Apprehension tugged at Thorne, and he tore out of Brock’s house. By the time he crossed Mount Street, he’d urged Honor into a full gallop. Nothing justified the hovering sense of doom he couldn’t seem to shake; still, by the time he reached Culross, his trepidation had shifted into a full anxiety attack. Not a single light peered from the house. He slid from Honor, ran up the stoop, and tried the door. Locked.He darted to the side of the house. Deep in his gut, coiled snakes released their venom—the garden gate stood ajar. He crept into the yard, staying in the shadows.
A shaft of moonlight highlighted the center with an odd sort of halo effect. It took Thorne a moment to pick out the details of the silver tea service, the turned over cups on the table and on the ground. Flatware in the grass reflected the moon’s beam.
Mrs. Wells and Liza lay awkwardly slumped over their chairs. Nowhere could he pick out Cecilia, Irene, Miss Hollerfield, or Miss Elvins. A sharp pain pierced his chest. The sensation dipped lower, burning deep, deep within his belly. He glanced back to the open gate.Where was Lorelei?
He rushed over to Liza and placed his fingers on her neck. Her pulse was strong and steady, thank God. He shook her. “Liza!” Her eyes remained closed, but the rumblings of a small groan sounded. He shook her again. “Liza, wake up.”
Nothing. He lifted her from the chair and entered the drawing room from the terrace. He set her in a deep wingback chair, tugged on the bellpull, then ran back out for Mrs. Wells. Her reaction was identical. By the time he’d brought in the wet nurse, Oswald still hadn’t made an appearance.
Thorne lit a candle and hurried to the foyer. Muffled sobs sent an icy stab of fear coursing through him. He lit the sconces and turned to the stairs. “Miss Hollerfield?” he demanded. On the fourth stair up, she sat hunched over. “What the devil is going on here? Is that Cecilia?”
“I-I think she’s dead,” she whimpered.
He lifted the child from Miss Hollerfield’s lap and felt for her pulse. The rush of relief was short-lived. “What happened? Where is Lady Kimpton?”
“I-I don’t know. None of the servants are about. I was late to the picnic, and they were all dead. I carried Lady Cecilia in, but I couldn’t find Irene or Miss Elvins. Or… or Nathan. My baby… my baby is gone.” Her cries rattled the glass in the chandelier.
He took her by the upper arms and shook her hard. Once. “Miss Hollerfield. Listen to me. Are you listening, Miss Hollerfield?”
Eyes glazed with shock stared at him, unblinking. She nodded.
“Lady Cecilia is not dead. She’s been drugged. I found Mrs. Wells and Liza in the garden. They are not dead,” he repeated. “Where’s Oswald?”
Her bottom lip trembled, and she shook her head quietly.
“Why were you late to the party? Where were you?”
“I-I was upset. I read the letter and…”
“Letter? What letter?”
“The letter I received this morning,” she whispered.
“What the devil was in a letter that could upset you so?”
She picked up a crumpled parchment next to her that he hadn’t noticed, and held it out.
Thorne anchored Cecilia against his chest, took the missive with his open hand, and strode to the light.
My dearest Corinne,
If you have this letter, then I know something dire has happened. I would never divulge the information I’m about to impart otherwise. I must ask your forgiveness, first and foremost— for not telling you before now. The truth is, darling, you are not my sister, nor my daughter. You are the surviving child of Edward Ninnis, Earl of Maudsley, and his late wife, Lady Hannah Maudsley.
Lady Maudsley hired me when I was but ten-and-four years of age. I realize now that Maudsley raped and abused me, Corinne. That is my only defense for my egregious actions. For the longest time, I truly believed he loved me. He seemed so sad that did not have a son. Hannah had born two, both stillborn, and he believed she did so purposely.
On the night of your birth, the midwife placed you in my arms, and darling, I fell in love. With you. Lady Maudsley barely survived her ordeal. When Lord Maudsley discovered your gender, he hit his wife. He killed her, Corinne. I saw him.
I was terrified for both you and me. I locked the two of us in the sitting room. Thankfully, he never tried the door.
With the midwife’s invaluable assistance, I was able to hide you. No one suspected a thing. Ever. My dearest child, there is much more, but time is short. I write this note as you fight for your own life, bearing your own child. You must take great care that Maudsley never learns the truth. If he does, dearest, you must run. I’ve left you the house, darling. And all its contents.
Look for me in your dreams, Corinne. You saved my life in more ways than you can possibly know.
Rowena
Thorne raked a hand through his hair. Rowena must have penned this at Kimpton—during Miss Hollerfield’s lying-in. He glanced at the distraught Miss Hollerfield. She looked more like a child than a new mother. “Miss Hollerfield, I beg you to listen carefully.”
She nodded mutely.
