“You should probably make it a double.”
He smiled, and this time, he clinked glasses with me before taking a sip. “Is the storm getting to you too?”
“Among other things. What about you? That’s a lot of whiskey for just a snowstorm.” I leaned against the edge of the desk, crossing my ankles and swirling the liquor in my glass.
Andrew took a spot next to me and placed his whiskey on the desk. He picked up a metal device that I recognized as the shipping company’s wax seal stamp and squeezed his fist around it.
His words slurred slightly when he spoke. “You and I have very similar problems. We both want something that is being held out of our reach, and every time we try to grab for it, we keep crashing to the ground. The question is, how far are we willing to go to get what we want?” He slammed the stamp down on the desk, making the whiskey in his glass curl up the side of the rim. “How far are you willing to go, Tessa?”
I wasn’t sure how to answer his question or if I even wanted to. In the end, it didn’t matter.
A deafening crash echoed down the hall. The wind roared, and the storm erupted inside the walls of Fairwood.
Chapter 9
The howling wouldn’t stop.
We raced toward the sound, Andrew in the lead. The gale grew louder as we neared the conservatory.
Another bang resonated, and the piercing explosion of glass shattering made me wince.
Inside, the room was pitch-dark, and I shouted an incantation, lighting the wicks on the wall sconces. Half of them winked out immediately, but they were the closest to the problem. A pair of massive French doors had opened to the outside, their panes cracked, some completely shattered.
“Over there!” Andrew barked over the tempest swirling in the room. “Grab one side; I’ll get the other.”
My slippers crunched over shards of glass as I reached for the edge of the door. Snowflakes swarmed through the opening, stinging my cheeks. A gust of air threatened to rip the door from my grasp, but I gripped it tighter, thrusting my weight against it until it landed in place.
Andrew closed his side and threw the latch. Flakes still flurried through the broken panes, but the worst of the wind had died down.
I breathed in relief and wiped away the wetness on my brow with my sleeve.
“The door must not have been latched properly,” Andrew said. “I’m sure it will have to be replaced now.”
“What happened?” Cynthia rushed into the room, her features pale and tight.
Andrew tested the doors again, but they held. “It was only the French doors, Cynthia. They blew open in the wind. Nothing to worry about except for some broken glass, though it’s probably a good idea to make sure the rest of the manor is secure. There’s no telling how bad the storm will get.”
Cynthia nodded. “I think you’re right. I’ll let the staff know.” She surveyed the damage. The wind had toppled over a potted plant, cracking its ceramic base. Dirt mixed with the melting snow, creating a slurry of soil and pottery fragments.
My hands were still damp, and I brushed them against my skirt. A chill coursed down my neck, and I shivered. I wasn’t sure I’d ever get used to such violent storms. All I wanted to do was climb beneath the heavy weight of my bedcovers and sleep until the snow had passed.
Andrew checked the rest of the windows in the room and slid one of the heavier pots in front of the damaged French doors. Cynthia left to go instruct the servants, and I lingered, listening to the wind lash the trees outside.
“That should do it. Come on—I’ll walk you upstairs. We can’t have you getting lost again.” He gestured to the door.
Crossing the room, I was whispering an incantation to douse the lights when my slipper landed in a puddle. I frowned as the cold water seeped through my heel.
“What’s wrong?” Andrew asked, noticing I’d stopped to inspect the floor.
“There’s water all over the tile. More than you’d expect from the falling snow coming in through the doors. It’s as if someone tracked it inside.”
Andrew shrugged. “That could explain why the doors flew open. Maybe someone entered through the conservatory and didn’t latch them properly?”
“Who would be outside in this weather? Those doors lead out into the gardens, and I can’t imagine anyone going for a stroll on a night like this.”
“I have no idea. But it’s not important. What’s important is making sure the rest of the rooms are secure. Let’s go.” He motioned me forward with his hand, apparently eager to disregard the puddles and whoever might have created them.
I stepped around them, observing that they continued to the entrance of the conservatory.
