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He’s still at Thornbridge Manor, she reasoned.And will be, until the Season begins in the winter. She felt relieved. By then, she would surely be out of any danger of being in love with him.
“We only greeted each other, said that we were both well. That was all.” She didn’t want to bring up Susan’s invitation to call on her. Aunt Joan would talk her into accepting and showing up.
What Aunt Joan doesn’t understand is that some people only tell you what you want to hear—they have no intention of making good on their plans.
***
Back at home, Lucy settled in to do some needlework in the drawing room. She was working on a bit of embroidery on a pillow that had been starting to look worn. She’d sketched out a picture of a forest scene.
She decided to do blackberry bushes, which were in the cool shade of the trees, perhaps with a little snake curled up beneath them. It would be her little secret, she thought sadly.
Lucy didn’t feel the relief that she had expected from leaving the Viscount of Thornbridge’s home. Every time she was idle, her mind immediately conjured up Silas’s face.
She missed him, she realized with a painful twinge. She found that she missed Dinah, too—particularly her conversation. She hadn’t expected to find such pleasure in the weekend. Nor had she thought to find it so emotionally conflicting, as well.
Then again, it’s probably best that I not see or hear from them again. Life is much more uncomplicated when lived in solitude.
She heard a knock at the front door. For a moment, she panicked, wondering if it might be Silas. She froze where she was.
He’s followed us. He’s going to demand to know why we left. And why I didn’t say goodbye. She didn’t want to have to explain herself, not when she had already told him that she had no intention of marrying.
“I’ll get it!” Aunt Joan called out, her footsteps moving quickly along the hall.
In a panic, Lucy waited, hearing the sound of her aunt speaking with someone. It was a woman’s voice, so Lucy relaxed. She listened as Aunt Joan urged the person inside. She listened to the sound of footsteps, in the hall.
She turned in time to see Martha Scriven, a friend of Aunt Joan’s, come inside. Lucy breathed a sigh of relief.
“Mrs. Scriven,” she murmured. “Are you well?”
Their visitor was about Aunt Joan’s age, with silver hair and deep laugh lines carved into her good-natured face. She looked pale and deeply upset. She was clutching a monogrammed handkerchief in her hand.
“I have the most awful news,” she announced, her hand over her heart.
“Sit down, Martha!” Aunt Joan encouraged, taking a seat beside Lucy. Martha settled down into the armchair across from the settee where the other two women sat.
Martha let out a deep gust of air. “Well, I know how the two of you are acquainted with the Viscount of Thornbridge, having just come back from his county seat.”
Lucy felt herself go pale at the mention of that name. She felt shaken, but made a valiant effort to compose herself. She folded her hands in her lap.
“Has something happened?” Aunt Joan asked, reaching for Lucy’s hand. She took it, feeling how her aunt’s hand shook.
“He’s… he’s dead,” Martha said.
Lucy’s heart ached for Silas and Dinah and their brother. They were, certainly, still out in the countryside, at the party, having a good time.
They don’t even know that the worst has happened, she thought with a jolt.
