Page 14 of The Lost Heiress

“And she just gets away with it?” Ana asked.

“Well, I’m sure if Ransom finds out, he’d do something to punish her,” Salvador said. “Take away some privilege to vex her, give her a firm scolding whenever he does come back into town, though who knows when that will be.”

“And Mrs. Talbot?” Ana asked.

“You won’t get any help from Mrs. Talbot. She likes to do all of the hiring for the house, and she’s none too pleased that Ransom took things into his own hands for this position. She’ll be rooting for you to fail.”

“Well, that’s comforting,” Ana said.

She was on her own, then. That was all right. She had been on her own for a long time.

As they approached the front of the house, Ana reached for the handle of the passenger-side door.

“Let me out here, if you don’t mind,” she said.

“Mrs. Talbot prefers that we use the—”

“I know,” Ana said. “But I prefer to get out here.”

“All right,” Salvador said. He stopped the car.

“Do you mind if I return your jacket to you tomorrow?” she asked.

Salvador smiled at her, and she felt her stomach drop, but not in an unpleasant way.

“I guess I know where to find you if you don’t,” he said.

“Thanks,” she said. “For everything.”

He had done her a great favor, really. He had confirmed who her enemies were.

She got out of the car and marched up the grand stone steps to the front entrance, where, just that morning, Mrs. Talbot had shut the door in her face. But this time, she wouldn’t knock. She wouldn’t ask for permission and wait for it to be granted. She had done that routine most of her life, and it had gotten her exactly nowhere. She was tired of being told no.

“Ana,” Salvador called to her, and Ana paused at the top of the stairs, her hand on the doorknob, and turned around.

“Yes?”

“What will you do?” he asked. “About Saoirse, I mean?”

“Why?” Ana said.

“It’s just, you seem upset, and I know from experience that acting on impulse when you’re angry rarely leads to a good outcome.”

He acted like Ana’s anger was something to be afraid of, but, on the contrary, Ana found anger to be a very useful emotion. It filled you with fire; it spurred you to action. Rage instilled in a person a sense of power. It was so much better than grief or fear, which drained you and left you feeling powerless, like a victim. Ana refused to be a victim. She had agency, and she would use it.

“Saoirse’s brother, he can be a bit hard on her,” Salvador went on, when Ana didn’t say anything. “Especially after what happened with all the other caretakers—well, it probably wouldn’t go so well for her if he were to find out.”

“Don’t worry, Salvador,” Ana said. She wanted to tell him that she had known rage a long time. It was a familiar friend. She no longer allowed it to course through her veins unchecked like a drug, driving her to actions that were both reckless and counterproductive. Her rage was a tiger on a leash, sitting obediently at her heel, waiting for the command to strike. She was the master of it. “If Ransom finds out about Saoirse’s tricks,” Ana said, “it won’t be from me.”

She gave Salvador a friendly smile to reassure him.

“I’ll see you around,” she said.

Then she turned and opened the door and stepped over the threshold into the house.

Chapter Four

Present