The rest of Rose’s family bent towards each other in a quiet, unhappy discussion of the future as Mr Aubrey opened the folder and began to skim through it, his brows furrowing as he read.
“Is something amiss?” Rose asked.
“No, no. Just my man-of-business’s report on Sir Gareth’s finances. I had asked him to travel to London and investigate them last week, at your uncle’s request.”
Rose’s eyebrows rose as she took in the thickness of the folder. “That was remarkably thorough work.”
“Well, Chalmers is a dynamic fellow. He always says I don’t keep him busy enough for his liking. Left to his own devices, no doubt he’d be racing across the country, investigating every nook and cranny, and putting on the most astonishing theatrical entertainments all along the way.” Mr Aubrey winced. “As it is, he seems to have summarised or made copies of everything that could be relevant ... but, wait.” His eyebrows furrowed. “Can this be right?”
Rose leaned over his closest arm, breathing in the surreptitious comfort of his scent, to look for herself at the page he held in his hand: an itemised list of bequests from a will. Laid out in fine copperplate script were various property sales, bank accounts, listed executors, and a guardianship left to Sir Gareth, as expected.
“I don’t always have the finest memory when it comes to people,” said Mr Aubrey, “but my grandfather did drill into me the necessity of memorising the terms of every legal agreement. Did not Miss Thomas say that the terms of her father’s will put both her and her funds under her guardian’s control for four more years?”
“Until she turns twenty-five,” Rose agreed. “That was the lever Montrose used to force her to accept Sir Gareth’s disgraceful treatment without complaint. Why ...? Oh. Oh, that’s not just ... oh!” Her eyes widened as she followed the indication of his right forefinger.
When she looked up again, their eyes met and held, sharing the light of joint discovery.
“It won’t be enough on its own,” Rose said softly, forcing down the leap of hope in her chest. “There still won’t be time to make all of the right things happen, and the two of us on our own couldn’t possibly ...”
But they didn’t have to work on their own, did they? No one in this family was keeping secrets anymore – and despite everything she had come to believe in the wake of her father’s financial betrayal, she could still dare to rely on other people to stand by her side and protect her. Looking around the room now, she took in the sight of the eccentric, beloved family who had made her their own and forgiven her mistakes ... and the two dragons who were looking at her expectantly.
In her mind’s eye, she could see even more. As she recalled the friends and neighbours who had crowded through the drawing room two nights earlier to aid her aunt in a different kind of endeavour, she remembered one more thing: a piece of gossip passed on to her by Carys.
Unlike Rose’s aunt and uncle, Sir Gareth had never bothered to forge any friendships in this community ... and those few servants of his who were local all deeply resented the terms of their employ.
As the beginnings of a new scheme drew tingling outlines of possibility in her head, she drew in a sharp breath ...
And found Mr Aubrey watching her with calm expectation. “Well?” he said. “I take it you’ve settled upon our new plan?”
Was it any wonder that she was falling in love with this man? If they had been alone, Rose would have tossed all caution and sense to the wind and kissed him every bit as passionately as her sister had kissed that insufferable rake in Griff’s vision.
They were still surrounded by her family, though, and it was time to draw every one of them into her most rash and reckless venture yet.
“How quickly could you summon your man-of-business for a consultation?” Rose asked Mr Aubrey. “And just how good is he at directing private theatrical entertainments?”
Chapter 27
Penryddn House had never looked more Gothically ominous and brooding than it did two evenings later as Rose stepped out of her uncle’s carriage onto the muddy drive with a trembling Griff perched in her arms. Dark, moody clouds gathered like a warning behind the jagged peaks and turrets of their destination, while the wind whipped fine, drizzling grey rain against her face beneath the brim of her borrowed bonnet.
It had been raining, off and on, since the night before; she’d spent most of this day with her fingertips pressed against a window, hoping and praying with all her might that the sudden turn in weather would not delay the return of Mr Aubrey’s coach with his man-of-business inside; that her plan could still somehow work.
No more than three days was what Sir Gareth had granted her, three full days ago. Now, the sun was beginning to sink behind the gathered clouds. She had no excuse to delay any longer.
“Shall we?” Mr Aubrey had helped her out of the carriage and given her the moment she needed to prepare herself. Now he tilted his head towards the house, questioning but not impatient.
She couldn’t take his arm with both of her hands fully occupied in holding Griff. Still, Rose gave him a grateful smile, and she took comfort in his steady presence by her side as they walked up the overgrown drive, mud squelching underneath their boots and rain falling all around them.
Griff let out a low, unhappy grumble and nestled closer against her chest. She took a deep breath as she stroked his still-hot scales, curving her shoulders and dipping her bonneted head to shield him from as much of the rainfall as possible.
“Shh,” she whispered. “Shh, sweet boy. Just—”
The creak of the opening front door silenced her weak attempt at reassurance. Sir Gareth’s sinister man-of-business, Montrose, loomed before them. “Miss Tregarth. Mr Aubrey.” His sneer made a mockery of the greeting. “Sir Gareth’s been waiting. You’ll find him in the supper room with his niece ... and I’ll take this off your hands now.”
He strode forwards—but Rose jerked back, and Mr Aubrey stepped swiftly between them before he could touch Griff.
“Not until we’ve spoken to Sir Gareth.” Rose tipped her head back to glare up at him over Mr Aubrey’s shoulder. “He is the one we’ve negotiated with.”
“As if he ...!” Montrose cut himself off with a wordless growl. Glowering, he turned and strode ahead of them, leading the way into the dark and cobweb-filled entry hall.
