Page 15

A fter the curious happenings with the book, Bella slammed it closed and headed to bed. She left it on the writing desk in the library and refused to look at it.

She also refused to go into town and meet Leopold’s carriage. She did not want to face another day in his eerie library trying to translate the supernatural language in that infernal book. And so, she put on her hat and gardening apron and decided to tackle the wildly overgrown gardens behind the manor house.

It was the perfect day for it. A brilliant blue sky was overhead. A warm spring breeze fluttered, lifting tendrils of hair at the nape of her neck. She stood at the end of the footpath, her hands on her hips, as she stared at the brambles, the overgrown hedges, the rosebushes out of control and yet bursting with color.

She decided to start with cutting back the rosebushes. In the abandoned garden shed, she found cobwebs, creepy-crawlies, and ignored gardener tools that had seen better days. It would have to do. She picked up the largest pair of pruners she’d ever seen, hefting them over her shoulder, and headed out to work.

The sun was warm on her back labored. Her arm muscles were throbbing, but she refused to stop. It gave her time to think about everything that had happened, about the book with no name, the destruction of the fleet and the house in the port, and meeting Leopold.

Her thoughts were stubbornly stuck on Leopold. He was handsome, indeed, but something simmered under the surface she was unable to discern. Some sense of despair or longing.

“Hello!”

The man’s voice stopped her, her heart leaping to her throat. She turned to see Lord Vincent standing at the end of the footpath, eyeing her handy work with a curious gleam in his eyes. As she looked back at him, she realized there was a pile of thorny branches between the two of them.

“Lord Vincent,” she said on a gasp. She dropped the pruners. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to call and see how you were doing. Though I daresay you appear to be doing quite well?” He eyed the cuttings warily.

She glanced down at her hands, which were now red with forming blisters. She picked her way her through to the other side.

“We haven’t a gardener, you see. So, I thought it would be good to do a bit of work to keep myself occupied.” She paused in front of him and looked back. She cut so much back, she was able to see the edges of the footpath. There was now a mess to clean.

“I was sorry to hear about your father’s ships,” he said. “I do hope you don’t find my arrival too impertinent.”

Recalling her manners, she plastered on a bright smile. “Not at all. Shall I ring for tea? We may be in the country, but we haven’t lost all sense of propriety.”

She made a motion toward the house and started to walk, acutely aware of the sweat dampening the back of her gown. Tendrils of hair stuck to the back of her neck.

“I should also say, Lord Vincent, I appreciate you coming to check on us.” She suspected he was there for Emmaline, not her, though she was unsure how to ask him about that without sounding bold. “It was quite a shock when we received the news about the ships. My father left for Port Leclare straightaway.”

“I don’t doubt that. The destruction was quite devastating.”

She halted and looked at up at him, the brim of her bonnet shading her face from the morning sun. He was a head taller than her. His top hat, though, did not offer much relief from the bright sunshine.

“You saw it?”

“It was hard not to.” Sorrow and compassion crossed is face. “You could see the black smoke for miles.”

She looked away, her gut knotting into a tight fist. She pressed her sweaty palm against her abdomen. The thought of the ships destroyed like that make her sick. Not only for the loss of life, but for the loss of everything her father worked for and built.

“There is one more thing…” He paused as though it was difficult for him to say.

She glanced back up at him, the light behind his head blotting out his features making it difficult to read his expression. “What is it?”

“It may be difficult for you to hear,” he said. “Leclare Port Authority has opened a formal inquiry into the loss of the ships. They believe there may have been some sort of contraband on board.”

The world tipped on its axis. Blood drained from her head in a sudden whoosh. Black spots danced in her vision as she pitched forward, swaying on her feet. She hated he was the one to tell her the news. Lord Vincent wrapped his hand around her elbow. She let him steer her toward the back of the house, her feet moving of their own volition.

Of course, he’d know. He had contacts everywhere. Whispers carried on dockside winds before anything ever reached official channels. And now, the gossip would spread about her father.

“I am sorry,” he said, his voice low.

She didn’t answer. The weight of humiliation and fury pressed down on her. When they reached the back of the house, she pulled her elbow free, picked up her skirt and hurried up the steps. She needed space. She needed to think . And she didn’t need him to see her unravel at the seams.

But he continued to follow and moments later they were in the parlor. The door clicked shut behind them, closing them inside the deathly silence. She sank into the soft, worn cushions of the sofa, her head in her hand. Numb. She was numb as she tried not to think about how their lives were turned upside down. Trying not to place blame on the magical, cursed book on the writing table in the library.

But it was there. Waiting for her to return to it.

“Bella,” he began.

He stood in the center of the parlor, his hat in his hands.

“Is there more news you wish to share with me, Lord Vincent?” Finally, she looked up, meeting his gaze, her stomach twisting and her breath shallow. Frankly, she wasn’t sure she wanted anymore news.

The look on his face said there was something more, but he pressed his lips together into a thin line that said he didn’t want to tell her. His face went impassive as he moved to sit in the chair opposite her.

“Allow me to send my gardener.”

She was shaking her head before he finished. “I cannot allow you to do that, for then I would be in your debt.”

“It would be my pleasure to help you—”

She shot to her feet. “Please, my lord, I cannot accept your help. For I would want to pay for his services and surely you understand that under the circumstances, that simply is not possible.” Realizing her sharp words bordered on rude, she plastered on a bright smile and clasped her shaking hands together in front of her. “I do thank you profusely for the offer, though. It’s most kind and gracious of you. I’ll fetch Emmaline. I know she’ll want to see you before you leave.”

“Emmaline?”

She dipped a curtsy. “Thank you again for coming, Lord Vincent.”

Before he responded, she was out the parlor door and into the breezy hallway, shutting it behind her. She closed her eyes, a breath shuddering out of her. What was she going to do now? If the port authorities were involved and investigating, she worried that something dreadful had happened to her father.

“Bella?” Emmaline’s soft voice floated to her.

Her eyes flew open to see the girl standing near the foot of the stairs, question in her eyes. Bella rushed over to her.

“Oh, Em, Lord Vincent is in the parlor. Perhaps you’d be kind enough to see to him? I’m feeling rather faint.” She pressed her cold shaking hand to her forehead. “Please give him my apologies.”

“Of course, miss.”

Before Emmaline said another word, Bella rushed up the stairs to her room. She flung herself on her bed, burying her face in her pillow, and allowed the tears of worry and fear to slip from the corners of her eyes.