Page 40 of An Earl’s Sacrifice (The Clandestine Sapphire Society #3)

L ucius let out an oath that stirred the moth-eaten drapes. There was no sign that Meredith had entered the chamber. Everything was just as they’d left it a few nights ago. A few nights. It seemed months, not days. He stormed down the stairs, determination a driving force to speak with Ashcroft.

Mrs. Verity stepped into the hall, frowning. Her expression, one of disapproval. “Mr. Ashcroft ’ad the school children today.”

“I’m looking for Lady Pender. Did she accompany Ashcroft to the village?” Drawing on all the noble blood in his body, he managed to keep his tone inquiring, not demanding, despite the underlying fear that he’d lost something truly dear.

Her gaze narrowed on him to an uncomfortably intense degree, and damned if he wasn’t glad to know Meredith had this shrewd and sharp-tongued housekeeper watching after her. “Aye, I saw ’er ladyship. On her way to the library door. It was closed,” she said with a disdainful, accusing sniff.

Christ . Had she witnessed Docia kissing him? Guilt pricked him. It was almost a certainty. Swallowing the groan that crawled up his chest, he inclined his head though his fist clenched at his side. “Thank you, Mrs. Verity. You’ve been most helpful.”

The rain had kept them housebound in what seemed forever.

Perhaps she desired getting out and was meeting with the women at The Copper Kettle.

He couldn’t very well blame her. But her signing the annulment agreement after they’d spoken about it didn’t bode well.

Every sense he possessed was on alert. And, the longer he failed in locating her, the more frantic his heart pounded.

Staying to the shadows, Lucius went out the servant’s entrance. As he’d mentioned to Meredith, this was one way to play his “return” from London.

He stalked to the stables, surprising Prys. His heavy gray eyebrows shot to the heavens. “Yer lordship. Ye’re back.”

“I am indeed,” Lucius gritted out. “Did Lady Pender request the carriage?”

“Aye, milord. I’m preparing it now. Without delay.” Prys’s hunched wiry frame hurried away.

He walked outside to wait. The rain had softened the ground, and his boots sank slightly in the muck. True to his word, Prys brought the carriage around. Bartlett sat atop the box.

The carriage rolled to a stop at the door and relief hit Lucius’s chest seeing his wife bundled up, hood on her head. He hurried to the carriage and assisted her up. She settled across from him and lowered the hood.

“Agnes?” The carriage jerked into motion.

“Oh, milord. Lady Pender gave me the day off.”

“She’s not coming?”

“No, milord.”

He stifled another groan as the carriage took the path leading to Penhalwick, leaving Lucius alone with his wife’s lady’s maid and his own thoughts, and an inability to unsee the annulment agreement with her furious signature, the ink of her rage etched across the page.

Frustration pounded his blood, knowing she would do everything she could to avoid him if she’d indeed seen Docia kissing him.

A kiss that had left him shockingly unmoved.

The village loomed ahead, its narrow, cobbled streets emptying into the square.

Lanterns flickered dimly in windows, casting a faint glow against the muted sunlight.

Lucius tugged his coat tighter against the cool wind, his thoughts a storm of confusion and anger.

She must have seen. What else could have driven her to such madness?

As the carriage descended into the square, Lucius forced himself to adopt the guise of a man freshly returned from London, a neutral expression masking his inner turmoil.

Villagers passed him with guarded nods, then averted their eyes.

Apparently, his reputation still hung in heavy tatters over the town.

The weight of their suspicions pressed down on him.

Ahead, The Copper Kettle stood, its wooden sign swinging gently in the breeze.

“Where shall I drop you, Agnes?” he asked her.

“The Kettle works for me, sir. Me mum will be over for luncheon soon. She owns the haberdashery, you know.”

Lucius smiled. “I didn’t know. Shall I wait to return you?”

“Oh, no, sir. Bartlett will pick me up tomorrow morning.”

The carriage stopped and Lucius stepped out and assisted Agnes down. The door to the tea shop opened, and the faint hum of voices spilled into the street. He ushered Agnes inside and the low chatter slowed to silence as all eyes turned on him. Squaring his shoulders, he surveyed the crowded room.

No Meredith, and of course, he now knew she was likely hiding out in the Keep somewhere. Hopefully, she and Docia would not come to blows before his return.

The Widow Elspeth flashed him a sharp smile and he moved in her direction. “Would you care for a lemon tart, my lord?”

“I would indeed,” he said slowly. Carefully. “Two, thank you. Lady Pender seems quite fond of them.”

After a beat, the surrounding conversations resumed, as if the interruption had never occurred.

The widow handed him a small box and he stepped back outside.

He reached the carriage, but heavy boots sounded against the cobblestones.

He thrust the box at Bartlett as some instinct had him stepping back to the shadows next to The Copper Kettle.

Near the entrance of the square two figures appeared—one stocky and deliberate, the other tall and sharp—Thornfield and another man Lucius didn’t recognize.

Neither had yet noticed him. They spoke in low tones, and Thornfield gestured toward the path to the mine that cut through the far end of the village.

Lucius froze. If Thornfield spotted him, the pretense of his absence would be shattered. He ducked into a darkened alcove, his pulse quickening.

Thornfield’s gruff voice carried over the wind. “Are you sure he’s not there?”

“No one has seen him,” the other man said with a glance over his shoulder. “The carriage is just across the street. The shot hit him. There ain’t no way it didn’t, sir.”

Thornfield muttered an oath, his hand tightening around his cane. “We should have heard something by now. Rathbourne will be furious. This is not the time for games. It’s that blasted steward the countess hired. There’s something off about…”

The rest of the sentence was lost to the wind, but the intent behind his words was unmistakable. Lucius’s jaw tightened. That certainly answered one question. Were they searching for him, or Ashcroft, as well?

He stepped farther into the shadows, watching as Thornfield motioned toward the far end of the square.

The duo moved with renewed purpose, disappearing down the path that led to the mine.

Lucius hesitated only a moment before following at a distance, ducking through alleys, his steps silent as he kept them within sight. The hike was short.

Thornfield paused briefly near the entrance to the mine office, conferring with his companion before continuing toward the old smelting works.

Lucius watched from behind a stack of barrels, his thoughts turning over the pieces of the puzzle. Meredith’s fury, her disappearance, Thornfield’s involvement—what was she tangled in now? And why did he feel as though everyone in this cursed village was hiding something?

The sound of footsteps echoed from the opposite direction, and Lucius spun to see another figure approaching—a man cloaked and hooded, carrying a lantern.

For a fleeting moment, he thought it might be Meredith and his heart stopped, but as the figure drew closer, the light revealed another familiar face: the duke.

Lucius’s breath caught. He flattened himself against the barrels as the duke strode past, his presence as commanding and sinister as ever. What was he doing, skulking around the village, and in broad daylight?

The pieces were falling into place, but the picture they formed was still incomplete. Lucius clenched his fist, his gaze trailing the duke as he strode down the same path as Thornfield and his friend.

Unease wound its way through his thoughts. The mines were dangerous enough without adding Rathbourne’s scheming to the mix. Whatever their purpose, their task left Thornfield’s office unattended, an opportunity Lucius had no intention of squandering.

This was Perlsea’s operation and if Lucius chose to search the mine’s office, then by God, it was his prerogative.

Tugging his hat down to obscure his features, Lucius waited until the trio moved past yard workers and disappeared inside the mine entrance.

Without hesitation, Lucius moved with a confidence he didn’t quite feel through that same milling crowd to the stone building’s entrance.

More men inside, just like the previous time he’d visited, lined the walls. The same clerk manned the desk outside Thornfield’s office. The clerk’s eyes shot to Lucius and his mouth opened.

Lucius snatched off his hat and waited until recognition set in. “What is your name?” Lucius asked him.

“Anson… Anson Rigg, yer lordship,” he stuttered. He appeared a diligent, quiet man in his mid- to late-thirties, with ink-stained fingers and an air of nervous efficiency.

“Mr. Rigg, I’m going to wait for Thornfield in his office.

See that I’m not disturbed.” He leaned in.

“I would also appreciate your keeping this to yourself for the time being. If at some point, Thornfield or the duke return, please drop a drawer or slam a heavy book on your desk. Your future at Penhalwick mines rides solely on your response. Am I clear on this, sir?”

“Y-yessir.” His steady gaze back was most reassuring.

With a sharp smile of approval, Lucius entered Thornfield’s office, latching the door softly behind him.

The room was as unwelcoming as Lucius remembered.

Reminiscent of its main occupant, dark and oppressively tidy.

The battered oak desk was still cluttered with ledgers and the scattering of loose papers.

The map of the mine on the wall held more annotations with crabbed handwriting.

The air smelled faintly of damp stone and stale ink.