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“It is all so well-planned,” Peggy groaned.
“I suspect that they have been doing this for some time and have perfected the art,” he replied with a grim nod.
“It sickens me,” Marilee spat. “They have everything in the world and yet still they stoop to such horrible deeds. For what? Yet more monies? Some game?”
“A fall from wealth is no doubt the worst thing that a member of theToncan endure,” he agreed. “It can ruin entire bloodlines. They will go to any lengths to prevent it. Even at the expense of others, such as yourselves.”
Peggy snorted. “You do not have to tell me twice,” she murmured. Marilee rubbed Peggy’s shoulder with a supportive squeeze. Her friend had twice now borne the brunt of the aristocracy’s attempts to avoid the consequence of their own blunders. Once in the betrayal of the man who she thought had loved her, and now having been four years trapped in this hellish house. Peggy released her breath with a huff. “I think I shall get my rest,” she stood and brushed her hands off upon her skirts. She then rose on the tips of her toes and pressed a kiss to Mr. Crowley’s cheek. “Best of luck following your leads. I hope you can find answers, and in such a way as you do not put yourself in harm’s path. I thank you, Nick.”
Nikolas smiled and squeezed the maid’s hand. “I will do my best. If I have a say in it, your ordeal will be over shortly. By then, I hope to have word on your son.”
“Oh! Thank you,” Peggy cried.
“It is not done yet,” Mr. Crowley said.
“Still, let us hope,” Peggy said sincerely, and then pressed the back of her hand to her mouth to cover a yawn. “You have given me hope.”
A short while later, Marilee and Nikolas were seated in the darkness upon the lone garden bench.
“I want you to know that I have made arrangements, in case anything should happen to me,” he began. Marilee opened her mouth to deny that it would, but he stopped her with a look. “If any response to my inquiries about the boy arrive and I am… unable to receive them… I have arranged for the information to be brought to my brother. When you escape, for I know that no matter what happens, you shall, take Peggy to him and he will help her.”
“You told Doctor Harding?” she hissed.
“No, but there is a letter detailing my promise and that every attempt to fulfill it must be made.” He grasped Marilee by the hand. “You know him, however that may be, and so I know that even if I cannot get a letter to either of you… you, Kate, can get Peggy to Northwick and will know where to find him.”
“It will not be necessary,” Marilee protested but she could see that he would not be dissuaded.
“Just know that I have arranged for it should some black fate befall me.” Then, he demanded that she promise to carry out her role if the time ever came. “It comforts me know that no matter what happens, I have made arrangements to see you safe.”
She promised, though the idea that she would ever find herself returning to Northwick seemed wholly out of reach, and to return without Mr. Crowley was an even worse fate. The thought filled her with a terror that was deeper than the fear she felt for her own life. “I shall do as you say,” she said, “but you must promise me something in return.”
Mr. Crowley waited patiently but did not offer a preemptive vow. He was far too clever to commit himself to anything before hearing the words.
“You shall do everything in your power to make it never need to be so,” she tightened her hand around his.
“That is the ideal,” he laughed.
“I mean it,” she argued. “Even if it requires that we be forced to stay in this god-forsaken house longer than expected. You will not make rash decisions just for the attempt to free us at a sooner date. We would wait if it meant that all could be achieved without loss. Peggy would agree with me on this, I know it.”
“In case you had not noticed, I am not the reckless sort,” he laughed.
“Really?” she said. “It was not rash, punching Lord Edward?” she inquired.
“Yes,” he said running a hand through his hair. “That may have been a bit brash, and I will admit, every day that you spend here increases my frustration. It feels like inaction, like failure, to walk out that door and leave you both here to suffer as if you are fine, while I live my life without restraint.”
“You are taking action,” she argued. “Every day.”
He shook his head as if, in his estimation, it was not enough. “There are things you do not know.”
“Nikolas…” she said. When he looked over at her, his lips lightly pursed at the lengthened version of his name that he had so often requested she abandon, she laughed. She did not know why, but he did not seem used to it. Perhaps his childhood had been spent being called Nick, and he had never taken a liking to the name. “What?” she laughed and then gave a careless shrug. “I like how it sounds.”
“Do you?” he hummed as if inspecting the word.
“Nick sounds… too harsh,” she explained. “Nikolas is softer… like you.”
At that he laughed outright. “Soft, am I?”
“Well, gentle perhaps. A true gentleman even if you were not born to gentry. Nikolas,” she said again. “I like it.”
