“Is something wrong?” he asked, watching her closely.
Marlene shook her head. She wasn’t about to tell him about her misgivings, because he would surely think her quite mad. “Just a sense of recognition.”
She had hoped that might put an end to the matter, but instead, his gaze never faltered. “In what way?”
“I’m sure it’s nothing. I was here yesterday, but then I had the strangest dream…” She waved a hand and attempted to laugh off her faux pas. “’Tis nothing to worry about.”
He moved to stand in front of her then. He reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder. His blue gaze was direct and assessing. “I want you to talk to me about anything that might concern you. I don’t want you to be uneasy here.”
“I’m not,” she lied, hoping that he didn’t read the mistruth too easily. She would have moved away, but there was something so compelling about that moment that she found herself unwilling to do so. It was as if his eyes had taken on a life of their own—shimmering like a turbulent storm.
Marlene started to lean toward him. He lowered his head.
They were close enough that her eyes drifted closed of their own will.
“Marlene…”
She didn’t know if he whispered her name, or the phantom voice that had issued a warning to her before. But neither did she care. She only wanted to feel his lips on hers.
A sudden, cold breeze slid between them, and the spell was broken. She reluctantly opened her eyes to find that she was standing in front of the same portrait that had caused the chill the day before. She looked for Sir Gothry, but although he had been right in front of her, he was standing on the opposite side of the room. His arms were crossed, and he was watching her steadily.
Confusion, mixed with alarm, caused her to stammer. “I fear I’ve lost track of…time. I… should be checking to see if… Lady Erica is ready for me to… attend to her. If you’ll excuse me?”
With that, she quit the room in a rush, her heels clicking rapidly on the marble floor at her feet, all while her mind tried to process what had just occurred. Everything had been normal one moment, and the next, she had nearly kissed Sir Gothry. Or rather, she thought she did.
She put a hand to her head. At this point, she was starting to wonder if she wasn’t starting to go mad, because nothing was making any sense.
That night, instead of retiring to her rooms when Lady Erica did, Marlene donned her redingote and headed outside to the orangery with her lantern in her grasp. She noted that a light, rolling fog was already starting to cover the countryside, but rather than fear it as she had the first night she’d been here, she started to look at it as a comforting omen, like a gentle hug surrounding her.
Marlene walked into the orangery and breathed in the same strong scents of floral and citrus that had captivated her earlier that day. She set down her lantern on a nearby table that held some smaller plants and sat down on the cushioned bench that lined nearly the entire length of the enclosure. She sat there for a moment and just breathed—slowly and steadily. She closed her eyes and concentrated on her surroundings. She could picture the dwarf trees that were flourishing, as well as the shrubbery. If she tried hard enough, she could imagine that she was in some faraway place, perhaps in some far off tropical land, where the comforting heat around her wasn’t confined to one area, but everywhere she went.
A trickle of perspiration trailed down her spine and she welcomed it. She had always longed to travel but had never had the opportunity to do so. She thought if she had married, she would have asked her husband if they might travel to Jamaica, or at least somewhere in the Caribbean. She yearned to feel the warm rays of early afternoon upon her face. She had never shied away from having a sun-kissed complexion, although most women in London would be horrified at the thought. They used powder on their complexions, and even their hair, but not Marlene. She liked that Sir Gothry’s hair remained free from the same. It would have been a shame to hide one of his best attributes.
Ever since she’d been a child, Marlene loved being out of doors and when the opportunity presented itself, she was rushing through the fields. Unfortunately, English weather didn’t always cooperate when it came to bright, sunny days. She could tell that the moors were even worse. Not only were they closer to the coast, but with so many open hills and valleys, it was easier for a storm to blow in at a moment’s notice.
Suddenly, there was a tap on the glass beyond where she sat, and her eyes popped open. She glanced at the entrance, expecting to see someone there, but there was no one there. She feared that Mrs. Bates had arrived with that disapproving look. If she did, Marlene would simply inform her that Sir Gothry had said she could come here at any time. If this place was going to be her refuge, she wouldn’t be barred from it. It could be the one place she could come when the confines of that dark manor became too much to bear.
She started when the sharp tap of the glass resounded again, but this time, the sound seemed to come from the opposite end of the orangery. Marlene got to her feet. She frowned, wondering if someone was attempting to play a trick on her. She lifted her skirts and picked up her lantern, making her way around the entire orangery.
Again, there was nothing there.
At least, not at first glance.
Her heart began to pound when she turned around and spied a single sheet of paper where she had just been sitting. She whipped her head around, sure that someone had left it, yet there was no one.
She walked forward, her hand trembling as she picked up the paper.
The key is beneath the lemon tree.
Marlene repeated the words aloud, but it made no sense. What key? Was it literal, or metaphorical?
She was still trying to decipher the meaning when the paper wavered and vanished in her grasp. She barely withheld a scream as she backed away in fright. She wasn’t watching where she was going and stumbled over a potted plant. Losing her balance, she pinwheeled backward, landing on her backside with a wince of pain.
She blinked, trying to regain her bearings. She thought she heard someone calling her name from a distance, but she was too confused to decipher if it was fantasy or reality. However, she had the wherewithal to glance toward the upset pot. It was on its side with dirt splayed all over the floor. But at least it was intact, and the lemon tree appeared not to have suffered much damage.
The lemon tree.
She heard the door to the orangery open as she reached out and ran her hand through the dirt that had been beneath the pot. To her astonishment, she felt the solid form of something metal. She quickly wrapped her fingers around it and shoved it into the hidden pocket of her dress—just moments before she blinked.
