Chapter one
16October1857
The inky edges of night whipped away the distinctness of shapes outside the carriage.Trees bled into hedges, gates into fences, fields into road.Fingers of dusk stretched and poked their way inside, morphing seamlessly into dress creases and marks on the leather.The sun withdrew its last threads of the day, leaving Lorelei with nothing but twilight and her worries.
With a heave, she stretched up to thump on the roof, balancing precariously.The knock of her little fist merged with the rumble of the wheels.Searching one window, then the opposite, she waited for a response, flanked by the two rectangles of night.When none came, Lorelei pushed up from the seat and knocked again, harder.
A face appeared on her left, suspended upside down, dark hair loose and swaying.‘Your Grace?’
‘How long?’she called, forcing her voice to rise above the rumble.
The face disappeared for a moment, then swung back into view.‘I figure on less than a mile.Almost there.’
Even upside down, Tillman’s smile beamed through his close-cut beard with steady, no-nonsense confidence.Nothing rattled the estate manager.Not broken fences or cows that strayed into neighbours’ paddocks, not hay sales or barley markets.Not even sheep who needed assistance to birth a stuck lamb.He was always so calm and composed.
Lorelei met his reassurance with her best duchess facade.Hopefully, his optimism would obscure that she possessed no confidence of her own, only the mask of it.He nodded, possibly convinced, and then he was gone.Night whipped the window again.
Lorelei stroked the fabric of her pocket, not seeking solace but the edges of the envelope.It was too dark to read the letter now, so she fidgeted with its pointy corners and creased lengths instead.She’d read the short missive a dozen times over the course of the last few hours, and the words had long since blurred into overly formal prattle, but their meaning was fixed in her mind.
Arley had gone missing.
The academy’s headmaster had explained that they had searched the grounds, the library, the dorms, and the kitchens—a dozen times over.Had the young duke made his way home, perhaps?Sometimes the boys felt a little homesick and, if they lived close enough, they absconded from boarding school for a brief visit.Perhaps she could investigate?Conduct a search of the manor and its grounds?
She’d roused a search party, of course, even as the tumult in her stomach and the ache in her heart told her it would be pointless.Arley would never be homesick.He would not be coming home.Her fourteen-year-old son, whose grunts passed for conversation on the best of days, would most likely have headed in the opposite direction to wherever she was.
Lorelei lifted herself from the seat again, clenched her fist to knock the roof, then fell back to sitting with anoof.As the carriage slowed into a turn, a swaying band of light from the lantern slapped across the painted sign for Bulger’s Academy.Over the lawns, grey moonlight picked out thin blades of grass.They gleamed a dull, damp green, not quite yet frosted with late autumn.
The clink and jingle of bits and bridles echoed, their merry chimes out of sync with her staccato heart and tight shoulders.Lorelei slid to the far side of the carriage, teetering on the edge of the seat with one gloved hand already on the door handle.
Tap, tap, tap.Her fidgeting fingers pinched at the metal scrollwork until the conveyance finally eased to a stop.
She bent down and pushed the door open.Paused.
A duchess doesn’t rush.Is never flustered.Control, Lorelei, control.
Lorelei drew a slow breath and sat back in her seat.The carriage shifted as the men above dismounted.As she waited, she peered through the doorway for a first proper look at the boarding school where her son spent his days.
The main building appeared to be about the same age as the centuries-old manor on the estate, or maybe a little older.It had been finished in a rougher style, with raw stone corners, brick walls, and dressed gables that disappeared three stories high into the night.Every second window had been bricked over, likely in protest of the glass tax, and candlelight sneaked through the edges of those that had been spared.A curtain flicked, throwing an abstract beam across the walls.Then the light retreated as it fell closed again.
Tillman landed firmly on the gravel.He brushed himself off and straightened his coat.With a grunt, he pulled out the little steps from beneath the carriage, pushed against them to test their sturdiness, then nodded, satisfied.When he held out his hand, the moonlight made valleys and mountains out of the creases and calluses on his palms.Lorelei tugged at her gloves to cover the small gap of skin over her wrist.In her rush, she hadn’t changed from riding gloves to day gloves, and the evening cold nipped at the exposed flesh.
‘It is beneath a manager to undertake such an errand.You shouldn’t have come.’Lorelei rested her hand in Tillman’s as she descended, and his sure, steady fingers closed over her own to help her balance.
‘Someone had to.Besides, I know the way.The driver is new, so he did not.And while the staff are mostly good sorts, they do like to talk.The only way I can be certain no one gossips is if it’s me not doing the gossiping.’
‘There is no arguing with your logic.’Lorelei dismissed the familiar warm squirm that came from being so close to the estate manager.On other days, she slowed moments like this and tucked them into her pockets like they were white and gold pebbles—meaningless, perfect treasures she could take out and admire when alone.Today, though, was not a day for relishing his warm hazel gaze or the stability of his hand, for appreciating the firm tower of his body, lean from days of hauling grain and tying hay as effortlessly as he tallied columns and completed invoices.
‘Do you need a moment?’he asked, as he released his grip.‘I can ask if they have a washroom for visitors, although I don’t remember one.Guests were not exactly encouraged when I was here.Especially mothers.’
‘I don’t think so.’Her hands performed the familiar ritual of checking the sash at her waist, then her collar lace, confirming the buttons remained tight and no speck of dirt spoiled her cuffs.‘Is anything amiss?’
‘As perfect as a princess, Your Grace.As always.I’ll have someone announce you.’
Tillman jogged up the stairs, but before he could raise his hand to knock, the door opened, and he stepped aside.
‘You needn’t have come,’ a hefty, cutting voice bellowed.It reverberated across the stone yard, bouncing off the pavers and dispersing into the night.Brimming with self-importance, her father’s familiar tone still came as a comfort, even as her shoulders tightened and her teeth clenched in a recitation of her childhood response to his presence.
Lorelei gathered her skirts and took the stairs in a rush.‘Have they found him?’she asked, her voice a slight puff with the effort.Her skirts compressed against the door frame, then fanned again as she entered the foyer.‘Has he returned?’
