smiled at her father.

“—Green Room for your stay.” The Green Room was a neighboring chamber to her father’s.

“Though a word of caution. The Keep is still under construction and, I regret to inform you, most of the chambers have yet to be modernized.”

“I’m sure I will be more than comfortable,” Miss Hale demurred.

“One could hope,” the duke muttered.