Page 29 of Sir Andrew and the Authoress

“Miss Sharpe didn’t think so,” Mrs. Robinson said from her place behind them on the bench, turning another page of her book. “Which is why she is Mrs. Gardiner now and it is up to me to tell you both that tea is in a quarter of an hour.”

Josephine hid her smile and concentrated on her work. Her friend, and her sisters’ former governess, Alice Sharpe, had fallen in love the summer before. She had come to the castle for employment and left as a bride. Shortly after, Emma Arlen had fallen in love with the ambassador, and left Josephine behind.

Now here she sketched in the gardens with her sisters, while her father and mother remained in London. And all she could think about was her failed manuscript and whether or not Andrew would really keep her secret.

He had said he would. And he had spoken with such fervency that she had believed him. At the time.

What a strange day that had been. Despite her determination to do otherwise, Josephine had caught herself remembering their rain-soaked ride up the hill. How strange it had been, to trust her well-being so fully to a man who had teased her to fits for half her life.

Though Andrew had acted with great maturity of late. And protectiveness, , if she examined his behavior closely. At the Arcade, in front of the theater, and during their ride in the rain.

“Time to clean up,” Mrs. Robinson announced before Josephine had muddled her way through any more thoughts. “Your grandmother will not want even a smudge of charcoal on your fingers when you take tea with her. Or on your chin, Isabelle. Rosalind, do help your sister.”

Josephine quietly packed away her drawing things in her basket. Together, the four women walked through the gardens and into the castle. Her younger sisters chatted amiably with their governess, and Josephine lagged behind after they passed through the castle doors.

As she drifted up the staircase to the family wing, Josephine frowned to herself. When had Andrew grown so attentive toward her? And how had he managed to do so without her noticing?

There had been that moment the week before, when she had startled the horse. The sensation of Andrew’s arms coming around her to hold her steady, to protect her from what would have been a nasty fall, had left Josephine quite forgetful of all their old arguments. Everything had faded away, even the momentary danger, as she’d realized Andrew would protect her no matter the circumstance.

The thought had proven both enlightening and disturbing.

Tea with her grandmother and sisters proved a welcome distraction for Josephine. Their grandmother had received a letter from the duke, which she read aloud to them, reassuring the family that the duke and duchess were well. There had been no new disturbances in London, though there were reports from other counties of political disquiet.

Grandmama tucked the letter away with a sniff. “There will always be those who are discontented with their place in the world.”

Josephine bit her tongue. She knew her father’s side of that argument quite well. He would say, “No one can be content, let alone happy, when their concerns are unheard and their needs unmet.”

Though her father belonged to the conservative political party, he often crossed political lines in his pursuit of justice and hope for those in need of mercy.

Not long after that conversation, Josephine walked down the corridor into the family wing and passed by her room. No one had need of her, at present, which left her free to go up to the tower. As she slipped into the closet which hid the secret door, she considered her manuscript anew.

This time, she wondered what her father would make of her story. Would he be impressed with a clergyman who did little besides flirt with an orphaned maiden? Would the virtues of the heroine make her someone worth admiration, or was her inaction at pivotal moments in the story too weak?

Lost in thought, she ascended the tightly-wound spiral staircase to the small room at the top of the tower. She did not realize until moments later that the click she heard when she cracked open one of the narrow stained-glass windows came from the bottom of the tower rather than outside its walls.

* * *

Andrew had only meant to retrieve a book from his room. The innocent enough errand brought him into the corridor of the family wing an instant before Josephine opened a door he knew belonged to a closet of cleaning supplies.

He knew where several such closets were, given that he had no wish to make an enemy of the family’s housekeeper by leaving the worst of his messes for a maid to discover. Ducking into closets to avoid certain guests or members of the family at inopportune moments also accounted for some of his knowledge.

When Josephine shut the door of the closet with her on the inside, he froze mid-step.

Was she hiding from him? No, she hadn’t had time to see him. He’d barely glimpsed her profile before she’d vanished.

He took the last few steps to his door, then lingered a moment with his hand suspended above the handle. Josephine didn’t emerge from the closet. Interesting.

He waited another moment, then shrugged and walked down to the concealed door. Only someone looking carefully for such a thing would recognize the closet for what it was. It blended almost seamlessly with the walls on either side of it, complete with a decorative swirl of wood at its top. But there was the slightest gap between the bottom of the door and the floor. A touch at waist-level meant finding a cleverly hidden handle. A quick tug, and he had the door open to reveal—

Cleaning supplies. Folded cloths. Buckets. Brooms. Feather-dusters. An apron suspended on a hook. And absolutely no sign of the duke’s eldest daughter.

Andrew stared hard at the smallish pantry. Then he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. Leaving him in darkness.

He stood perfectly still, listening. Sensing the air. Letting his eyes adjust to the dim, thin strip of light streaming through the narrow opening at the bottom of the door.

As a family friend who may as well be family, he knew of more than one secret passage in the castle. He wasn’t to use them except in an emergency, like the rest of the family.

But he hadn’t guessed there might be such a passage here. Though it made sense enough, so near the bedrooms of the duke’s heirs. He stepped further into the darkness and put his hands out on either side of him. Testing the walls. Gently nudging hooks.