“There’s no hurry in all that, of course,” Gerard protested. “You’re welcome to stay at Chauntilalie as long as you like.” He picked at one of the tea roses circling a small candleholder in front of him as if just now noticing the new décor.
I studied him. He was so seemingly absentminded. Was he actually that lost in his work, or was it all a ruse to cover up cold calculations and buried secrets?
So much of Gerard’s persona contradicted itself—he brought Dauphine fresh-cut flowers every morning, bestowing them with big, wet kisses, but he’d been with countless women over the years. He often pretended to lose track of time in the greenhouse, but I knew that while he worked, he kept meticulous notes, jotting down a running timeline of every action within his scores of notebooks, his eyes glued to his pocket watch and the plants before him. He showed the world what a thoughtful father he was—rebuilding half of Chauntilalie to accommodate for Alex’s chair—all while exiling two other sons to a remote estate, out of sight, out of mind.
What else was he secreting away?
Whenwasthe last time I’d heard from home?
Camille obviously wasn’t going to send anything but I should have received something from Mercy by now. She was terrible at correspondence, only writing when she had a particularly juicy bit of gossip to share, but I would have thought she’d have checked in, at least to see how the commission was going. She’d been the one to set this entire thing in motion after all.
There’d been the one letter from Annaleigh, sent with the candles, promising to try to mend the rift between Camille and I but then there’d been nothing. I’d assumed that was only dueto Camille’s stubbornness, that Annaleigh had nothing good to report and so chose the most Annaleigh way of breaking bad news—avoidance. Our fight was too big, my bold act too great for Camille to forgive.
But what if there’d been other letters? Other letters left tucked away in Gerard’s office? Through neglect or…
…design?
“Is there any house you had in mind?” Dauphine asked, drawing me back into the conversation at hand. “The cottage at Halcyon Hollow would be just darling for you. Verity, you’re sure to fall in love with it. It’s right on a lake—you’d never be far from the water.”
Inspiration struck me, fast as lightning, and I pounced before Alex could respond. “Actually, I’m most interested in seeing Marchioly House. Alex has made it sound so picturesque. Maybe we should start th—”
“Oh no,” Gerard said, interrupting me. “Marchioly House is all wrong for you.”
I blinked.
“Terribly wrong,” Dauphine agreed quickly.
“But why?” I persisted.
“You’re such a young couple, starting out…,” Dauphine began.
“It’s too big, far too big a house for just the two of you. Perhaps in a few years…once you’ve given us a handful of grandchildren,” Gerard added. His smile, on the verge of a smirk, sent a chill of dread down my spine. “Then. Then we can talk about Marchioly.”
“I’d still love to visit it, wouldn’t you, Alex?” I asked, turning to him, wanting him on my side.
“I…I suppose,” he murmured.
“Oh, but there was a fire, wasn’t there?” I asked, keeping my tone as even as I could, as if I’d just remembered the bad news. “Did anyone ever figure out what happened?”
“No one has been up there in an age,” Gerard said, waving off the matter as if it was of no importance.
“A kitchen girl,” Dauphine interjected suddenly. “There was a fire in the kitchens.”
I glanced between the two of them, my eyes narrowed. The boys had said all the servants were gone, celebrating a wedding.
“We ought to draw up a list of the houses you’ll want to review and make sure they’re fit for visiting,” Gerard said, moving on. “Aired out. Fresh bedding.” He waggled his eyebrows at Alex.
“Halcyon Hollow, certainly,” Alex said, ignoring his father’s overly playful nudge.
He had answered quickly, as if to keep hold of the conversation, steer it in the direction he wanted it to go. But his rapid response created a burr of worry in me, rubbing at the pit of my stomach with painful tenacity. Had he been trying to appease his parents or did he, too, know of the secrets kept at Marchioly House?
Paranoia gripped my insides. I’d always felt safe with Alex. He’d been my one constant at Chauntilalie. But how well did I actually know him?
I needed to talk to Alex—to take him outside of Chauntilalie, where the walls quite literally had ears—and find out what he knew. I needed someone else on my side. Someone who wasn’t acting in their own best interest but in mine. In ours.
I prayed to Pontus there was still anours.
“We’ll be trying a new sorbet tonight,” Dauphine announcedas the servers returned, carrying in coupes of bright red ice. “It’s made from pomegranate wine and is supposed to be quite evocative. I thought it would pair well with the cake to come.”
