Timmons propped his elbow on the horse’s back and paused for several seconds before fixing his eyes on Anthony. “Ye really didn’t think to tell me?”
Anthony adjusted his stance. “I didn’t want to put you in a situation where you had to lie to Mr.Walstead.”
“Ye think me a fool then? That I wouldn’t notice?”
“No. Quite the opposite.”
“Ye an’ Mrs.Prior are playin’ a dangerous game. Your omission of t’ truth is a lie to Mr.Walstead, whether ye choose t’ think so or not.” The cynicism in Timmons’s voice reverberated. “My advice? Tell Walstead. Ask for reassignment. No good can come of this little arrangement of yours. Don’t ruin this—for either of us.”
Chapter29
Charlotte hesitated outside of the Gold Room.
As mistress of Hollythorne House, no area of the property was forbidden to her, including this room that had been her mother’s private chamber, yet Charlotte paused before crossing its threshold. As she stood there with Henry in her arms, she could hear her father’s words echoing in her mind.
“Stay out and leave it as is. There is nothing you need in here.”
Even now that she was an adult, the words stayed with her.
As an adolescent Charlotte would sneak in here when her father was away and admire the round gowns in the wardrobe and try on her mother’s dancing slippers. When she had turned eighteen, her father permitted her to select some of her mother’s jewelry, but other than that, the space had always been treated as a shrine. Now it felt like a distorted glimpse into her memory.
With Henry on her hip she stepped farther into the room. Everything was as she remembered—from the gold curtains on the heavy mahogany bed to the embroidered shawl strewn on the back of the settee. She stepped to the windows and pulled back thethick curtains of ochre brocade. The white afternoon light flooded the sparse space, giving new life to the room and illuminating the dust motes hovering in the stale air.
The Gold Room was on Hollythorne’s northwest corner. Instead of looking out over the front courtyard and main road as her bedchamber did, this one overlooked her mother’s beloved garden and the moorland beyond. She dropped the curtain from her fingertips and pivoted to assess the chamber with a fresh eye.
Haphazardly shelved tomes lined the mantel shelf, and a thick layer of dust covered the mahogany dressing table. She lifted a gilded hand mirror on it and turned it to gaze at her reflection. Henry reached out, and she smiled as he grabbed hold of it and giggled and babbled at the likeness that met him there.
A fresh cloak of melancholy settled over Charlotte. At the moment Hollythorne House was not feeling like the safe haven she had hoped it would be. She’d longed for a place of reprieve and shelter, but now with the suspicious letter, it felt as if every moment offered a new threat. She had hoped that by visiting this chamber she would feel a sense of closeness to her past and belonging, but instead it emphasized her loneliness.
“Here you are!”
Charlotte turned at the sound of approaching footsteps in the corridor. Sutcliffe propped her hands on her hips as she entered and lifted her eyes to survey the room. “What a lovely chamber this is.”
“This was my mother’s chamber,” Charlotte responded absently, allowing her gaze to linger on the yellow-and-green floral paper lining the walls. “Did you need something?”
“Ah yes. Mr. Timmons sent me to fetch you.” She reached for Henry. “There’s a young woman here to see you.”
“Is she here about the housekeeping position?”
Sutcliffe shook her head as Henry came to her and settled on her hip. “No, ma’am. She said she is one of your tenants.”
Relief and anxiety intermingled. Charlotte knew she would meet her tenants at one point, but she’d hoped to have a better grip on the realities of the estate before she did. But if the woman was here, there was no time like the present to meet her. “Is she in the parlor?”
“Yes,” she responded. “And I already asked Mrs.Hargrave to prepare tea.”
After giving Henry a kiss on the cheek, Charlotte made her way down the creaking staircase, pivoted at the landing, and crossed through the great hall until she was at the parlor. Inside was a petite woman with long auburn hair; dark, wide-set eyes; and an abundance of freckles across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. She curtsied awkwardly as Charlotte entered.
“Welcome to Hollythorne House.”
“Thank you.” The woman’s white-knuckled grip on her reticule was matched only by the nervousness tightening her expression. “My name’s Molly Mayer. I live at Thresh Cottage on t’ moor’s edge.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you.” Charlotte smiled, attempting to allay the woman’s anxieties. “But you’ll have to forgive me. I am not familiar with your name.”
“Mayer is my married name,” she rushed. “My father’s name was Jerome Simmons, ma’am.”
Faint recollection glimmered, and Charlotte lifted her head. “Ah yes. I remember now. What brings you to Hollythorne House, Mrs. Mayer?”
“I came t’ pay m’ respects. An’ offer a gift.”
