Her hand hesitated over the page. Was Wren warning them? Or had someone else taken up the book after him? The possibility opened like a cold draft through the room.
She flipped back to the last page and ran her finger along the bottom edge. There, pressed into the crease, was another raven. Smaller this time. Almost hidden.
Mary-Ann closed the book slowly, her fingers resting on the cover for a long breath. A part of her wanted to march to Barrington’s estate this instant to demand answers from theonly man who might understand the implications. Another part, quieter, steelier, held her still.
Quinton had looked at her yesterday with something close to fear, not fear of her, but fear for her. And that, more than anything, told her there were pieces of this puzzle even he was holding back.
She no longer believed this was simply a matter of mislogged cargo or clerical oversight. This was intentional. It was coordinated. And someone had tried to hide it, even from her father.
She stood, returning the book to the compartment and closing it firmly. For a moment, she considered replacing it with something else, a blank booklet, perhaps, or one of her old journals. A decoy. But the thought felt too theatrical. No one was rifling through her belongings. Not yet. And if they were… A knock on her bedchamber door startled her.
“Miss?” the maid’s voice called, muffled.
Mary-Ann swallowed. “One moment.”
She dusted her hands and pulled open the door.
“You weren’t in the study,” Lydia said, her tone carrying a mild reprimand, her brow pinching faintly.
Mary-Ann offered a soft smile. “I went to the antechamber but didn’t want to disturb your rest.”
A faint flush rose on Lydia’s cheeks but was quickly smoothed over with a brittle smile. “Shall I help you prepare for your walk?”
“No,” Mary-Ann said softly. “That won’t be necessary today.”
She stepped past the maid, her mind still with the raven, the diamond, and the name she didn’t recognize. Lydia’s smile tightened, but she stepped back with practiced grace. Mary-Ann didn’t miss the flicker of calculation behind her eyes or the swift recalibration of a woman who had expected obedience and found something else entirely. She said nothing, but Mary-Annmade note of it, the second time the maid had tried to keep her contained. Once might be a habit. Twice was a strategy. Mary-Ann felt the presence at her back like a hush in a chapel. She had too many questions now to be chaperoned. Too many shadows were circling, and none of them would pause for a lady’s maid.
And she was done waiting for permission to find the answers.
*
The study atSommer Chase was dimly lit, with thick drapes drawn to guard against the late-morning sun. Barrington stood near the sideboard, two glasses untouched at his elbow. He didn’t look up when the door opened.
“You said it was urgent,” Quinton said, stepping inside.
“It is.” Barrington turned, brows furrowed. “She was at theRedwakeyesterday.”
Quinton’s jaw tensed. “You saw her?”
“I didn’t have to. One of mine warned her off.”
The air between them thickened.
“You had a man placed on the crew,” Quinton said slowly. “And you didn’t think to mention it?”
Barrington’s expression didn’t shift. “He was placed to watch for symbols. Movements. And yes, people. She was never meant to get that close.”
Quinton crossed to the window and looked out, jaw set. “And yet she did.”
“Because she’s clever. And determined. You knew she would push.”
“Yes,” Quinton said, turning. “And you knew I would want to protect her.”
Barrington moved to the desk and rested his hands on the edge. “You’re not thinking clearly. She’s not some ally in your old campaigns. This is something darker. Deeper.”
“She’s not an ally,” Quinton said. “She’s the reason I survived those campaigns.”
The silence that followed was sharp.
