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“It’s just—I couldn’t help but think you were in the room because of me. And if anything had happened—”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Darcy said. “You know that. It was all completely accidental. Something to do with the electricity.”
He heard Darcy’s wounded cry as the flames engulfed the room, recalled the way he’d dragged him away from the fire so forcefully, how he’d held tightly onto him. A bruise had bloomed on his shoulder.
“I suppose you’re right,” he said. “Nothing more to it than that.”
“You sound unsure—almost displeased about it,” Darcy countered. “What is it? Not exciting enough for you? Electricity being the cause? How about something from one of your fictionsinstead, to keep things interesting? Ada tells me you like to read. Were you imagining something sinister, like someone had come to kill me in the night?”
He dared himself to think it:Was it really an accident, or could it have been something planned? An act of violence from one of the guests in the house? Did someone wish the family harm?
“Absolutely not,” he said, hiding his face away.
Darcy’s lips tipped up again. “Because what would they do that for? Am I really that despised? I’d be quite annoyed if it was arson—Father made me dispose of my candle collection, just to be on the safe side, and I’m really rather upset about that, but it’s probably for the best.”
Bron explained how he liked to go to stores like TK Maxx and spend an hour in the candle aisle taking in all the different scents. Darcy teased him for this, said there was a delicate balance to be found between natural smelling and overly perfumed. Where Bron enjoyed the sweet-smelling vanilla cheesecakes, pumpkin spice, and cookies and cream, Darcy preferred the more sophisticated brands that sold the likes of Pomegranate Noir, Essence of Oud, and perfumes scented with incense, myrrh, and bergamot.
And it was nice, laughing together as they did. When a bird twittered in the tree above, Bron lifted his head, and incongruous to the days and morning that passed, the clouds had moved over to reveal a blue sky the color of forget-me-nots, and the sun shone so brightly they could see the frost misting before them. It was a perfect backdrop, and Bron felt himself content. If he was being truthful to himself, he might have even said happy.
“Master Darcy.” It was Clarence who approached, who broke the spell.
Bron noticed the furtive glance she gave, that questioned his being there alone with the young master of the house, a look that made him shift uncomfortably. Noticing this, Darcy pressed a thumb into his shoulder, as if to say“Brush it off,”and met her with a certain level of indifference.
“What is it, Clarence?”
“I ’ave found one of little Ada’s things outside on the ground when cleaning up the glass.” She showed them both a necklace and then pointed to the broken window and to the patch of grass below it. “She must have dropped it in the night?” she said, though it peaked like a question.
“The glass still hasn’t been cleared? Well, what have we been waiting for?”
“I’m sorry, sir, but Mr. Edwards said—”
“I don’t care what Father said. Please do ensure the glass is cleared by the end of the day, Clarence,” Darcy said, reaching out for the necklace, which Bron knew, indeed, belonged to Ada. He’d seen her wear it every day. “Thank you, Clarence. I’ll see this is returned to her.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Bonne journée, Clarence.”
Darcy, holding the necklace in his palm, glanced back over to Clarence, who’d quickly returned to clearing the glass beneath the window. Darcy shook his head, bewildered, before handing it to him. “Would you mind giving this back to Ada? She’ll be relieved to have it returned before realizing it was missing. It is very dear to her.”
Bron agreed, took it delicately in his hands, and pocketed it. “Of course.”
Ada continued to be uninterested in her studies through the afternoon—or rather, was only interested in learning more about the rules and regulations pertaining to fire safety, or watching a wildlife documentary on animal behaviors throughout the planet’s oceans. Wearing a flamboyant orange vest, she scrolled through her iPad and was scribbling onto a paper stuck to her clipboard. He wondered if this was meant to imitate a hi-vis jacket.
“Did you know that Christmas trees are one of seven very common reasons a house fire can start?”
“I didn’t know that, no.”
“It’s rather concerning,” she said. “We’ll have to go without one this year. Which is sad because I do love a Christmas tree. We always get a great big one, twelve feet high, from a little farm in Warboys. I guess we’ll have to make up for it with even more presents!”
She began to compile a list of present ideas, one for her father and one for Santa, and then worried about how he would get to them. “We used to keep the tree in the library. And that’s one of the few chimneys that isn’t closed up. We don’t want him entering the house from there. What a horrid impression he’ll have of us! What would you like for Christmas this year, Bron?”
“I don’t know, Ada. I hadn’t given it much thought.”
“Don’t worry about asking me,” she said. “I’ll write you a list.”
He stared out the window; the setting sun cast a brilliant orange light into the room. Birdie chirped in her cage, and Ada topped up the feeder with seeds. He was hugging himself when he felt the hard lump in his left pocket, remembered the little necklace that was in there.
“Oh, I’d almost forgotten,” he said, digging into his trousers and fumbling around for the onyx gem. As his fingers brushed the roundness of the stone, his eyes fixed on the chain wrapped around Ada’s little neck, the locket that already hung there as she reached to shut the cage’s door.
