“Evelina,” he emphasized, while still facing Carrington. “I love your forthrightness, dear, but let me handle this.” He gave her the hint of a smile. “Go and fix that hairpin of yours, sweetheart. You wouldn’t want to lose your mother’s heirloom, would you?”
She let out a long sigh. “No, I suppose I wouldn’t.”
This is my cue.
“I think it's best if I let you gentlemen talk this over and find some closure,” Ellie exhaled while rising to her feet. “Please, excuse me.”
She slipped out of the room. Alone in the maze of corridors, Ellie made her way down past the billiards room, and, at the other hallway, took a left to the end where Carrington’s study was located.
Before she reached there, she purposefully opened three more doors and even dropped her hairpin in one so her excuse—if she got caught—would work.
If anything, I can say I got turned around looking for the privy.
The brass handle of the door was just as Dorian had told her to look for, and she quietly pressed it open. Peeking behind her, she ignored the baroque grandeur of Carrington’s private sanctuary and headed directly to his desk.
She pulled the drawers out, but did not rummage through the contents. If Dorian was right—and she felt he was—Carrington would not hold such sensitive material out in the open.
No, rather, she looked for a false bottom in the drawer, and under the kneehole, then under the desk— but nothing.
Look for the unexpected.
“Dash it,” she huffed while brushing her skirts. “Where would he keep such a thing?”
Her eyes landed on the large gilt-framed portrait of Carrington, a hound by his feet. He was seated upon a massive, red, throne-like chair that was behind his desk. In the background was a smaller portrait of a cabin.
Carrington is a self-absorbed bounder. The only things he likes more than himself are things that directly associate with himself.
She lifted the edge of the portrait—only to find it was not nailed down. “This is certainly unexpected. I can bet the files are inside here somewhere…”
Footsteps, and Ellie dashed to the shelves of oddities—a dried skull with a mask, a jade elephant, and a faceless African sculpture.
The door opened behind her.
“What are you doing in here?”
She turned to see Carrington in the doorway, staring at her with cold eyes.
Her heart gave a panicked lurch as he shut the door behind him and trudged toward her. She kept her expression light.
“I got turned around coming back from the privy and after trying a few doors—forgive me, I might’ve had too much wine this evening to be this forgetful, I ended up here. Your…odditiesare rather fascinating. How long have you been collecting?”
“Since I was three-and-twenty,” Carrington muttered. “I told the captain of my ships to bring back whatever he deemed as ornate, intriguing, and unique for a collection. My ships have been all over the world, from the jungles of India to the mystic temples of New Spain.”
“Have you been on those shores?” she asked.
“No,” Carrington replied. “I am sea-sick, you see. All I can do is admire the tokens others have sourced for me. You’d best go and join your husband, Your Grace. He must be—”
“Right behind you,” Dorian chimed with a beam.
“—Sick with worry that I might have stolen you away,” Carrington finished slowly.
“Well, I suppose we’ll rejoin the ball,” Ellie said, turning. “You still owe me two more waltzes.”
As she stepped into the corridor, Dorian frowned. “Evelina, where is your mother’s pin?”
Her hand flew to her hair, eyes widened in horror. “Oh, good god. It’s gone. I—” She spun around, “I was in two or three rooms, and I fear it might have fallen. I—”
“Fear not,” Carrington put in. “I’ll have my men search the rooms. It’s bound to come up somewhere. You should go and enjoy the night.”
