Page 22

“ A re you as anxious as I?”

Rosalyn smiled quickly, aware of the butterflies that poured into her stomach.

“Yes, Eugenia, I am.” The soiree was well underway, but all the bluestockings, herself included, were spread through the house.

The search for the painting had been fruitless, which meant that their only hope now was for someone – either Lord Coates or someone else – to lead them to it.

“The parlor is empty,” Miss Sherwood said, glancing towards it as they lingered by the door of the library. “The entertainment is soon to begin, is it not?”

“Yes, very soon,” Rosalyn answered, clasping her hands tightly together in an effort to remove some of the anxiety from her frame.

“The guests will come to the drawing room for the entertainment – a play of some description, I believe. There will be a short intermission between the first half and the second, so in that time, they will be ushered to the dining room so they might have some refreshment.”

“That way, the dining room will first be empty of guests, as well as the other rooms of the house, and then the drawing room.” Miss Sherwood pressed her lips flat. “Are you quite ready to hide yourself away?”

Rosalyn nodded, only for Lord Waverley to appear, coming quickly towards them. His eyes were bright with, Rosalyn presumed, the same mixture of anticipation and worry that she felt.

“I am about to have the guests come to the drawing-room,” he said quietly. “Are you quite ready?”

Rosalyn nodded. “I am.” Miss Sherwood was to sit with the other guests in the drawing room, as was Miss Trentworth.

They would sit at the back of the room to see if anyone took their leave and, thereafter, would linger in the drawing room in case anyone returned.

Lady Amelia, Lady Isobella, and Rosalyn herself were to stand in various parts of the house, hiding themselves from sight in the hope that someone, somewhere, would do something and reveal the painting to them.

“Then I shall go,” Lord Waverley said, looking down into Rosalyn’s eyes. “If only I did not have to be seen by my guests, I would do all that I could to help!”

“I have my brother,” Rosalyn reminded him. “He will be nearby.”

With a nod, Lord Waverley made to reach out to her, only for his gaze to slide to Miss Sherwood and his hand to drop back to his side. With a small smile, he turned away, leaving Rosalyn to watch after him, her heart aching suddenly.

“He is still to profess his love for you, then?” Miss Sherwood’s smile was light, her voice teasing, but the truth still held there. “You will return his words of love, I am sure.”

Rosalyn let out a slow breath, aware that the butterflies in her stomach had increased twofold thanks to Lord Waverley’s presence. “I must keep my mind on this at present,” she said, not answering her friend’s question. “But yes, nothing has been said as yet.”

Miss Sherwood took her hand, pressed it, and then stepped away.

“It will be over soon, I am sure,” she said, before taking her leave.

Rosalyn watched her depart, her heart quickening all the more as she stepped back into a small alcove, hiding herself away.

She could hear the other guests taking their leave of their present conversation and going to the drawing room, ready to be swept away in delight by the play whilst she remained exactly where she was.

The quietness that followed made her feel all the more anxious, her fingers gripping tightly together as she closed her eyes and steadied her breathing.

This was the moment when the mystery could be solved, when the culprit could be revealed and the entire story could come to its unhappy conclusion… and yet, there was no promise that it would be so. There was no hope that this soiree would do as they intended.

Quite how long she stood there for, Rosalyn did not know.

It felt like hours, though Lord Waverley had promised her it would not be for too long that the play went on.

She had half expected someone – namely, Lord Coates – to run from the play and do what he must, but there came no presence near her, no footsteps to indicate anyone else nearby.

Sighing to herself, Rosalyn leaned back and closed her eyes, her worry slowly dissipating.

Eventually, the sound of raucous laughter and loud conversation reached her ears.

Peeking out carefully, she saw the guests moving from the drawing room to the dining room.

The first part of the play was at an end, then.

Moving back into the shadows of the alcove as best she could, Rosalyn closed her eyes again, focusing on breathing at a slow and steady pace.

He is still to profess his love for you, then?

Miss Sherwood’s voice came back to her ears almost as if she were standing beside her.

Rosalyn did not open her eyes, letting the edges of her lips curve.

No, he had not yet said anything, and indeed, neither had she, but the intention for them to do so was there.

He had made that clear enough, and Rosalyn could hardly wait for that moment to take place.

She wanted desperately to be able to tell him what she had discovered in her heart for him, wanted to acknowledge that all she had felt for him was, in fact, a good deal more than one would feel for a brother!

What would he do when she told him such things?

Would he capture her in his arms, as she so desperately hoped he might?

Would he lower his head to kiss her? Rosalyn had never been kissed before, and even the thought was both terrifying and wonderful in equal measure.

A sudden sound made her eyes open wide, her breath hitching in her chest as gentle footfalls caught her attention.

She swallowed tightly, pressing her back against the wall of the alcove and doing her best to stand quietly and move not an inch.

The footsteps were coming closer now, leaving her in no doubt that someone was approaching.

Holding her breath, she waited for the person to pass, her eyes begging her to close them as though, somehow, that would shut out the sight of her from whoever it was.

The footsteps came closer, and Rosalyn’s skin crawled, only for them to pass her without hesitation. Letting out a slow, steady breath, she opened her eyes and loosened her hands, tension beginning to crawl up her spine and into her chest once more.

Who is it?

The gentleman ahead of her had dark hair and broad shoulders but, then again, so did many a gentleman. When he paused, she pulled herself quickly back into the alcove, praying that he did not see her as he turned his head to look over his shoulder.

Lord Coates!

Her heart pounded as she paused, seeing him step into the library. What ought she to do? Go after him or go in search of Lord Waverley?

Coming slowly out of the alcove, she looked all around, seeing a footman passing a short distance away.

On slippered feet that made no sound, she hurried to him, demanding, in hushed tones, that Lord Waverley come to the library at once, only to turn on her heel and hurry back towards the library itself.

The door was ajar, and Rosalyn pushed herself close to the door, trying to look through it rather than step inside without hesitation.

She could see nothing, only a few shadows here and there from the candlelight.

Closing her eyes, she tried to quieten the pounding of her heart before, with courage like a thread slipping from her fingers, she stepped into the library.

The door itself did not creak as Rosalyn pushed it a little further open, fervently hoping that Lord Waverley would soon come to join her so she did not have to face this gentleman alone.

Her first thought was that there was no one present, that the gentleman had gone into a different room when she had gone to speak with the footman.

Frowning, she took another step inside, only for her to start at a scraping sound that seemed to come from near the fireplace.

Stumbling back, she held her breath, her hands clutched together at her chest, and her back pressed against one of the bookcases as something in the room moved.

Her eyes flared wide as she saw the bookshelf nearest to the fireplace begin to swing towards her, forcing her, on trembling legs, to hurry to the corner of the room so she might cover herself in shadow.

A door?

It was not unusual for houses of this magnitude to have secret passageways and the like, but Lord Waverley had never mentioned it to her – nor any of them when they had come to search the house.

Could it be that he did not know of it? And if that were so, then how did Lord Coates know of its presence?

“Do you have it?”

Much to Rosalyn’s astonishment, it was not Lord Waverley who came into the room, as she had anticipated, but Lord Hemmingway.

He strode into the library as though he were the master of the house who had every right to be present, shutting the door behind him and not so much as glancing towards the corner where Rosalyn stood.

“I have it.” Lord Coates emerged from the open door, a cloth-covered object in his hands. “Though you know that I have no desire to do this, Hemmingway. Lord Waverley is – ”

“I care nothing for what it is you want,” Lord Coates stated dismissively. “Now, do hurry up. The other half of the play will soon begin, and I shall take my leave then. With the painting.”

Lord Coates turned, closed the door, and then, with a grimace, came back towards Lord Hemmingway. “This displeases me a great deal. Lord Waverley is someone I consider to be a friend.”