There was the ink and paper. She moved to the desk, intending to write to her friends. The revelation about her inheritance was an important development, and they should know the predicament Heather was now in.
Dear Poppy,
I write to you from Carregness again. This time however, my door is locked (I locked it). We have just received information that my inheritance is far larger than I ever anticipated. Worse, it was actually Niall’s father who commissioned the agent to get the information, so Niall is aware of my worth too. How does this change the plan to annul? I cannot say at this moment, but I presume he’ll be unlikely to leave ten thousand a year on the table when he has to do virtually nothing to gain the rights to it. Thus, I have confined myself in my room until I can decide what to do to preserve my freedom (a notion that seems ludicrous considering that I am writing about freedom in a locked room).
I must confess that my mood is bleak, though that may be in part due to the lack of supper. WHY must the world be so vexing? Write to me of better things. Give me a report of Miss Mist — the watercolor you sent earlier this summer depicted a fluffball of a kitten, and she must be twice that size by now. And have you heard from Mr. de la Guerra at all? According to Rose, the gentleman was quite dazzled by you, which is to be expected. I pray that any romance in your life is less complicated than what I am enduring now.
Yours,
HeatherHayes MacNairHayes
She folded, addressed, and sealed the letter. Then she slid it under the door, hoping that it would be posted and not merely tossed into the dustbin (where she now assumed most of her letters had ended up while she was under her uncle’s care at Hayes House). Then Heather selected the most interesting book in her collection and tried to read.
She kept losing her place, unable to get through more than a sentence without staring off into space, fretting about what her uncle was up to, or how Niall was feeling at that very moment. Was he plotting to break the door down? Was he disgusted with her? Was he eating? If he was eating, why wasn’t he bringing any food to his wife?
“Because you bolted yourself inside a room and refused to talk to him, you ninny,” she told herself.
Fair enough, she admitted, also to herself. But that didn’t change the fact that she somehow expected Niall to appear—she’d gotten quite used to him appearing, especially when she was in dire situations.
“He’s not going to rescue you this time,” she muttered. “It’s not in his interest.”
Part of Heather wondered if this conversation with herself was the first sign of madness due to her confinement. Another part of Heather countered that she’d been confined for less than a day, and therefore any madness had to have been there already. (A third part of Heather wondered if she’d left any bread in the room, just by chance.) When all the parts of Heather finally pulled the covers over her head, she doubted she’d get a wink of sleep.
* * * *
Morning light filled the room when she woke up to a knocking at the door.
Maeve called out, “Heather? Here’s a letter for you. It just arrived. And Susan made some especially flat shortbread, to fit under the door.”
At the scraping sound, Heather looked to see a small plate slide into view, followed by a folded letter.
She pounced on the plate first, devouring the cream-colored, deliciously fragrant shortbread in moments. The buttery crumb would have gone perfectly with tea, but alas, she had none.
After eating every last bite, she picked up the letter. It was from Daisy. Heather broke the seal (that of a lion, to reflect her new title as the Duchess of Lyon) and unfolded the thick paper.
Dear Heather —
In light of your most recent news about being married, the duke and I have arranged for some assistance to come to you, in the form of a solicitor. Mr. Kemble, who you met at my wedding, has agreed to travel to Carregness as soon as possible. I only hope that he arrives in time to solve the issue of your irregular wedding and clarify your standing so that your uncle can make no more mischief.
Keep me apprised of the situation. I am not above using my position as a battering ram, and I will do whatever I can to help.
— Daisy
Heather checked the date Daisy had scrawled in the corner. Over a week ago, so Kemble might appear any day. She remembered the man well. Though he was not a particularly striking figure, she had been impressed by his calm manner and the fact that he’d helped Daisy through a very difficult spot before her marriage to the duke.
If he could work the same sort of magic for Heather, perhaps there was a way out of this mess. A quick annulment was the only birthday present she wanted.
And after her outburst toward Niall, he probably couldn’t wait to get rid of her.
Chapter 16
To say that relations betweenHeather and Niall were unhappy was an understatement, and he was miserable because of it. The moment she’d realized that she was tethered to him by a golden chain, Heather had rushed to her bedchamber and locked both doors, not allowing anyone to even lay eyes on her. (Niall took the sensible precaution of posting one man to keep watch on Heather’s window from a spot on the outer wall. He honestly didn’t know how much fabric Heather might be shredding in an effort to perform another rope ladder escape, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to be responsible for her falling and breaking her neck in the attempt.)
After that first exchange, Heather wouldn’t even answer anybody calling to her through the door.
“Give her a few hours,” Maeve had advised.
Well, he had. He gave her all night. But the next morning, the door was still locked and Heather was still inside.
