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“I still might,” she threatened, stopping to glare at him. “It is cruel. It is cruel to me, and it is unspeakably cruel to her. She actually believes it, Anthony. When those three months are over and I leave this house, how do you plan to explain my absence? Will you break her heart just to suit your own convenience?”

Anthony’s calm expression finally fractured. A shadow passed over his striking face, and he dropped his hands to the desk. He stood up slowly. He was a very tall man, and when he straightened to his full height, he seemed to swallow all the air in the room. Leonora refused to step back, lifting her chin to maintain his gaze even though her heart was pounding in her chest.

“I am not doing this for my convenience,” Anthony said, his voice dropping into a serious tone. He walked around the edge of the desk, stopping just a few feet away from her. “I am doing it because it is the only way to protect her.”

Leonora crossed her arms over her chest. “By lying to her?”

“By giving her something she will actually accept,” he corrected gently. He leaned his hip against the edge of the desk, crossing his arms to mirror her defensive stance. “You spent two hours with her. I am certain you saw how sharp she can be, even when the fog rolls in. My grandmother is a duchess. She is fiercely proud. She has ruled over households and estates for decades. She absolutely hates the idea of needing help.”

Leonora listened, her anger pausing just enough to let his words sink in. She remembered the strength in Marian’s voice when they had talked about the porcelain sparrow. She remembered the fierceness shining in the older woman’s eyes. Leonora understood pride perfectly well. It was the exact same pride that kept her arguing with her sisters and the same pride that made her refuse charity from people.

“If I bring a hired companion into this house and tell her that it is such...” Anthony continued, keeping his gaze locked on hers. “...she treats them exactly like a servant. She resents them. She feels as though I am managing her, treating her like an invalid child who needs a nursemaid. Because she is too proud to admit her memory is failing, she fights back. She becomes stubborn. She makes impossible demands, she unleashes her cats, and she deliberately drives the companions away. We have gone through five women in the last year alone. She terrified the last one so badly the poor girl left her belongings behind.”

“So you decided to introduce me as a bride instead,” Leonora said flatly, though the sharp edge of her fury was beginning to dull.

“A betrothed is not a nursemaid,” Anthony explained softly. “A betrothed is family. My grandmother will never accept charity, and she will never accept supervision. But she will accept family. If she believes you are here to learn about the estate, to plan a wedding, to simply spend time with the woman who will become your grandmother, she will welcome you with open arms. She will allow you to sit with her, to read with her, and to watch over her without ever feeling as though her dignity has been compromised.”

Leonora stared at him. She hated how much sense he was making. It was a twisted, manipulative piece of logic, but it was grounded in a protective understanding of the woman he knew more than anyone else. He was trying to preserve his grandmother’s dignity in the only way he knew how.

She did not know how to fault him for that.

“You still should have told me,” Leonora said, dropping her arms to her sides.

“Would you have agreed if I did?” he asked.

“I do not know.” She let out a long breath. “But you should have asked me if I was willing to play the part, rather than trapping me in the room and forcing my hand.”

“I am not accustomed to asking for permission,” Anthony said, a faint trace of his usual arrogance returning to his features. “I needed to be certain you would stay. Now that you understand the rules of the deal, will you stay?”

Leonora looked away from him, staring out the window at the falling rain. She thought of Marian’s kind smile and the loneliness she had sensed beneath the dowager’s cheerful chatter. She also thought of her mother’s necklace. It was resting somewhere in this very house.

“I will stay,” Leonora agreed, turning her attention back to him. “But I expect you to help maintain the lie. If she asks questions about our courtship, I am going to make up the most ridiculous stories imaginable, and you will have to nod along.”

A startlingly bright smile broke across Anthony’s face, transforming him entirely. The severe lines of his face softened, and the charm of it made Leonora’s breath catch in her throat.

“I look forward to it,” Anthony said. “In the meantime, I believe I owe you a token of good faith.”

Anthony turned his back to her and walked over to a safe tucked discreetly behind a wooden panel near the bookshelf. He retrieved a small brass key from his waistcoat pocket, unlocked the door, and pulled out a flat, dark box.

Leonora’s heart immediately leaped into her throat. She recognized the box. She had seen the auctioneer holding it up in the light of the underground tavern. Her hands grew cold, and her pulse raced as Anthony walked back over to her and held the box out in his palm.

“Go on,” he said softly.

Leonora reached out, her fingers trembling slightly as she took the box from him. It felt heavy in her hands. For a moment, she was afraid to open it. She was terrified that it might be a replica, or that her childhood memory had played tricks on her after all these years. She took a deep, steadying breath, pressed the small metal clasp, and the lid sprang open.

There it was.

The silver necklace lay nestled on a bed of white silk. It was a delicate, intricate piece, shaped like a sprawling vine of silver leaves, with a single, deep blue sapphire resting perfectly in the center. The silver was slightly tarnished from age, but it was exactly as she remembered it. It was the necklace her mother used to wear almost every Sunday. It was the necklace she had painted from memory a hundred times.

“You are giving it to me now?” she asked breathlessly.

“I am. I trust you to uphold your end of the deal.”

An overwhelming wave of emotion crashed over her. Her vision blurred with tears, and she reached out to trace the cool silver leaves with her fingertip.

Where are you, mother?

The metal felt real. It felt solid. It felt like a piece of her mother had finally come back from the dead, resting right there in the palm of her hand.