She continued writing, focusing on her page as she spoke. “Papa said one week. Excluding traveling, we shall have about six days.” She flipped a page in her book, angling it so I could see. “One.” She pointed to where she’d written, then circled the number. She flipped the page. “Two,” she said, working in the same fashion before flipping the next page. “Three. Four. Five. Six.”
I swallowed.
“Six days. I will approve every outing, and I promise to be fair in my opinions. My decision will be made from my general opinion of Brighton, the land you wish to acquire, and ... well,you, after staying in your home.”
“You’ve outlined the entire week already.”
“My father has taught me to be very thorough.”
“Indeed, with such thoroughness, I am surprised you do not already know the outcome.”
She shrugged one shoulder and gave me an eerily even smile. “I am quite certain I do.”
We held each other’s stare. I forced myself to breathe evenly despite the growing urge to clench my jaw. She wanted me to fail. She hated me so much, thought me so low and beneath her, she wanted to see me suffer and break. Little did she know, people like me knew how to rise from the dust and keep moving. We knew how to prove malevolent naysayerswrong. I had already come so far, earning the respect of so many people who’d assumed the worst of me. I would not let a woman with an unfounded opinion be the end.
I leaned forward, elbows on my knees. “I am truly glad you feel that way, Miss Lane. I dearly love a challenge.”
The flicker in her eyes dulled for the shortest second. Fear? Worry? She always seemed so confident, so brash and condescending. Perhaps somewhere deep down within her, Anna was not so confident.
She said nothing more as she closed her notebook, then tucked it away in her satchel. She removed her gloves and laid them on her lap, idly examining her fingernails.
I turned my attention out the window, thinking hard.
Six days.
I had to make them count.
The streets of Brighton were noisy with shuffling shoppers, carriages creaking, and the clip-clop of horses’ hooves as we slowed to pass through town. Gigs were stopped along both sides of the road in front of the row of shops leading down to the seaside. Tourists were everywhere.
How anyone could disregard this growing town baffled me. I’d loved Brighton at first sight. I loved the bustling streets, the energy that seemed to flow as naturally as the sea. I loved the fishermen coming in with their daily catch. The pungent smells had repelled me at first, but now, they’d become home. They tasted like success and victory. The rocky shores with brilliant coloring. The English Channel stretching out in browns, greens, and blues as far as the eye could see.
Men found their livelihoods in those waters, while others found healing, hope, or adventure. When I’d first visited, I’d spent hours watching the fishermen lay out their nets to dry, listening to their boisterous conversation and seeing the life in their eyes despite how exhausted they were from the night’s work. I wanted that light. Not only for myself, but for Mother and my sisters too. They deserved reprieve after being trapped with nothing for so long.
I glanced over at Anna, crumpled against the carriage door in sleep. The moment I’d been dreading had arrived. We were nearly to Highcliffe House, but with such short notice, I hadn’t had time to warn my family of my own arrival, let alone our guest. And I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d returned to have my entire world be engulfed in flames. Life had taught me to expect the worst. Perhaps I ought to with Anna Lane in tow.
Brighton’s stables came into view, and I knocked on the carriage roof, loud enough to jolt Anna awake. The driver pulled over to the side, and I opened the window, calling out, “Hire a horse for me, please, Brunner.”
Anna squinted, holding her hand above her brow to shield her eyes. “Have we arrived?” The curls on the left side of her face had been smashed from where she’d leaned against the window and dreamed, and there was a crease along her cheek. The sight would have been endearing on any other woman.
“We are nearly there. I shall ride ahead and prepare my house for your arrival. My driver will bring you safely behind.”
“Is your home not always prepared?” She looked annoyed, but her voice was still soft with sleep.Almostendearing.
I drew in a steadying breath through my nose. That barb would be aimed more at my mother, and I’d love to see Anna spar withher. But this visit was work, and my home was not ready to be examined with such a critical eye. Anna would expect perfection—a fashionably decorated home, spotless guest room, lavish meals, and rooms to wander through and relax in. The reality was, she’d find a modest home decorated only with the barest necessities which we’d acquired painstakingly over time, from investment after investment, much like we had our staff. We lived comfortably and simply and without a care for anyone judging the scarcity in our library, the age of our furniture, or the condition of the blankets we slept under.
But we could pretend. Mother could make things appear better than they were. She’d done so my entire life. She just needed time.
“I’d like to see that Highcliffe House is in order and ready for your arrival,” I repeated, opening the door and stepping out.
Anna leaned forward, then reached for the door and shut me out.
Well, then.
Brunner handed me the reins to a horse from a stable house across the drive.
“Take your time,” I said after he’d resituated himself upon the driver’s seat. “Be slow on the turns.”
The man nodded his understanding and, after I’d mounted, he urged the horses into a slow trot.
