Montrose’s upper lip lifted in the suggestion of a sneer ...
And Rose cut in swiftly. “Regardless, there’s no need to worry about protection. My fiancé will accompany us, so you may rest assured that we will all be safe. He has a fine eye for dangerous stairs, broken banisters, and the like. You’ll look out for our safety, won’t you, Mr Aubrey?”
Her official fiancé, still lagging a foot or two behind, sighed as he nodded, pushing his spectacles higher. “Of course.”
Rose held her breath as the two men faced each other, one notably larger and physically stronger ...
But in the end, social hierarchy won out. “As you say, sir.” Montrose growled his words. “I’ll just see if I can find Sir Gareth to join you on the tour.”
“What a good plan.” Rose gave him a sunny smile as she linked arms with Miss Thomas, while Beth slunk nervously into place behind them. “Now, where shall we begin?”
Fine tremors were rippling through Miss Thomas’s slim frame, but she lifted her chin with dignity as she swept past Montrose, bringing Rose with her on one side and Georgie and Serena on the other. “If you want to see the oldest and most Gothic parts of the house ...”
On any other day, Rose would have found it fascinating to wander the tangle of abandoned rooms, thick with dust, cobwebs, and history. A properly old, dented suit of armour stood guard over a library large enough to make Mr Aubrey’s eyes widen with keen interest. Rose would have liked to scan those dusty bookshelves with him or exclaim along with Beth over the cheekily grinning gargoyle who loomed in one far corner of the room. She might even have joined Serena in peeking eagerly into the creaking visor of that stiff old suit of armour, just in case any skeleton did lurk inside.
Today, though, a frantic itch of warning scratched along her skin with every passing moment. Montrose had disappeared, as promised, in pursuit of Sir Gareth; once that gentleman arrived, her last chance to hunt for Rhiannon might be over.
What had even brought the little dragon back here in the first place? This house could hardly hold happy memories for her. Had she come looking for something she’d left behind? Or—?
Oh! Rose’s eyes flared wide with sudden comprehension.
She had wondered how Griff had found himself in exactly the same part of Gogodd Abbey’s buttery where she had found Rhiannon in the first place. What if more than coincidence had carried him from Penryddn House to exactly the same hidden spot?
But if Rhiannon had used her powers of teleportation to somehow rescue him from Penryddn House, and she’d come back to Penryddn House again now ...
Just how many dragons did Sir Gareth still have imprisoned here? And how many more times could Rhiannon possibly pull off that stunt before she was captured by Montrose or his even more unpleasant employer?
Georgie was busy charming Miss Thomas at one end of the room, leaning over her with a warm, knowing smile that made the poised Miss Thomas look positively fidgety with delight, biting her lower lip and giving Rose’s cousin a look from beneath her lowered lashes that made Rose’s eyebrows rise from across the room. Georgie would not thank her for this interruption ... but Rhiannon’s safety trumped Georgie’s flirtation.
“This is all so deliciously Gothic,” Rose chirped brightly as she joined them, “but I’d simply love to know: are there any parts of this house that even you haven’t visited, Miss Thomas? Perhaps ...” Oh, this next part was too obviously pointed, but the old clock that had stopped in the corner nearby was a doleful reminder that her time was running out. “... on an upper floor?”
Rhiannon had, after all, been scurrying around the mezzanine earlier.
It seemed to take Miss Thomas a long, blinking moment before she could fully swing her attention from Georgie to Rose’s question; Rose’s cousin narrowed her eyes with unhidden irritation as Miss Thomas finally turned to reply.
“There are great swathes of this house that I haven’t explored. A good deal of it is blocked off for safety’s sake. Perhaps you noticed that the staircase in the entry hall isn’t safe to climb? Here in the library, we’re just on the edge of the east wing,” – Miss Thomas pointed expressively – “but there’s no safe entry into that at any level. The doors have all been nailed shut, in case any servants might take a wrong turn and step through a floorboard.”
“Hmm.” Rose frowned at the wall of bookshelves in the direction indicated. Mr Aubrey was currently running his fingers over the books on one of the higher shelves with a thoughtful frown, holding a candlestick high to illuminate the ancient spines. In a proper Gothic novel, any locked-up wing like the one that lay just beyond those shelves would signify hidden secrets.
Still, Rose had to admit that, given the state of everything else she had seen in the house, structural integrity was a frustratingly plausible explanation.
“Is there anything in particular you’re looking for, Miss Tregarth?” Miss Thomas’s voice was sweet, but when Rose turned, she found that her hostess’s dark eyes had cleared from their Georgie-inspired fog and her focused attention felt dangerously keen. “Perhaps related to the matter you were discussing with your fiancé yesterday morning in the breakfast room?”
Rose’s breath stilled in her throat as thoughts and schemes collided to hold her motionless for one long, fraught moment.
Sir Gareth could be back at any moment. Georgie’s character judgements were generally reliable, and taking the risk of trusting clever, sympathetic Miss Thomas might be Rose’s only way to rescue Rhiannon now.
But if she guessed wrong ...
“A-ha!” Mr Aubrey’s sudden, soft sound of triumph startled her into jumping.
Her supposed fiancé turned at the same moment to beckon her with a hand that held a slim, leather-bound volume. “Here, come and see what I’ve just found.”
“Miss Tregarth?” Miss Thomas’s head tilted as the lady waited for her answer.
“Ah ... one moment, please. I’ll be back.” Forcing an apologetic smile, Rose hurried across the carpeted floor to where Mr Aubrey stood. The dust that stirred up beneath her feet along the way made her sneeze vigorously. “I beg your pardon,” she gasped as she joined him, “but good Lord! No one can have dusted in this room for fifty years, at least.”
“And yet, this one section of the bookcase is perfectly clear.” Mr Aubrey’s voice was a near whisper, but the suppressed energy in it made her shift to full attention. Rather than showing her the book in his hand, as she’d expected, he nodded towards the bookcase. “Do you see? The books on this single shelf are dust-free.”
