Just then Ava burst through the door with a big bouquet of flowers. “Annis, these are for you! Smiggens sends his love!” Smiggens was the head gardener and had a soft spot for Annis, whom he treated like a daughter. She took the huge bouquet and was instantly enveloped in the heady scent of lilies and jasmine. “Ava, they are beautiful. I must thank Smiggens after breakfast.”
The bouquet was borne off by a footman to be put into a vase, and breakfast resumed. The dowager wasn’t joining them, as she preferred to breakfast in her room. More unusually, the children’s breakfast was being supervised by one of the maids in the schoolroom. Annis was truly being given a day off.
After breakfast, she left the parlor to go in search of Smiggens to thank him for the bouquet. She had exited the drawing room via the French doors when she heard her name.
“Miss Pringle!” She glanced back and saw the viscount was coming toward her. She stopped, waiting for him to catch up with her.
“It’s a fine day,” he said, falling into step with her. “Where are you headed?”
“The orangery. According to Ava, that is where Smiggens is lurking. I must thank him for my flowers.”
“Do you mind company?”
“Not at all.” She smiled, a warm little tendril curling through her breast.
He strolled beside her, his hands in his pockets. “I wanted to thank you for yesterday’s inspired adventure. My girls haven’t stopped talking about it,” he said. “And I admit the duke and I enjoyed it immensely, too,” he added confidingly. “You have a genius for thinking up wonderful things for the children to do.”
“I’ve had lots of practice, my lord. I’ve been a teacher since I was fifteen. I was raised in a seminary for young ladies, you know. My—aunt—was the manager.” She stumbled over the wordauntand hoped he didn’t notice. She’d only discovered that the woman who had raised her—the woman she had thought was her aunt—was actually her mother, on that lady’s deathbed seven years ago. For a moment, her mind drifted back to that terrible day.
Aunt Janet’s hands plucked agitatedly at the sheets, her breathing labored, her head moving restlessly on the pillow, her pallor showing starkly in the glow of the candlelight. She had been ill for a week now with the fever, and her lungs were battling to breathe. It hurt to listen to the gurgling noise they made with each breath.
Annis feared at any moment that the sound would cease. She felt helpless to do anything and anxiety chewed at her, bringing tears to her eyes as she watched this woman she loved like a mother fight for every breath she took.
Aunt Janet’s brown hair was showing threads of gray in it now, though she wasn’t an old woman—only forty-four. But her hands were worn with hard work and the lines on her face spoke of worry and burdens beyond her years.
Annis shifted in her chair, trying to get comfortable. She had been keeping vigil all through the night. She glanced at theclock; it was inching toward three o’clock. A log fell out of the fire behind her, and she got up to put it back and stoke the fire.
“Annis?” The breathy whisper brought her back to the bedside in an instant. “Yes, Aunt Janet?” she said, bending over the bed.
Janet grabbed her hand in hers and squeezed it weakly. “My little girl!” she said a hoarse whisper, tears leaking from her eyes.
“I’m here. Don’t cry—you just need to rest, and you will be better soon,” reassured Annis, recalling all the times her aunt had cared for her during her childhood illnesses and the many girls that were in their care over the years.
“Fetch the box,” she said, her breath catching and making her cough.
“Which box?” asked Annis bewildered.
“The wooden box... in the bottom drawer of my desk.” Janet wheezed.
“All right,” said Annis, reluctant to leave her, but the high color in Janet’s cheeks and the martial light in her eye told her not to disobey. It was so like her usual self that Annis’s heart lifted in hope that she was getting better.
Hurrying out of the bedroom, she ran down the stairs to the main office and, using the key she had on the chatelaine she had taken possession of when Janet fell ill, she opened the locked bottom drawer of the desk. Sure enough, inside was a plain wooden box. It also had a lock on it. Taking the box back upstairs, she half expected Janet to have lapsed back into a doze, but the moment Annis came back into the room, her eyes opened, and she smiled a weak smile.
“Help me sit up!” she demanded, her voice husky and fading in and out.
Annis lifted her up and stacked some pillows behind her. Janet sank back against them, her eyes closed for a moment, gathering her strength.
Annis hesitated, and then when Janet opened her eyes yet again and waved to her, she set the box on her knees. Janet reached for the chain round her neck and used the key on it to open the box. Annis had wondered all her life what that key opened. Now she knew.
Janet lifted the lid and Annis glimpsed some papers and knick-knacks inside. “Everything in here is for you,” said Janet her voice hoarse and breathy. “But there is one thing especially that I want you to have.”
She reached in and pulled out a man’s gold ring, like a signet ring with a flat oval top.
Annis took it, puzzled as to its significance.
“He would have wanted you to have it—” Janet coughed.
“Who?” asked Annis bewildered.
