“But I’ve just met the most fascinating sisters,twinsmind you, Miss Clara and Cora Upton, just recently arrived from the country and making their debut—”
“Quit grasping at straws, Mother.” With a pointed glare, he added, “It’s rather unbecoming.”
He felt he made his point, so after turning on his heel, he left her staring at his retreating back.
* * *
It was nearing the midnight hour before Mara finally climbed the stairs to her chambers. After peeling off her clothes and taking a quick bath that a maid had been kind enough to prepare for her, she slipped on her nightdress and nearly fell into bed. But even as the warmth from the covers started to penetrate her body, her soul was still bitterly cold.
Unfortunately, no amount of blankets or blazing fire could take away such a chill in her heart.
It had been the same routine every night for the past two weeks, ever since Roarke had left Weston House. Since that day, Mara had helped around the house and stayed late at her shop to work herself to the point of exhaustion, but as soon as her head hit the pillow, instead of falling right to sleep as her body demanded, her mind refused to cooperate.
With a sigh, she rolled over onto her side and placed her hands beneath her cheek. Soon the tears would come, and there was nothing she could do to stop them. Her life was hanging in the balance, forced to live on the charity of others until Bentley was found, for as much as she’d done her best to find a suitable replacement, she hadn’t yet managed to secure any other lodgings. She refused to think that the worst sort of fate could have befallen her friend, for to lose himandRoarke would be too much to bear.
She thought of Roarke constantly. But while she had to keep her distance from him, she realized that she should give Lyra a bit more consideration. She’d given her a roof over her head and expected nothing in return and what had Mara done? She’d barely even spoken with the countess for the past fortnight, but Mara vowed that tomorrow she would make amends for her neglectful behavior. She’d been so focused on pushing Roarke out of her thoughts that she’d ignored everything else, but she should have known that no amount of labor could diminish his presence.
And, of course, there was the growing concern for Lily.
It had been entirely too long since she’d been in contact with her, but she’d been terrified that Roarke would learn of her existence. If that happened, then it would all begin to unravel. No doubt Lady Eversleigh would immediately cease her support. And even though Lavinia had sent a note to the shop the day after Francois’s performance with a promise that everything would continue as before, the threat was still there to keep her silence. Mara knew she could never provide for Lily properly, and to leave her to the care of the system would be to condemn her to a fate worse than death.
As if a sentence of lunacy wasn’t just as dire.
Mara had witnessed the “treatments” at the Bethlem Royal Hospital, St. Luke’s Hospital, and the Manchester Royal Lunatic Asylum firsthand when she’d been looking for a suitable place that might help Lily. But after witnessing their inmates chained to the wall and left to die, along with other unmentionable horrors, Mara had been aghast at such deplorable treatment. In her opinion, such intolerable conditions were not a cure for insanity, but a further means of torture, and she refused to condemn Lily to such a vile existence.
The York Retreat was different. In fact, it had been a godsend for Mara. It was a charitable but privately funded institution founded by the Quaker, William Tuke. The patients were treated with as much dignity as could be expected for their mental instability, and new methods of medicine were practiced that were much more humane. But since it was a rather exclusive institution, Mara would have never been able to afford the cost of admission on her own, which is why she’d made that devil’s bargain with Lady Eversleigh all those years ago—and why she’d been forced to give up Roarke.
A sudden, fierce pounding on the front door had Mara jumping out of bed and throwing on her robe. She met Lyra at the top of the stairs looking equally alarmed. Together, they rushed down and met the frazzled butler coming from the back of the house. “My lady,” he quickly offered a bow to his mistress, before answering the call.
A weary looking messenger stood on the front stoop, holding a letter in his hand. “I have an urgent missive for Miss Mara Miller from Master Tuke. I was told I could find her here.”
Mara instantly felt the blood recede from her head as she stepped forward, swaying slightly. When it came to Lily, she had never used her false name. She feared it would be too confusing for her fragile state of mind. “I’m Mara.”
Lyra instantly put a hand on her shoulder to steady her as the young man strode forward, the servant studiously ignored for the man’s mission.
Without another word, he pressed the letter into her hand.
Mara tried to ignore the sorrow in his eyes, but she began to tremble, for the words on this page could only mean one thing—Lily was dead. And it was her fault because she failed to make time to write to her. She could have been discreet at Eversleigh House or when she was with Lord and Lady Rockford, for Mara knew her letters were imperative and that Lily counted on them at the same time each month. And she certainly had no excuses after she’d moved in with Lyra, for the countess knew of Lily’s existence.
“Please see that Mr.…” Lyra paused in addressing her butler so the messenger could supply his name. “Brown is given some food and drink, and a room is prepared for him. He’s had a long journey.”
“Thank you, my lady. That is very kind of you.” The man nodded.
As the butler escorted Mr. Brown to the kitchens, Lyra guided Mara over to a bench in the foyer. “Do you want me to read it for you?”
Mara clutched the letter as if it were a lifeline, a single tear dropping down her cheek to fall on the slightly crumpled paper. She finally shook her head and took a deep breath. “No. It…should be me.” With shaking fingers, she broke the headmaster’s seal and began to read, noting that it was dated nearly four days ago. She could only feel empathy for the messenger, for it was apparent he had ridden hell for leather to reach her on a journey that would normally take at least seven days by coach.
She finally lowered the page to her lap. She wasn’t sure whether to be relieved—or equally distressed by the news. Turning to Lyra, she swallowed over the tightness in her throat and said, “Lily is alive. At least, she is as far as anyone knows. The problem is that she’s escaped.”
Lyra instantly gasped. “Do they have any idea where she might have gone?”
“The only thing Master Tuke said was that for the past few days before her disappearance, she’d been rather agitated and mumbled about how I was in trouble. I have no idea what—” Abruptly, Mara broke off and looked at Lyra in horror. “Dear God, you don’t think that she might…believe I’m still at Eversleigh Hall?”
Lyra didn’t have to say anything. The uncertainty on her face was all the confirmation Mara required.
As a thought occurred to her, Mara asked urgently, “What day is it?”
The countess frowned. “I believe tomorrow is Thursday. Why?”
