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Lady Broadbent uttered no qualms over Thea taking control of their cold and rainy trek to Addlewick. The countess seemed to

understand that her charge needed an occupation to distract herself from her thoughts and readily relinquished the lead role

during every change of horses.

Having learned much from her no-nonsense chaperone, as well as her own mother, Thea ensured that everyone was well fed and

that there was a hot brick placed in the foot warmer.

She was glad that those small comforts allowed Clara time to focus on her daughters. Especially when the rumors regarding

the arrest of the viscount highwayman spread faster than ale sloshed from a drunkard’s pint.

For that reason, they had collectively decided to push on through to Lincolnshire without taking rooms at a coaching inn.

Yet, even with the frequent stops to change horses and fitful naps in the bouncing carriage, exhaustion took its toll.

By the time they reached Hartley Hall, her body ached as though she’d been dragged by the carriage the entire way. The feeling

of relief that swelled inside of Thea was akin to agony. It was so intense that she struggled not to weep when her mother

rushed out and enfolded her in a familiar lilac-scented embrace.

It must have been the stuttered breath that escaped that, which caused Roxana Hartley to withdraw a lace handker chief from her sleeve. But when she drew back to blot her daughter’s cheeks, there were no tears. She lowered her hand, her gaze searching for a fraction of a second before she nodded.

Thea didn’t know what she saw. Her mother had always possessed an uncanny knack for looking at her children like a scholar

reading the last page of a book. Even so, Thea put on a good show of pretending there was nothing at all wrong. She was a

Hartley, after all.

In turn, her mother pretended to believe her, directing her attention to the other arrivals.

It had always been a point of pride for Baron and Baroness Hartley to offer a home to friends in need, and the Truebloods

were no exception. In fact, Roxana remembered Clara from their days as debutantes. Even though much had changed in the years

since, they soon spoke with the familiarity of longtime friends.

In the weeks that followed, Addlewick’s local doctor became a regular guest of Hartley Hall, seeing first to Tempest’s wounds

and then to Clara’s health, which began a remarkable improvement. In fact, on the day she was able to walk through the garden

without having a coughing fit, she was so grateful and overcome with emotion that she turned to the doctor and began to cry.

The doctor, who’d proven himself to be aloof and analytical on the best of occasions, let the woman sob all over his lapels,

patting her back in comfort.

Thea saw this play out from the terrace of the dower house during one of her daily visits with Tempest. Her health had made

improvements as well. The bruises had faded, along with the cuts and scrapes. And over the course of these weeks a friendship

had formed.

It had begun with Thea merely trying to distract her from her memories.

She’d sit at Tempest’s bedside, either recounting stories of the local villagers and the myriad of outlandish stunts they’d pulled over the years to “audition” for one of her father’s plays, or she’d simply read to her.

Although, since she had no enthusiasm for plays and maudlin poetry didn’t appeal to either of them, she’d read aloud from a book on horticulture.

It was surprising how much one could latch on to a discussion regarding indigenous trees and herbaceous plants when there

were other topics one was trying to avoid.

Thea admired her new friend. Everything about her screamed strength and vitality. She was the wildflower that broke through

the snow, bright, determined and audacious. And where it had always been Thea’s own habit to seek isolation when mired in

self-doubt and worry, Tempest faced each obstacle as if on a mission to conquer it.

Proof of that was how aggressively she deadheaded the flowering shrubs that bordered the stone terrace, a carnage of white

and pink petals at her feet.

“Rumor has it that those blossoms fall to the ground on their own,” Thea quipped over the staccato snick of the sheers.

Tempest paused long enough to shove a hank of auburn hair away from her forehead with the back of her hand then immediately

went back to snipping. “Just helping nature along.”

Or perhaps, Thea mused, taking out her anger on an unsuspecting plant after the news arrived this morning about Redcliffe.

Apparently, the earl was using his connections to ensure that Clara’s widow’s pension went unpaid. Therefore, the Truebloods

had no money of their own. No freedom to do as they pleased.

After having lost their own fortune due to the scandal years ago, the Hartleys understood that no one wanted to feel as though

they were living on the charity of others. So Roxana had put it to Clara that she would be doing them a favor by staying on.

Ben Lawson had been living at the dower house for years, but primarily as caretaker. He never sat in the parlors or took up

residence in any of the bedchambers. He lived in an apartment above the stables and saw to the horses. But the dower house

needed a woman’s touch. And ever since Mother had begun painting again, she didn’t have time to ensure the drapes and linens

were in good condition, not to mention the furniture.

It was all true, for the most part. And Clara was grateful to be of service to her friend.

Tempest, on the other hand, didn’t take the alteration in their circumstances well. But Thea couldn’t fault her.

Though, thankfully, before every single blossom in the garden met an early demise, Iris emerged onto the terrace and offered

a welcome distraction.

“Good morning, Thea,” Iris said with an ear-to-ear grin, practically bursting from her skin with excitement. “I’m ready for

my first riding lesson. What do you think?”

She twirled, testing out the flare of the riding costume that Tally had altered from among those in the attic trunks. The

maid had been more than willing to volunteer for the responsibility of adding to her duties by seeing to Thea and the Truebloods,

especially since that provided her the opportunity to see Mr. Lawson more often.

“I think you look the very picture of a riding master,” Thea offered.

There was no mistaking that Iris had blossomed during her time with them. Gone was the shy girl she’d been four weeks ago,

and in stepped a vibrant young woman, eager to fill each and every moment with something new and thrilling.

“Mother is worried that I will fall, but then Tally assured her that Mr. Lawson would never let that happen.”

Thea didn’t bother to mention that Tally was a bit biased when it came to matters of Mr. Lawson’s magnificence. “Mr. Lawson is quite skilled with the horses. He gave me my first riding lesson, too.”

After the scandal, hiring a riding master had been a luxury the Hartleys hadn’t been able to afford. In Thea’s opinion, this

further cemented the sense of kinship she’d found with the sisters. Which helped to lessen the feeling of how pathetic she

was for desperately hoping to hear their stories and shared memories of Jasper whenever she popped in for a visit.

Masochist, thy name is Althea , the chorus taunted.

They weren’t wrong.

Iris gave another twirl, losing her hat in the process. Tempest was there to pick it up and carefully brushed the dust from

the crown and brim. Then she perched the hat on her sister’s head.

“You need to be more careful,” she said, anchoring the hat with a sturdy pin. “Mother is right to be worried.”

Iris rolled her eyes as her sister fussed with errant pale blond curls, tucking them in place. “If you’re finished, Mother

Hen...”

“Just be—”

“Careful. I know,” Iris said with exasperation. She paused long enough to buss her sister’s cheek and wave at Thea before

she gamboled off toward the stables.

In an effort to reassure Tempest, Thea turned to her. “Mr. Lawson truly is an exceptional teacher. He won’t let anything happen

to her.”

“He’s still a stranger to me, so I’ll reserve the right to decide for myself, if it’s all the same to you,” she shot back.

Then, almost at once, she sighed. “My apologies. I don’t mean to be so testy. My anger is a pot that boils over when I least

expect it. And after the letters this morning, there seems to be no turning down the flame.”

Thea held her breath. Letters meant that there was more than just the one from their solicitor. “You had news from your cousin?”

Tempest slid her a pitying glance. “He still hasn’t asked about you. I’m sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, ignoring the crack in her voice. “He made himself perfectly clear when he told me to marry

another man. I suspect he wanted me to be certain of his utter lack of regard.”

“My cousin has a peculiar way of trying to protect himself. He closes himself off and refuses to feel anything.”

Thea nodded in a spectacular display of understanding when, in actuality, nothing made sense anymore. She loved him and she

thought she’d meant something to him as well. But what if all of it was just a fiction she’d created?

The tide of emotions she repeatedly tamped down threatened to rise up again, her throat raw and tight around the swell. It

was happening more frequently of late, and the effort to restrain it was taking a toll. She felt as though she were choking,

and a strangled cough seized her then.

“What is it? Are you unwell?” Tempest laid a hand on her shoulder.

It took a moment, but Thea forced herself to drag in a steadying breath. “Just swallowed an insect. I’ll be fine.”

That made Tempest laugh and she went back to pruning. And as Thea returned to the main house, she wondered how many times

people lied to each other and to themselves when they said everything was fine.

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