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“A dress?” I ask, stunned almost into silence by what he said. It’s been in the family collection? “Will it…fit me?”
“I believe it will, Miss. In fact, it could have been made for you.” He places it over the back of a chair by the door. “I’ll leave it here. It is, of course, entirely up to you whether you wear it or not. The ball begins at six o’clock sharp, and your presence alone will be enough to award you the estate, regardless of what you choose to wear.”
He turns, as if to go, but I finally find my voice.
“Ashby.”
“Hmm?” He hesitates, and turns back to face me. “Something I can do for you, Madam?”
“Yes, I was wondering…” I hesitate, trying to think through the rules we were told at the beginning of the weekend. “Now that I’m the only one, it is still okay for me to take a look around the house on my own? I don’t want to come this far and do something wrong and mess it all up.”
“I don’t believe there is anything against it in the rules,” he says, his expression unaltered. “In fact, I would be inclined to say it’s a good idea, given that by this time tomorrow you may well be living here.”
I nod. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure, Madam. Just not the west wing. It’s off limits to contestants, remember. Will that be all?”
Another nod, and he turns and leaves, pulling the door closed behind him. And I waste no time checking out the new addition to my wardrobe.
Half an hour later, I’m grinning as I creep along corridors I’m sure haven’t seen human traffic in a generation. The house is enormous. Way bigger than I thought. Halls and doorways and corners twist and turn like a maze, revealing new delights with every step. I climb and descend stairs, carefully open doors into large ball rooms and dining rooms and lavishly-furnished bedrooms. All while wearing the new dress.
The gorgeous new dress.
I know I should be saving it for later at the ball, but as I took in the delicate blue silk, the white lace, the cut… I couldn’t help myself. I tried it on and it was just the most perfect fit. It hugs me like a gentle embrace, comfortable and beautiful. And I didn’t want to take it off.
So I didn’t.
I have to admit, I’m sort of hoping maybe I’ll run into Silas before the ball. I want him to see me, maybe alone and he can, well, give me his up close and personal opinion on how I look in the dress.
Another flight of steps leads down, and when I reach the bottom I hear the sound of voices. Low voices, arguing a little. A high-pitched laugh. Who’s here? I thought it was only me left, plus Silas and the staff of the estate, so who is laughing?
I draw closer to the sound and find that it’s coming through a doorway marked “private”. And one of the voices is definitely Silas’s.
I’m not usually one for listening at doorways, but I can’t help overhearing the conversation going on inside.
“Oh, Silas. Brother of mine. What happens if she wins?”
“You know the rules, Carolyn. She gets the whole estate and the trust fund. Everything.”
“So?”
“So what?” I hear footsteps coming closer on the other side of the door, and I almost freeze in terror, then they stop. “It’s out of our hands.”
That high-pitched laugh again. “Out of our hands? Is that why you have everything set up to scare the living bejesus out of the guests? Is that why you’ve basically rigged this place into a Halloween haunted house hoping no one would make it until tonight?”
What?
I take a step back from the door, my head spinning. They set it up? Silas set it up? The memory comes back to me of the painting when I first came in here, how much it looked like Silas. Of thinking I saw a shadow in my room. Of what happened at dinner. No. Surely he didn’t?
“Might I remind you, Silas, I wanted nothing to do with this. I told you it was cruel. But I’ve never known you to lose. I’ve never known you to allow something you want to slip through your fingers.”
“Carolyn, that’s enough. I know what I want and I intend to get it.”
A mumble of horror slips from my lips. How could he? How…
“What was that?”
“What was what? Stop changing the subject. What are you going to do to that poor girl?”
I back away from the door, turning to head down the corridor, but from around the corner I see the unmistakable frame of Dalton.
“Guests aren’t allowed in this part of the house,” he says, pursing his lips. “Didn’t Ashby warn you that the west wing is off-limits?”
“Stay…stay away from me,” I whisper, continuing to walk towards him, needing to be away. Needing to be back in my room.
