Page 65

“I wanted to talk to you about something else.” Iris thumbed through a basket of bills on the coffee table until she found a plain envelope, which she placed in Blair’s empty hands.

Blair peered inside. It seemed to be his rent money.

“I still haven’t told you what your Christmas present is,” she said in a rush. “I wanted to invest in your business. You giving me this money kind of defeated the purpose.”

Blair stared at her, lost for words. A potent ache twanged like a violin string deep in his chest. He’d never had someone support his dreams like this. It was overwhelming. He didn’t deserve it. He set the envelope on her lap. “Your gift is giving me a home, Iris. Save your money. Please. Plus, you already gave me a present.” When Iris looked confused, Blair gestured to the book resting on a pile of Gabriel’s magazines on the coffee table. “Villette,” he reminded her, smiling. “And, actually, someone approached me about investing in my business just last weekend.”

“Really?” Iris sat up straighter, her eyes widening. “Why didn’t you mention it before?”

Blair shrugged. “I didn’t say yes yet.”

“Why not?” Iris grasped his hands, before pulling hers back. “Sorry, I got a little overly excited there. Who is it?”

“It’s this woman named Anna. She owns a pretty large store in Martenshire. She offered to invest and maybe even sell some of my products at her shop.”

“Blair, that’s incredible.” Iris’ smile was blindingly sincere, her heart singing out in his ears.

Blair closed his eyes, staggered by her response. “Yeah,” he breathed. “I guess it is.”

“Well, you have to say yes,” Iris said. “Promise me you will.”

“Okay, Iris,” Blair said, laughing again. “I promise.”

25

You’ve never told me the significance of your ring,” Iris mused.

It was the following morning, and she and Blair were seated in the backseat of a stuffy hired cab speeding east down the Massachusetts turnpike, their overnight bags locked safely in the trunk. Iris gestured to Blair’s knee, where he was anxiously twisting the silver ring around the middle finger of his left hand. She touched the shield with the two falcons, before moving up to the crowned suit of armor head, finally resting on the tiny heron at the top of the ring, its head bent as if in despair, red tears dripping onto the crown.

Blair shrugged. He didn’t really want to get into it within hearing distance of the driver.

Iris started to pull her hand away, but Blair caught it and held on tight. She glanced at him, surprised but pleased, before retrieving her phone from her pocket with her other hand and typing in her passcode. After less than a minute, she let out a little whoop.

“I knew it!”

“Knew what?” Blair asked, leaning over as her eyes flew across the screen.

“It’s the Saltonstall family crest.” She turned her phone to face him, and Blair felt the color drain from his cheeks. He took the phone from her, speechless.

The illustration in front of him was an exact replica of the design on the ring, except it was in full color rather than silver and with specks of red. The shield was yellow and black, the red-teared heron a sapphire blue. The website included details about the Saltonstall family’s history, from their origins in Yorkshire, to their migration to the United States, and mentioned notable family members. He recognized one of the names as his uncle Nathaniel, who had been born about forty-one years before him, in 1639.

Nathaniel’s grandfather, Richard, was also listed. He was famous for leading a band of English settlers up the Charles River to settle in what would become Watertown, Massachusetts. None of Blair’s cousins were well known enough to make the list. As none of them had his mother’s cursed blood flowing through their veins, all had passed away centuries ago.

“You didn’t know?” Iris asked.

Blair shook his head. It didn’t make sense. The ring had been Lucy’s; it wasn’t a family heirloom.

Blair grew pensive as he watched the trees sway above the high rock face to their right. Several times, his attention snagged on the expanse of grass separating their side of the highway from the one that led in the other direction. He pictured the cab trundling onto the grass and making an illegal U-turn that would lead them home, away from the stifling house where he had been detained for far longer than he ever should have put up with.

He tried to focus on the changing landscape as they approached the coast: how flat the land was when compared to the hills of Vitford, the way many of the trees appeared shorter, scragglier. How sand clung to the roadsides, intermingling with patchy piles of snow like cinnamon sugar and vanilla icing slathered over one of Gabriel’s cakes.

He tried not to think about what the ring meant. He would wait for answers from his mother, who he was sure must know something.

But his restless mind revved, his thoughts speeding faster than the car they were trapped in.

When the driver exited the highway and started down the main road that stretched along the coast, a mix of nostalgia and dread spread through Blair’s veins like a potent elixir. And by the time they reached the edge of the coast where the land crumbled away into the ocean, his anxiety had reached a near breaking point.

A few minutes later, the driver came to a sharp halt at the end of the familiar long dirt driveway enshrouded by trees, their weathered branches drooping with heavy wet snow.