Page 4
“I assure you, I did not touch a paintbrush last night,” Leonora murmured safely.
“No,” Lady Byron replied. “Your hands are entirely free of turpentine and pigment. Also the library maid confirmed you have not burned through a single taper reading architecture texts. However, when I woke to check the weather before dawn, I heard the faint scrape of the carriage house doors. Someone took a light carriage out into the chill, Leonora, and returned well before the household stirred.”
Leonora opened her mouth to construct a denial, a neat little fabrication about a sudden craving for fresh air or a restless stroll on the terrace. But she looked up and caught Lady Byron’s unwavering stare. It was the look that had silenced every rebellious plea she had ever uttered since childhood. It stripped away her defenses, leaving her standing bare in her own guilt.
She let out a long, shuddering breath, her shoulders sagging as she surrendered.
“I snuck out,” Leonora whispered.
Lady Byron dropped her linen napkin onto the table with a slap. “Leonora Ashcroft! What on earth were you thinking? Have you completely lost your senses?”
“It was for a good cause,” Leonora defended herself quickly, leaning forward.
“A good cause?” Lady Byron repeated, her voice trembling with disbelief. “You left this house unchaperoned in the middle of the night in a city full of footpads, drunkards, and ruin. I would very much like you to enlighten me on what possible cause could justify such madness.”
Leonora hesitated, her fingers twisting the edge of her napkin. “Weeks ago, when I visited Euphemia, she told me something amazing. You know how I am always painting portraits of my mother from memory, well, the one I remember hanging in our old drawing room before everything happened. Effie and Seraphina both know that painting by heart because of how often I drew it. Well, while Effie was looking at an art piece while attending an event, and she spotted the exact necklace my mother used to wear on a woman in the background.”
Lady Byron frowned, her eyes narrowing as she listened.
“Effie knew how long I have been looking for anything related to my mother,” Leonora hurried on, talking faster now. “So when she found out through her husband’s connections that the necklace was going to be sold at a secret auction near the river, she told me. I knew this was my only real chance. If I could buy the necklace back, I could trace who owned it before and finally find out what happened to my mother.”
Lady Byron raised an eyebrow, suspicion written all over her face. “So you are saying Euphemia encouraged you to do this?”
“No, no, absolutely not,” Leonora said, waving her hands. “In fact, Effie told me not to do anything foolish at all. She only mentioned it, and I had to convince her that I would be sensible and stay completely out of trouble.”
“So you lied to your sister?”
Leonora let out a dry scoff. “As if that is anything new.”
Lady Byron glared at her. “Leonora —”
“I know, I know,” Leonora interrupted, softening her tone as she leaned closer. “You know how much this means to me. You know what I have lived with since the night my father died and my mother disappeared. I could not just sit there and do nothing.”
The dining room fell entirely still. Lady Byron stared across the table, her features softening a fraction.
“Did you manage to secure the piece?” Lady Byron asked quietly.
“No,” Leonora murmured, looking down at her empty plate. “Someone outbid me for it.”
“Is that all?”
‘Not quite,’ Leonora thought frantically, her mind flashing to the towering figure of Anthony Sterling, the Duke of Glenhaven, who had watched her performance amusingly, stolen the necklace from underneath it, and instructed her to visit his estate in two days. She kept that entirely to herself, knowing that if Lady Byron learned she had not only attended an underground auction dressed as a man, but was now invited alone to a duke’s residence, her guardian would likely have a fit right then and there.
“Someone else purchased it,” Leonora added aloud.
Lady Byron leaned back in her chair, pressing her fingers to her temples. “I truly wish I could assist you more in your search, Leonora. For your mother’s sake, I would give anything to unearth those answers. But she was a remarkably secretive woman even before she vanished, and I know so precious little of her past to help you piece it together.”
“I only worry that your reckless determination will bring you real harm,” Lady Byron continued, her tone hardening. “London is a terribly dangerous place. You cannot simply throw yourself into underworld dens.”
“I know precisely how dangerous London is. My father died on these very streets.”
Lady Byron went rigid, her eyes flashing. “That is entirely different, and you know it. Throwing your life away out of impatience is not bravery, Leonora. It is foolishness. Do not compare your father’s awful predicament to what you are currently doing.”
Leonora flinched, the heat draining from her face as guilt rushed in to replace her flash of anger. “Forgive me,” she muttered, ducking her head. “Perhaps I am merely somewhat out of sorts today. I have not slept properly, so I am a trifle sharp-tempered.”
Lady Byron studied her for a long, tense moment. The anger slowly bled out of her posture.
“Now, I know that I cannot stop you from searching for her. Lord knows your sisters and I have tried,” Lady Byron said softly, resting her hands flat on the table. “It is woven into your very character. But you must promise me one thing, Leonora. You must never attempt anything so violently reckless again. If you pull a stunt like that, sneaking out into the dark like a common thief, I will pack every trunk in this house and take us straight back to the countryside. Your sisters are settled and married. They are influential duchesses and they are happy, so it would simply be the two of us, buried away in the quiet shires, far from every archive and auction house in London. Do I have your solemn word?”
