Mirrie settled the tray on a side table and turned to face her. “I remember how it feels, to not know how the future will unfold.”
Esme twisted her hands over her churning stomach. “You mean, you and Tris?”
“Aye.” Mirrie drew her shawl further over her shoulders. “Though back then, I was not certain there would ever beme and Tris. So many obstacles stood in our path.”
“Surely not?” Esme was incredulous. “The two of you were the best of friends. Then you fell in love and got married. ’Twas the simplest love story ever told.”
Mirrie laughed, pushing a long strand of hair away from her face. “That is not how I remember it.” She laid a cool hand atop Esme’s. “But I did not come here to speak of the past. Only to deliver the warmed milk.”
That was not true. Mirrie was no natural deceiver, and Esme could sense the turmoil in her.
She held lightly onto Mirrie’s fingers. “I am most blessed to have such a thoughtful sister. But you could have sent a servant. Next time, pray do not walk about the keep in the dark. Especially not in your condition.”
Mirrie’s cheeks pinked in the candlelight. “But I have a particular message for you, that a servant could not properly deliver.”
Esme held her fingers tighter, anticipation surging within her. “What message?”
Mirrie hesitated. “I hope you will not think less of me, when I tell you.”
“I will think less of you if you prevaricate further.” Esme smiled to take the sting from her words. “Ignore me, ’tis impatience that puts a barb on my tongue. How could I ever think less of the woman who was such a constant friend to Frida? And now makes a happy man of my brother Tristan? You are a blessing to us, Mirrie.” She leaned closer. “Tell me, please, before my heart bursts out of my chest with impatience.”
Mirrie breathed out a small laugh. “’Twas I who showed Adam to his chamber, earlier this day.”
“Aye.” Esme waited, expectantly.
“I took him to the eastern wing. To the chamber with a view of the lake.”
Mirrie withdrew her hand and smiled as if in farewell.
“Wait.” Esme was confused. “Is that it?”
“That is all I came here to say.” Mirrie paused in the doorway and placed her hands on the rounded swell of her belly. The torchlight from the corridor shone around her like a halo.
“But the eastern wing is largely empty?” Esme was beginning to put the puzzle together.
“Indeed, it is.” Mirrie nodded, sagely. “Conversations could take place there, especially at night. And no one would be any the wiser.”
“Conversations?” Esme arched her eyebrows.
Mirrie nodded firmly. “Conversations.” She took a step backwards. “Good night, Esme.”
“Good night.”
Esme watched Mirrie disappear down the corridor, her mind whirring.
Can I really creep through the keep to Adam’s chamber?
A smile puckered at her lips. Mirrie clearly thought she could. And Mirrie was a bastion of good sense and propriety.
At least, that was what Esme had always thought.
Perchance I am not the only de Neville to err from the proper path, after all?
The idea was a revelation, but she did not waste any further time considering it. Instead, she pinned a cloak over her shoulders and lit a taper from her nightstand, sheltering the flame with a cupped hand as she ventured out into the corridor.
The night air carried a chill, but darts of excitement kept her warm as she crept onward. Wolvesley Castle was as familiar as the back of her own hand, and she knew which floorboards would squeak and which would not. She deliberately avoided the main gallery, picking a path through the upper story of the keep, which was less frequented by guards and passing servants. Her breath plumed in front of her, threatening to extinguish the candle on more than one occasion. But she reached the eastern wing without incident.
Only one chamber had a view of the lake. Esme tightened her grip on the candleholder and crept toward it, stepping through the pools of light thrown by the wall torches.
