My card? As though I’d brought one to my dearest friend’s house! An uncomfortable heat rose up my neck. “I hardly think it necessary.” I crossed my arms and stared at the man. Mrs. Ollerton had enforced silly rules on Liza and me before, but keeping us out of the mud was different than keeping me out of the house entirely. “Derricks.”
Despite the growing nervousness in his gaze, he lifted his chin, and said, “Yes, Miss Newbury?”
“My visit is of the utmost importance, I assure you. I must insist you grant me admittance and show me to Miss Ollerton at once.”
“Forgive me, but I am under strict orders, and I must follow the instructions of my employer. I will tell the family you came to call. Good day.”
And then he shut the door in my face.
I stood in utter shock for half a minute, staring at the wooden door like Derricks would suddenly reopen it and we’d all laugh at the ridiculousness of shutting me out of my second home.
But when the door remained closed, I stepped down the stairs and peered up at the tall gray stones that made Ivy Manor. This house—the little crack in the stone to the right of the door, the tiniest chip in the drawing room window, every groove and crevice—was as familiar to me as my own home.
Which is how I knew exactly where to go.
If there was something truly serious happening inside the house, especially if it involved Liza, I should be right in the middle of it. I’d been invited in even when Liza had been so ill she could not get out of bed; surely this was no different.
My feet carried me around the corner to the servants’ door, through which sat a staircase that led straight up to the main floor library. I would sneak inside, find Liza, and then this huge misunderstanding would be made right.
A hand on the doorknob and a subtle push, and the side door creaked open easily.
Oh, I shouldn’t. As close to sisters as Liza and I were, and though I’d walked right inside their doors countless times before, this felt wrong. What if the Ollertons had good reason for their seclusion? What if someone was ill—contagious, even—or upset or hiding something they did not want to share?
A horse whinnied from somewhere too close, its galloping hooves thundering. I swung around, and a rider came into view. Panic seized me. Which was worse—being caught in the act of sneaking into Ivy Manor or sneaking in andthenbeing caught? Only one promised me Liza, so I slipped inside the door and promptly closed it.
The little space at the foot of the staircase was dimly lit by random strands of sunlight filled with dust motes. Servants’ voices and the sounds of a bustling, working household carried from the kitchen and unfamiliar spaces beyond. If I stood here for too long, I’d risk being seen.
My mind raced, grasping for a plan. Up these stairs, I’d open the door and find the library directly to the right, which meant the grand staircase leading up to Liza’s room would be adjacent and easily within reach. Perfect.
I took the worn wooden banister in hand and hurried up the stairs. Then I grasped the doorknob to the main floor and—
What the devil was wrong with my brain?No.Sneaking into someone’s house was wrong, no matter how close our families were. I was not so desperate nor so mad. Was I?
I’d certainly felt mad since my engagement.
But no. Functional people sent notes or left calling cards. I’d go home and explain the urgent necessity of a visit, and Liza would come as soon as she could.
I released my hold on the knob, determined to retreat, when the door swung open, forcing me down a step. A figure pushed inside the space, and I held fast to the banister and drew in a breath of surprise.
His eyes were wide, jaw slacked, gawking. Terror seized me, for even in the darkness, I could tell something was wrong with his face. His right side was swollen, and the skin was darker, especially under his eye. But his clothes were finely tailored, and instead of a simple white cravat, he wore a patterned red neckcloth with gold spots.
He quickly held up his hands, palms facing me. “Please don’t scream.”
“Charlie!” someone called. Liza? “We must talk this through!”
The mysterious man gave me a pleading look, and then, in a flash, he stepped forward and closed the door quietly behind him.
My heart beat faster with each sobering realization. I was alone. On a narrow staircase meant for servants. With a fearsome-looking stranger.
“Who are you?” he whispered. The distance between us seemed to shrink, and I shivered. His eyes washed over me. “You’re not a servant. What are you doing down here?”
I could ask the same of him. Was he dangerous? I took another step down and measured his reaction.
“Wait.” He reached out a hand.
“Hiding is not going to solve your problems, Charlie,” Liza called, sounding close. “We must make a plan. Like it or not, as soon as your face heals, wewillbe—”
Again, the door flew open, knocking the man in the back.
