Page 33 of Mistress of Misfortune

The revelationof Emerson Thorne’s suspicions lingered in Meredith’s thoughts all morning, distracting her. Despite her determination to carry on with the cataloging, Lucetta kept rubbing her temple and seemed unable to concentrate on the notations she had been writing. At last she put down her quill and sighed.

“I fear I cannot think with this headache.” She grimaced. “Would you mind terribly if I retreat to my room? A cold compress and some rest should cure it.”

“Allow me to help you upstairs.” Meredith started to rise, subsiding as Lucetta made a staying gesture. “Are you certain? I would not mind sitting with you.”

“I am better left alone just now.” The older woman smiled before she retreated.

Meredith glanced down at the short list of titles she had written, but instead saw the terrible words from the journal entry. She should find the colonel and tell him what she had discovered now, while Lucetta was resting.

She closed the ledger and went to retrieve the journal from Thorne’s study, but when she approached the desk she saw no sign of it. Frowning, she went around and bent over to see if it had fallen.

“Meredith?”

She straightened without thinking, and banged her head on the edge of the desk. Clasping a hand to the sore spot, she squinted at Thorne, who was striding rapidly toward her. “Alistair. I came to retrieve the journal I was reading earlier, but it has vanished.”

“Come here.” He guided her to the chair by the fire and moved her hand away to inspect her scalp. “I am sorry I startled you.” He placed the journal in her hands. “I found it when I came down to retrieve some plans.”

She opened it and showed him the entry written after the page with the rose. “You should read this.”

Thorne frowned as he did. “This is quite unsettling.”

“I did not show it to Lucetta.” Meredith watched him skim through the following pages. “That appears to be the only entry he wrote about the matter. I thought since it concerned your family that I should say nothing until we spoke.”

“I am not certain what to make of it,” he said gravely as he closed the journal. “It seems obvious that my ancestor wished to place blame for the loss of his wife. Grief can make a man irrational. Yet he seems quite convinced.” He looked into her eyes. “I should have read it first.”

She felt miserable for him and herself. “I fear I have more unhappy news. After today my parents may not permit me to return to Dredthorne. They are quite put out with me for refusing to marry Percival.”

He turned away, but said nothing.

“I really do not wish to end a spinster,” she said quickly to fill the awful silence hanging between them. “I would like to have children, and a good home, and a husband. I have known Percival all of my life. Do you think I should accept his offer, Alistair?”

“If you love him, yes.” He sounded angry and sad at the same time. “You deserve to be happy, Meredith.”

She had hoped he would demand otherwise. She had yearned for him to offer to be her happiness. “It is only that I cannot be a wife to him. I could never do with Percival those things that…that wives do with husbands.”

“I think you should speak about this to your mother,” he said stiffly, still not looking at her.

“She will not listen to me,” Meredith said, rising from the chair and walking back and forth in front of the hearth. “She does not care what I want.”

Thorne turned and stared at her. “And what do you want?”

You. But I cannot have you.

“Wifely affection,” she blurted. “I can never feel that for Percival. Marrying him will not change my feelings at all.”

“I see.” Thorne moved away from her to stand at the windows, where he stared out at the back terrace. “Might I call on them and persuade them to–”

Whatever he meant to say was interrupted by a sudden billow of flames and smoke from the fireplace. Embers pelted Meredith’s skirts, which caught fire as she stumbled away from the hearth. “Alistair.”