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“What are you talking about?” he demanded, reaching for me.
I stumbled back. Once upon a time, my mom had promised that I’d outgrow the clumsiness of puberty, but she’d been wrong. My heel caught against something—a rock, a delicate blade of grass, an air molecule—and I thumped flat on my ass with a squawk, the dew and rain soaking through my cotton pajama bottoms instantly as Roman loomed over me.
“Get away from me!” I shouted. Or at least, that was the intent. It came out as more of an angry mutter.
“I’m not going to hurt you, idiot,” he said, and bent down to grab me by the arm. He hauled me roughly to my feet. He marched toward the house, dragging me at a loping stagger beside him. My mom and Simon were already in the foyer.
“Caleb!” Roman roared as we entered.
“Roman? What are you doing?” Mom demanded, rushing toward us. Roman jerked me back behind him. I yelped.
“Let her go right now,” Simon commanded. It was the fiercest I’d ever seen him. It was like watching a goldendoodle growl at a rottweiler.
Caleb appeared at the head of the stairs, carrying a newspaper and a mug of coffee, and when he saw us, his eyebrows shot up. “Let her go,” he said at once. He didn’t raise his voice at all, but his tone was commanding.
“What is she talking about?” Roman asked. Footsteps sounded in the hall—Victoria appeared, Celia at her heels.
“What’s going on?” Victoria asked, taking in my disheveled state.
“Would youpleaselet me go?” I said, tugging on my arm.
“Not until—”
“Roman,” Caleb snapped, and Roman relented. I tucked my arm against my side, rubbing it even though it didn’t actually hurt. I wasn’t afraid—just pissed—but I was also unsettlingly aware of the strength in Roman’s grip. If he’d wanted to hurt me, he could have.
“Now,” Caleb said, “Roman. What on earth do you think you are doing?”
“This girl is claiming that Leopold left her the house,” Roman said.
“Ah,” Caleb said, descending the stairs. The shouting had drawn the rest of the household. Desmond appeared to our right. Sandra stood at the banister on the landing above us, and as we all waited in expectant silence, Eli stepped in from behind me, carefully wiping his shoes on the mat. Simon had a restraining hand on Mom’s shoulder. She looked ready to tear Roman into tiny, bite-sized pieces and feed those pieces to feral cats. I was all for it at this point.
“Well?” Roman prompted.
Caleb had gotten halfway down the stairs, and there he paused. “I intended to make a formal announcement at breakfast. It’s true. Leopold altered the trust. He left the house to Helen.”
Pale fury snapped in Roman’s eyes. Celia bit her lip so hard I was worried she would draw blood. Not a fan of conflict, I guessed. Desmond just watched me, curious and unconcerned. But then, he’d had warning.
Sandra was the first to break the silence—with a high, sharp peal of laughter. “Oh lord,” she said. “What a fucking loon. Well, cheers. Welcome to the family.” She toasted me with an imaginary glass and, still laughing and shaking her head, went back the way she had come.
“This has to be a mistake,” Roman said. “How can the other—”
“Roman,” Caleb snapped, and this time he was out of patience, glaring openly. His rebuke was so sharp that, for a moment, I didn’t even notice what Roman had been saying, and once I did,I couldn’t make sense of it. The other what? Whatever he’d been about to say, Caleb really didn’t want him to. “Let’s all take a beat, and we can discuss this after we get some caffeine in our systems.”
Roman paused, and for a moment, I thought he might refuse and we’d have a shouting match right here in the foyer. Then he shook his head, and I recognized it as defeat. He stalked off, but before he did, he cut me a look. “You’re not Mistress of Harrow yet,” he said, under his breath.
His words sent a shiver of anxiety through me. He was right. I wasn’t Harrow’s mistress just because Leopold had said I should be. First, I had to survive the year.
A year suddenly felt like a very long time.
—
I showered and dressed, and by the time I was done, I had almost shaken the chill of the outdoors. The skin around my wrists was oddly tender, like a sunburn, and when I pulled on my shirt, the same not-quite-pain lanced across the skin at my sternum and my neck. But the sensation faded quickly, and I told myself it was my imagination.
That excuse was wearing thin.
Looking to hunt down Caleb or Mom, someone who might actuallytalkto me, I walked out into the hall. I checked Mom’s room, but it was empty. I didn’t know where else she would have gone, so I set out toward the entryway, figuring I would eventually run intosomeone.
Quickly, I discovered that I had no idea where I was going. I’d thought I was heading for the foyer, but I must have taken a wrongturn. I was on the ground floor, at least, in a hallway with a carpet the color of a three-day-old bruise. In the distance I heard the strains of a piano. At least that meant there was someone there. I followed it and soon found myself stepping into a room adorned with jewel-toned peacock wallpaper and rich red cherry furniture.
