Page 3 of Legacy of Thorns (Kingdoms of Legacy #3)

Daphne

D aphne hurried into Ethelson, intending to head straight for Lorne’s house. But her memories were years out of date and everything looked smaller than in her mental images. It took her two wrong turns and a great deal of backtracking before she found the street she sought.

Turning onto it, she breathed a sigh of relief to see the familiar building at last. When she had lived in Ethelson as a girl, Lorne’s wife had still been alive, and the couple had been two of her parents’ closest friends, despite the generation gap between them.

There weren’t many people driven to travel despite the Legacies, and they tended to find each other.

Lorne—who had long ago given up any significant travel for the sake of his wife and children—always said that surrounding himself with people from other kingdoms was almost as good as traveling to those kingdoms himself.

When Daphne had written to Lorne of her intention to return to Ethelson, he had immediately invited her to stay.

He lived with only his housekeeper now, but his daughter lived nearby and from the sound of it he had a constant stream of grandchildren in and out of his house daily.

He insisted that Daphne, as his goddaughter, was just as welcome as any of his grandchildren, although Daphne was sure he had to have many godchildren—given the Oakdenian love of godparents.

His warm welcome had touched her, and she had gladly accepted his invitation.

She hadn’t known the exact date of her arrival when she last wrote to him, but she had given a general idea of when she expected to be there, and she was confident he would be delighted to see her turn up at his door.

But when she knocked on a door painted an unfamiliar shade of green sometime in the past twelve years, no one initially answered. She put her pack down and knocked again, waiting.

The door finally swung open, and Daphne smiled in relief.

But it wasn’t Lorne’s face gazing back at her.

An unfamiliar middle-aged woman started at the sight of Daphne on the doorstep, clutching at her heart.

She had a bag of her own looped over one arm, and appeared to be on her way out.

Apparently she hadn’t heard Daphne’s knocks.

“Who are you?” the woman asked, still a little out of breath.

“I’m Daphne.” Daphne paused, but there was no sign of recognition on the woman’s face, so she continued. “I’m one of Lorne’s goddaughters. I wrote to him that I was coming, and he said I was welcome any time.”

“How unfortunate.” The woman seemed to be paying little attention to her own words as she bustled out of the house and closed the door behind her.

It shut with an ominous note of finality.

“Is Lorne not inside?” Daphne asked, pushing down her dismay.

“Gracious, no, child,” the woman—who must have been his housekeeper—said.

“He left days ago and in that much of a hurry. Would have dashed off without so much as a hat once he got the message, I’ve no doubt.

But thank goodness I was here to make him see sense.

I got him properly packed up and on his way. ”

“Has something happened to one of his family?” Daphne asked, her mind leaping to the obvious conclusion. The message must have contained something terrible to send Lorne off in such a state.

The woman gave Daphne a closer look. “You’ve some sense about you, I can see. That’s it precisely. His son.” She shook her head. “A sad business.”

“Not dead?” Daphne asked. Lorne’s son lived in Klympton, in western Oakden, so Daphne had never met him, but he was only the age of her own parents.

The woman shook her head. “Lorne feared the worst, but Master Gordon has so far pulled through. So Lorne has sent for me to help with the nursing. And I’ve a coach to catch, so you’ll have to excuse me, miss.”

“You’re leaving, too.” It wasn’t really a question. Daphne had suspected it since first seeing the bag on the housekeeper’s arm.

“Yes, dearie, and I really must run. But I’ll tell Lorne you stopped by. Daphne, was it?” She didn’t wait for Daphne to answer before continuing. “You must visit again sometime when he’s back. He’s always happy when his godchildren visit.”

“Actually, I’m…” Daphne’s words faded to a murmur as the housekeeper bustled off down the street. “I’m supposed to be staying with him.”

Despite everything, Daphne’s mouth twitched into a smile. What ridiculous and terrible timing. The momentary amusement faded, and she considered her situation. She had barely set foot in Oakden, and already nothing was going to plan.

She had some coin with her, so she didn’t need to worry about the immediate specter of sleeping on the streets.

But her funds wouldn’t be enough to secure long-term lodgings.

She had always intended to find a job once she arrived, but she had been relying on Lorne to not only house her in the short term but also provide a reference and some direction on securing a decent position.

Now she was a stranger, alone in a town that no longer remembered her.

Who would want to hire her on the spot without any credentials?

She slowly turned to look back at the house behind her. The large, empty house. What a waste that she needed somewhere to stay and it was just sitting there empty.

One side of her mouth tugged up, and she picked up her pack.

She would have to break in, but if someone challenged her, she had a letter in her pack from the owner of the house claiming her as his goddaughter and saying she was welcome anytime and could stay as long as she liked.

He hadn’t said a word about her only being welcome if he was there himself.

She circled the house, relieved to find the gate to the rear yard had only a simple latch.

She closed it carefully behind her, preferring to avoid notice if possible.

Hopefully once she was inside, she would be able to find a spare key that would enable her to make further exits and entrances through the front door.

In the meantime, she would likely have to make do with a window. Her eyes narrowed as she examined the windows she passed at the back of the house, distaste filling her at the thought of squeezing through one. Daphne always preferred to avoid excessive effort if possible.

Pausing by the back door, she shrugged and tried the handle. To her astonishment, it turned.

“Well, that was easier than I was expecting,” she muttered, wondering why she didn’t feel more pleased.

She stepped inside and put her pack down in the back hallway. She would explore the house first, and once she found a guest room, she’d come back for it. With any luck, she’d find a key along the way.

She walked down the hall, examining the rooms that lined it.

Guest rooms would be upstairs, but she was on the lookout for anywhere likely to contain a spare key, and her eyes caught on a door standing half ajar, giving a glimpse of bookshelves beyond.

The sight brought back the sound of a crackling fire, the smell of books, and the voices of her parents, talking and laughing with Lorne and his wife. Lorne’s study.

She quickened her pace, picturing Lorne’s large, sturdy desk. He might keep a spare key in one of the drawers.

She thrust the door the rest of the way open and stepped inside. Unlike the front door, nothing in the study had changed in the years of her absence, and a wave of nostalgia washed over her, making her falter.

Then her eyes reached Lorne’s desk, and she froze. A man was bent over one of the drawers. He had paused at her entrance, raising his head to look directly at her.

That , Daphne thought to herself, is what comes of making assumptions .

Lorne might be gone, but one of his sons remained in his house.

But, no. Lorne only had one son, and he was in Mirandar recovering from some unknown illness or injury.

Daphne stepped further into the room and got a better look at the man behind the desk.

He was too young to be Lorne’s son anyway.

He had to be a grandson—one of Lorne’s daughter’s many children.

They had probably played together when they were young, although she didn’t recognize his adult face.

“My apologies,” she said with her friendliest smile. “I hope I didn’t startle you.”

The young man straightened but said nothing, continuing to stare at her. She really should have tried knocking at the front door again.

“I’m sorry to appear unannounced,” she continued with a confidence she didn’t entirely feel. “I’m one of Lorne’s goddaughters, and he invited me to stay. But it seems I have poor timing. The housekeeper didn’t even have time to introduce me before she had to rush off.”

The man’s eyebrows shot up at her speech, but she kept her face calm and added, “I’m Daphne.”

She wracked her brain to remember the names of Lorne’s grandchildren, but the only one she could remember was Mary—the girl who had been closest to her in age.

“Your sister Mary might remember playing with me when we were children, though I haven’t been in Ethelson since I was seven.”

“Ah, Mary.” The young man finally spoke, his voice deep and smooth. He was still looking at her with bemusement, but at least he wasn’t denouncing her as an intruder.

“I realize it’s not the most convenient time for me to stay,” Daphne said with her most winning smile, “but I don’t have anywhere else in Ethelson to go. Your mother might also remember me,” she said with a flash of inspiration. “She knew my parents when we lived here.”

A flicker passed through his eyes, but it was gone before she could identify it.

“You’ve come to stay with…Grandfather?” the man asked slowly, his eyes narrowing slightly.

Daphne nodded. “I was sorry not to find Lorne here. Sorry on your uncle’s behalf, of course, but also on my own. I was wishing to consult with Lorne on an urgent matter.” At least, it felt urgent to her.

Lorne’s grandson continued to stare at her, and a flicker of doubt whispered across Daphne’s mind. Was it possible this wasn’t?—

“If you’ve come to stay with Grandfather,” the young man said with more urgency, “does that mean you’re the goddaughter he’s been talking about? Princess Olivia’s cousin?”

Daphne breathed a sigh of relief. The man was Lorne’s grandson, and Lorne’s family was expecting her, even if his housekeeper had forgotten. It would make her stay in the empty house a great deal less awkward.

“Daphne,” the man said with the beginnings of a smile. “You’re Daphne.”

“I’m afraid I’ve forgotten your name,” she said apologetically. “I remember Mary had a collection of brothers, but apparently you didn’t leave a strong impression.” She gave him a mischievous grin, hoping he would respond in kind and lighten the mood between them.

As she hoped, he smiled back, stepping around the desk and finally approaching her. When he held out his hand, she put hers into it, but he neither shook it nor let it go. Instead, he clasped it warmly, his eyes twinkling down into hers.

“I’ll forgive you for forgetting my name, if you’ll forgive me for being so startled by your arrival. I’m Finley and apparently we’re godsiblings—or cousins, perhaps? It’s a bit confusing.”

Daphne smiled back. “I think I’m actually your godaunt.”

He blinked and laughed, and Daphne almost laughed with him, responding instinctively to the warmth that emanated from him. It reminded her of Lorne, even if his looks did not.

His cropped curls were so dark as to be almost black, but his eyes were light, their color somewhere between blue and gray.

Of course, Lorne may once have shared his grandson’s coloring—his hair had been white as long as Daphne had known him and she’d never asked its original color.

But Lorne had never had the height of Finley, of that she was certain.

And neither did he possess the chiseled jaw or the straight, masculine nose.

She guessed his age to be within a couple years of her own, and she could hear her friend Rosalie’s voice in her ear as she gazed at him. Her best friend from back home in Glandore would have a lot to say if she knew Daphne was standing with her hand clasped by a man who looked like Finley.

Daphne whisked her hand away. Along with his chiseled jaw, Lorne’s grandson sported a black leather coat with a high neck and moved with the sort of quiet grace that Daphne imagined an assassin would possess.

And yet, his smile and the slight point to his ears lent him an air closer to that of a charming rogue.

All together it spelled one thing—danger.

Daphne considered herself far more sensible than Rosalie, but she wasn’t sure even she was proof against Finley. And that made her very wary indeed.

Finley looked down at his empty hand, but his smile only quirked and didn’t disappear.

“You mentioned you have an urgent need to consult my grandfather,” he said. “Would you like me to take you to him?”

Daphne’s head snapped up, her concerns over Finley momentarily forgotten. “We could go to him? Is that really possible?”

She felt no pull to stay in Ethelson if Lorne wasn’t there.

She had come to see him more than the town.

And she didn’t care how dangerous Finley might be to the heart of any girl he came in contact with.

Daphne had survived plenty of attractive men—the Sovaran court was full of them—and she could handle one more if it meant getting answers about why her sleepiness hadn’t lifted.