“It is no longer spoken much, but it is almost certainly verifiable,” Lady Catherine continued. “That might be your smoking gun, my dear.”
Shaking her head, Cecilia said, “It sounds… petty. I cannot do something so underhanded.”
“Ican,” Catherine said easily. “Or do you want me to tell you about the hell he gave my husband when he wanted to expand his business? Whitmore instructed everyone to avoid him as if he carried the plague, simply for spite against me.”
This time, Cecilia’s jaw dropped, “What? Are you—are we talking about the same Gabriel here?”
“We are,” Lady Jane nodded resolutely. “And it is about time someone exposed him as the true danger he is. You cannot handle a barking dog with kid gloves. You need to bark louder.”
Cecilia sighed once more. “I appreciate the effort, but isn’t that too far?”
“And the harm he and his new intended are doing to you is not?” Lady Jane arched a brow. “I appreciate that you are a pacifist, Your Grace, but at times, one cannot turn the cheek or else others too will be hurt. If I had never done so many years ago, you would never have been in this position. No, you need to show your teeth now, and not slink away and let them win.”
Her stomach roiled. “Butthis?”
“I know it is unsettling, but this will shut him down,” Catherine interjected. “The man is accusing you of something he has done himself. Doesn’t that burn you to your core?”
“It does…” Cecilia admitted.
Lady Jane reached over the table and rested her hand on Cecilia’s. “Gabriel did this to himself—it is only fair that he finally faces his comeuppance.”
She is right.
After a long breath, she asked, “How do we find this woman, and how do we go about this without damaging her too?”
Arriving home in the deepening dusk, Cecilia learned that Cassian was away in the town on business, and while she wondered if that business had to do with the mayor and his daughter, she forced herself to trust that Cassian would be respectful.
“Please arrange a bath for me,” Cecilia told her maid as she plucked her gloves off, “and then, a light supper.”
As her maid helped her out of the traveling gown and into her silken robe, she wandered into her makeshift library while waiting for the bath to be readied.
There were a few trunks she had not looked through yet, and to pass the time, she plucked one up—it was surprisingly light—and snapped the locks. Peering into the bottom, she plucked out a bag and a folded…board?
“What is this?” she murmured to herself.
Peering at it, she spotted the brass hinges at the sides. She gently opened it to unfold a wonderful chess table, the playing board made up of ebony and satin wood squares, with storage compartments for the chess pieces.
“It is gorgeous,” she breathed as she tipped the bag of pieces; a knight slipped into her hand. But this was not a typical knight piece with the horse head.
This was a miniature sculpture of a horse rearing on its hind legs while a knight in armor sat atop it holding a lance. The white counterpart was nearly identical.
“Your Grace,” Abigail said from the doorway. “Your bath is ready.”
Setting the bag down, Cecilia followed her maid to the bathroom, and soon enough she was sinking into a relaxing bath in hot lavender and citrus-scented suds.
She rested her head against the towel draped over the edge of the tub as Abigail washed her hair. She sluggishly lifted her head to allow her hair to be rinsed, then, as her hair was wrapped, she drifted into a doze.
Cecilia found herself on the edge of a dock, the sky on the horizon dark and foreboding. A ship was pulling away from the dock, and her eyes locked on Cassian; he was on the bow of the ship, his dark clothes a contrast against the wood behind him.
His face was staid under his hand, while the tails of his jacket fluttered in the wind. His face did not betray any emotion as the ship pulled away, and her heart sank.
She then felt herself falling backward and hitting the water over the edge of the pier. The cold surged into her mouth and nose, and the light dimmed the further she sank—
Gasping, Cecilia snapped up from the water where she had sunk two inches under the surface and coughed violently.
“Your Grace!” Abigail dashed into the room, her expression frantic. She dropped to the side of the tub and began gently smacking Cecilia’s back. “Are you all right?”
Numbly, she nodded and then sucked in a deep breath. “I must have fallen asleep.”
