“From Nicky? I just saw him. He didn’t say anything.”
“Not from your brother. From Mr. Canning. Oh, dear. Such a tragedy. I suppose he’ll be going to Boston now.”
Kenna took the letter, too weary to marvel at the speed with which news spread at Dunnelly. Rhys had not yet reached his father’s side and the gossip had him taking over the shipping firm already. She turned the letter over in her hand and saw the seal had been broken. “This has been opened.”
“It was that way when he gave it to me,” Janet said defensively.
Kenna flipped the letter again and noticed for the first time it was not a missive from Rhys that she was holding, but one from Yvonne. She hastened to her writing table and unfolded the letter, examining the date Yvonne had penned the thing. “Rhys gave this to you?” she asked Janet again.
“Yes, m’lady. Just before he rushed out of here. Caught me as he was leaving his room.”
“Yvonne wrote this the same day she received my letter. It must have arrived here days ago. He had no right to keep my mail from me. And to read it was the outside of enough. The man’s nerve is not to be believed. How did he get it?”
“As to that, m’lady, I found out this morning when I spoke to Henderson that a letter had arrived from your sister the afternoon you took so ill. He was going to bring it to you personally but Mr. Canning was there when the post came and offered to deliver it. I was going to tell you about it when you came back from your ride, but then, well, you know what happened, and he gave me the letter himself. He said you should accept Lady Parker’s offer now that he had to leave.”
“Is that all he said?”
“He was rather insistent upon it. Repeated himself twice as if I couldn’t grasp the gist of it the first time,” Janet said. “Tell your mistress,” he said, “that she’s to accept her sister’s invitation to Cherry Hill now that I have to leave Dunnelly. Those are his exact words. Said them twice, like I told you.”
Kenna thought Rhys a singularly obtuse individual. Surely he must know there was no reason to run off to Cherry Hill once he was gone from her home. He had incredible gall to order her life as if she had naught but space between her ears. “I’d like to be alone, Janet.” When her maid hesitated, she added, “Don’t worry. I’m staying here. Nick was unhappy that I left and I’ll abide by his wishes. You aren’t in any trouble.” She thought she heard Janet’s sigh of relief as she left the room.
Kenna took her time reading the letter, thoroughly enjoying Yvonne’s rare and humorous descriptions of life at Cherry Hill. The invitation to join her family was wedged somewhere between a tale of how her oldest boy had rescued a nest of sparrows from certain death in the library fireplace and how his younger sister had lit a fire beneath him while he was curled in the chimney. The baby, thank heaven, was too young to be involved in the goings-on but he had a regrettable penchant for slapping at his porridge when the bowl was placed near him. It all sounded wonderful to Kenna and she admitted it was rather silly not to go simply because Rhys said she should.
She folded the letter and stuck it in a drawer filled with correspondence. After a moment’s more consideration she quickly penned a note to Yvonne telling her to clean up the children, their favorite aunt was on her way.
Kenna had not anticipated Victorine’s resistance to her plan. While Nick was all for Kenna getting away from Dunnelly, her stepmother raised a number of concerns about Kenna’s health, about her availability to the authorities should there be more questions regarding Tom Allen’s death, and about the advisability in traveling when the winter storms were so uncertain. It was finally Nick who put his foot down and told Victorine that her cosseting was unnecessary; Kenna was no less than an adult and surely capable of withstanding the rigors of the journey to Cherry Hill. As for Old Tom’s death, if the authorities had more questions they could visit her there. It was not as if she were going to the Continent.
“Perhaps she would like to go with me,” Kenna told Nick a week later as she was going through her wardrobe and selecting gowns to take with her. She had delayed her trip long enough to stay with Victorine while Nick attended the Cannings’ funeral in London. Her stepmother disliked funerals intensely and Kenna had no wish to see Rhys, even to offer her sympathies. It would hardly matter to him that she did not come, after all he believed her to be the most cold-hearted of women. That criticism still had the power to sting. He would never have to know how she had grieved for him when word came back from London that his father had also died. “Yvonne would probably like the surprise and I would be grateful for the company on the journey.”
Nick laughed. “You are too kind-hearted, sprite. Yvonne would hate the surprise and you need a rest from Victorine’s well-intentioned worrying.”
“No doubt you’re right. Yvonne once confided in me that her mother is a little critical of the children’s playfulness and Yvonne’s own desire to spend so much time with them. As I recall, Victorine never had much patience for the pranks we got up to before Papa died.” She held up a day dress the color of jonquils and saw Nick wrinkle his nose. With a shrug she put it back in the wardrobe. “Still, I don’t like leaving her alone.”
“Well, thank you very much.”
“You have to admit you aren’t much company at times, Nick. Victorine needs to find someone she can dote on. She should remarry.”
“I have said as much to her.”
“Have you?” asked Kenna, much impressed her brother would broach the subject with Victorine. “What did she say?”
“She says she cannot leave Dunnelly.”
“Why ever not?”
“She says you need her.”
Kenna leaned against the wardrobe, hugging a blue silk dress to her middle, a sad, thoughtful smile playing on her lips. “Oh, Nick. I’ve become a veritable albatross about her neck. And yours. How awful for both of you!”
Nick shook his head, indicating the dress. Kenna stamped her foot and put it away. “You are nothing of the sort,” he said. “I know it’s shocking but I’m quite content with my life. I hardly live like a monk, you know.”
“Yes, but actresses and opera singers are hardly proper marriage prospects. I hear stories, Nick,” she added when he looked faintly shocked that she knew about his women. “A little bit of gossip always finds its way back to Dunnelly whenever you’re in London. Most of it does not bear repeating.”
Nick looked a shade uncomfortable. “Most of it does not bear an element of truth, I’ll wager.” He hesitated, searching Kenna’s face. “Kenna, there is something you should know, perhaps it will soften your feelings for Rhys and help you understand why I hold him with such affection and regard.”
“Must we talk of Rhys?” she asked tiredly. “I thought we were speaking of your life.”
“We still are.” He went on rapidly before she could object. “There was something of scandal a number of years ago, before Papa married Victorine in fact. I doubt you remember it; you were so young yourself and it was mostly hushed.”
