How could she describe to her practical, bookish sister all the desirous feelings that Silverton conjured up in her? How would Maeve give voice to just how much she had missed not waking up next to him? The feel of his arm snaking around her waist in the night. The touch of his mouth on her hair or the heat of his smile as he looked at her. His silent, gentle kindnesses that he almost did not want her to notice but sneaked in anyway. She did not have the right words for them.
“God, you’re blushing. I bet the lordling is the worst. I saw the papers said he’s little better than an ogre. Papa would never tell me much.”
“Not in the least,” Maeve replied. Now she doubted there was enough time to tell her sister of all the ways she adored the man they were hurrying towards.
The pathway in front of them was lessening, and not too far away, she could make out the sight of Silver Hall. The surrounding trees bloomed, their flowers visible even in the early morning twilight, and there was the bright, heavenly scent of apple blossom in the air. It seemed to chase away the sickness from earlier. Her dwelling on Silverton caused Maeve to hasten her steps, her desire to see her husband defying her closely held logic until she could practically throw off her sister’s arm and bolt towards the Hall.
“Slow down,” Grace muttered when they reached the wall that surrounded the grand house. Her arm gripped Maeve’s. “Let’s slip through and go round via the stables. It is the kind of thing that Papa would do. If all’s well, we’re sure to find some of the servants and the like, so we’ll be able to judge from that.”
There was a surprising note of protectiveness in Grace’s tone as she led the way forward first, which Maeve found rather touching.
They went around the side of the Hall’s high wall and to the narrow slip that most of the servants would use to access the rear courtyard. In the early morning light, the air was sharp, clear, and crisp as if there was almost a bite to it, but lingering in that clarity was an uneasy tension, and Maeve felt constantly as if they were being watched. That her very steps were being marked, and at any moment, something heavy would descend from on high. When they reached the door in the wall and Grace pushed it wide, the two of them walked into the empty courtyard.
Glancing up at the Hall, again Maeve felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise as the two of them hurried across the cobbles towards the kitchen, their feet light on the stone slabs. They reached the kitchen door.
“God, something’s wrong,” Grace whispered when she wiggled and pushed against the doorframe. “Where is everyone gone to?”
“No, the question is where is anyone? Anyone at all?” It seemed deserted and echo-like, as if it were entirely devoid of people. That couldn’t be right, for surely Silverton had arrived and hired staff, and the dowager had been living at the Hall for a decade.
“Here.” Grace handed across her makeshift weapon as Maeve held both the poker and pan close to her stomach. She moved to stand next to the Hall’s imposing brick structure.
This place should have been her home; at least, she had played with the idea, imagining Gregory, herself, and their child coming to live at Silver Hall. This image had laced its way into her head and lodged there. Even if it were just a fantasy, it stayed because the images it created were so timeless and lovely. She would ask someone on the estate to build a swing for the infant to play on. She would hold on to their son or daughter as the air streamed past their faces and listen to the child cry out in sheer delight at the momentum. In these daydreams, Gregory had been there, smiling on, as he had on the honeymoon. He had taught the imagined child to ride on the smallest Shetland pony, then read to them both in the library. When night fell and the baby was asleep, Gregory and she made love in every nook and cranny of the Hall.
Now instead, she felt as if she were about to break into the place. Still, she reasoned, she would rather yank down the door and face a befuddled and annoyed Silverton than the terrible alternative. If all was well, would Silverton see her following him down here as a sign of her desperation? If that was so, she would be embarrassed, but deep-down, Maeve knew she could manage that. Embarrassment was preferable to what she was picturing.
With another forceful push at the back door, Grace reeled forwards. She went through the open door, the hinges giving way under the strength of her shove, and landed heavily in the tilted kitchen. She let out a squeak as she fell on her knees.
The kitchen was a mess, and there was blood on the floor. It seemed a fight had taken place here, or someone had been injured. But of Silverton, there was no sign.
“We should leave,” Grace said, taking the poker firmly from Maeve’s slackened grip. “Someone might have heard us.”
“I can’t leave him.”
With an annoyedharrumph, Grace lifted her eyes up to the heavens. “Then we’d be better off fetching the guards, or at least waiting until Father is with us.”
“My husband might be dead before that.”
“And do you want the same fate for yourself?” Grace’s voice was urgent, but she kept her questions quiet. They were arguing in frantically urgent whispers, crouching in the kitchen, holding tightly to their weapons, even though the pair of them knew how useless a poker and a pan were.
“I won’t leave him.”
“That isn’t a plan,” Grace said. “We might just be walking in and finding his twin or his awful mother there, and nothing else.”
“There’s going to be a stockpile of weapons. My husband isn’t the sort of person not to have something.”
With an exasperated sigh, Grace nodded. She was grateful their father had taken the time to teach them to shoot. Mr. Walsh had insisted they never could be too safe, he used to say. How right he was. “Where would they be?” Grace asked, her serious eyes surveying the kitchen before she started rubbing at them. “I wish I had stopped to get my glasses.”
“He will have kept some in his carriage.” Maeve pointed outside at where it would be stored. “And in his study. There will be pistols in both. I know where his study is. I can get in there quickly. Besides, I can see better than you.”
For a moment, Grace viewed the distance to the carriage, and then she looked back at Maeve. “Is it worth it? You must love him dearly.”
Unable to find the right words, a rising crest of emotion forming in her throat, Maeve nodded wetly. Leaning up, Grace kissed Maeve’s forehead. “Fine. We’ll do it. But if he is dead, the next man you marry must have a saner family. Right, I’ll search the carriage and be ready. Here.” She passed across a knife from her pocket. “I’ll come in after you when I’ve found a pistol.”
CHAPTER19
Charles’s reaction to the news of Silverton’s marriage was predictably explosive. In fact, he had appeared so unhinged that he looked close to bursting a blood vessel, which might have been a comfort if it had really taken place.
On hearing their mother’s revelation, Charles had rushed forward and grabbed Lady Silverton by the throat, spittle and phlegm running down his chin as he questioned her before he’d thrown her aside. The dowager landed heavily on the floor and curled her arms around her head in an instinctual gesture of submission.
