Page 17

She paused, taking a breath before shifting the topic to the second, far more dangerous piece of her puzzle. She looked around the circle of family faces, her expression turning serious. “As all of you know, I am still searching for our mother. But since securing the necklace, I have managed to uncover a few new threads.”

Lady Byron immediately raised an eyebrow, pointing a finger at her. “You still have not explained to me how you managed to get that necklace back into your possession in the first place.”

“It came through a private arrangement,” Leonora deflected smoothly, waving a hand dismissively. “The details of how I acquired it do not matter. What matters is what it represents. I spent yesterday and the day before visiting shops and ledger archives across the city, trying to trace where the piece originated during the estate liquidation sales. I found records indicating that my mother was actually in London for a brief period years ago, long after the estate fell.”

Euphemia leaned forward. “Are you certain? You cannot chase ghosts through London.”

“I am not chasing ghosts,” Leonora insisted softly. “I am following a real trail. It is faint, but it is there. I know she was here, and I intend to find out why. Good news is, I think she is alive.”

Silence settled heavily over the room once more. Her family exchanged troubled looks. They had lived through this conversation a hundred times before, watching Leonora exhaust herself in pursuit of a phantom. They hated seeing her chase a heartbreak, but they also knew that arguing with her was entirely pointless. Leonora was simply too stubborn to be dissuaded by warnings.

To her immense relief, however, neither Lady Byron nor her sisters launched into a lecture. Instead, they offered, resigned nods, accepting her crusade because they loved her too much to crush her spirit. A profound wave of gratitude washed over Leonora. She realized how far they had all come, and how much her family was trying to support her efforts, even if they had to do so from the periphery. She was happy that they were finally more receptive, allowing her to pursue her own path without a constant battle.

Euphemia let out a soft sigh, leaning back against the settee. She looked at Leonora with a gentle, questioning expression. “Well, while you are busy chasing history across the city, have you ever considered your own future? Have you thought about finding love, perhaps starting a family of your own?”

Euphemia glanced across the room at Seraphina, smiling warmly at her. “We have our families now, and we are deeply happy. Do you not want that for yourself someday?”

At that exact, uninvited second, an image of Anthony Sterling flashed vividly across Leonora’s mind. His tall frame, the curve of his mouth, and the blue eyes that seemed to see right through her defenses.

Leonora violently shook her head, banishing the thought before it could take root in her mind. “That has not crossed my mind yet, Effie. Perhaps sometime in the future, but certainly not now. I have entirely different matters to attend to.”

Euphemia looked mildly disappointed by the dismissive answer, but Leonora paid it no mind. She knew her true priorities. She had to keep searching for clues about her mother, piecing together the broken history of her past, while simultaneously fulfilling her end of the bizarre, high-stakes bargain with the Duke of Glenhaven.

That was her mission. Not love.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“Agame?” Leonora asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow as Marian beamed at her with the mischievous enthusiasm of a child planning a prank.

“Yes, a game for the three of us,” Marian replied brightly, gesturing toward the gardens of Glenhaven where a magnificent picnic spread had been meticulously arranged upon a blanket.

Leonora stood on the lawn, letting out a soft sigh as she looked at the delicate china teacups, the silver trays of pastries, and the small table set up for cards amidst the blooming rosebushes. It had been an extraordinary length of time since she had last attended a picnic. In truth, she could scarcely remember the last time she had sat upon the grass to eat outdoors. Her mind drifted briefly back to a rare, peaceful afternoon years ago when she had visited Euphemia in her manor, sitting beneath a grand oak tree with the twin girls laughing around them while they shared a basket of bread and fruit. Aside from that distant, golden memory, picnics were entirely foreign to her frantic, storm-tossed existence.

As she walked toward the setup, a lingering wave of uncertainty washed over her. She wondered if a leisurely garden picnic was somehow covered under the bizarre terms of her employment as a companion, or if it was merely another eccentric whim of the dowager designed to test her patience. Furthermore, she had assumed that the master of Glenhaven would be entirely too consumed by his parliamentary duties and estate business to participate in such frivolous afternoon pastimes. Anthony always projected an aura of urgency.

Yet, as she followed Marian around a hedge of flowering jasmine, her footsteps came to an abrupt halt.

Anthony was already there.

He sat upon a folding wooden chair with his long legs stretched out before him, casually shuffling a deck of playing cards like he had shuffled a thousand times before and was now a master at it. He had discarded his formal suit jacket, wearing only a crisp white linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing the strong, sun-bronzed lines of his forearms. A stray lock of hair fell across his forehead, softening the sharp planes of his face.

“Do try to close your mouth, Miss Ashcroft,” Anthony murmured, his voice rich as he gestured toward the empty seat opposite him. “You look as though you have just discovered a ghost.”

“I am merely surprised to find you idling away the afternoon when the nation supposedly hangs in the balance of your committee meetings,” Leonora retorted smoothly, regaining her composure in an instant as she took her seat on the cushion.

Marian settled comfortably into a padded chair between them, clapping her hands together with glee. “Nonsense! A man cannot spend his entire existence arguing about tariffs and grain imports. Now, before we touch a single tart, we are going to play a round of cards, and to make things interesting, every time a hand is won, the victor is permitted to ask the loser a single question. A polite little exercise to help the three of us become better acquainted before the wedding!”

Leonora nearly jumped out of her skin on hearing the word wedding, temporarily forgetting their ruse.

She had to remind herself that this was not a harmless game. This was Marian’s deliberate matchmaking machinery at work, disguised as innocent parlor entertainment. But backing down was entirely against Leonora’s nature. She possessed a fierce pride, and the moment she saw the self-assured, arrogant smirk playing at the corners of Anthony’s lips, her competitive spirit ignited like dry tinder. She would play his game, and she would win.

The first few hands proceeded with polite but tense civility. Marian fluttered around the edges of the game, offering cheerful commentary while stacking the odds in favor of neither, allowing the two younger players to clash directly. Leonora played with fierce concentration, her eyes darting across the table, tracking every movement of Anthony’s hands. But fortune, or perhaps statistical probability, favored the master of the house.

Anthony won the third hand with a flush of spades. He laid his cards down on the small table in slow motion, leaning back in his seat and resting his chin on his knuckles as he regarded her with a predatory sort of fascination.

“Well,” he said softly, the amusement thick in his voice. “It appears I am the victor of this round. Which means I am entitled to my inquiry.”

“Ask away,” Leonora said stiffly, crossing her arms over her chest and lifting her chin. “Though I warn you, I am under no obligation to provide an answer that pleases you.”