“He...” The young man cut his eyes toward me before looking back to James. “His lordship has asked that I keep him informed of Miss Kilbrid’s whereabouts.”
Indignation jumped like hot pins through my skin, and I clenched my teeth to keep from screaming the next question. “How long have you been working for his lordship?”
“He first inquired about ye the night her ladyship brought ye to meet the king.”
“That dirty rat—”
“And the letter,” James interrupted.
“Lord Stroud was at the theater when the riot broke out tonight. This letter is him asking for confirmation that Miss Kilbrid arrived home safe and sound.” The young man gave me a pleading look. “That’s all, miss. His lordship was just worried for yer welfare and passed along a few coins for me to keep an extra eye since ye got in town.”
A brief pause lapsed. “How long had you been listening at the door?” James asked.
“Less than a minute, sir.”
I raised a suspicious brow.
“Sophie can swear it,” he rushed. “She saw me stand for the Duke of Norland when he left.”
I sighed ready to be done with the interchange. “Very well, you may assure Lord Stroud that I am safe.” My stare turned to nails. “And that I’ve eyes enough on me already without adding his to the company.”
The footman bowed, his relief evident. “Aye, miss. I’ll inform his lordship at once.” He spun on his heel and hurried out of sight.
“Do you think he’s lying about Lord Stroud’s intentions?” I asked after a moment.
James scrubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t give one whit why his lordship paid him to watch you, so long as the duke and Lady Dinley remain ignorant of our plans.” He grabbed his great coat from the armchair. “Meet me at the well in one hour, Miss Kilbrid.”
My resolve hardened to a sheath of armor. “I’ll be ready.”
With a curt nod, James strode from the room.
Alone once more, I went to the hearth and took a precious minute to get my mind in order. There was too much at stake to waste time on Julian’s crime. So I cursed him for a scoundrel and shoved him aside with the silent promise of a future reckoning. Richard Fitzalan met a similar fate, swiftly forgotten as he would soon be for France.
Cate and Tom could not be dismissed with the same aplomb. They wanted me to remain in London, and heaven knew how far they would go to get their way. But the board was set, the first pieces moved, and James had given me an hour to play the obedient granddaughter before I slipped unnoticed through the walls. We each had choices to make, and nothing short of death would stop me from following after Nora.
A fresh wave of nausea rolled through my stomach. For hours now, my dearest friend had been traveling in the company of a devil. The blame was mine to shoulder from the selfishness that had bridled my tongue. To protect my own secret, I had refused to share the truth about Deri. And now the truth laid bare at Nora’s feet.
Disease. Murder. Madness. If allowed too far in, these thoughts would drive me to despair. I had to be strong for Nora’s sake, to leave behind the various nightmares that littered Deri’s path—the pox, a mangled body, a man pushed to the edge of his humanity. My head fell forward, and I caught the mantel for support.
Henry’s letter crinkled in my other hand, as though speaking of its own accord. Forgive me...before you reach the oak grove...mine forever. His words echoed in my heart.
“Oh, Henry,” I murmured.
I would reach the grove, of that I was certain. But then what? The questions poured into me, and I would have drowned if not for the one truth that gripped my soul—Henry and I were stronger together. And despite his attempt to keep me safe, I would stand beside him when he went amongst the oak trees to kill a devil. Or to be killed.
A tear fell from my cheek to the fire below where it sizzled to nothing on the hot stones. I brushed the remaining wetness away. Then straightening my shoulders, I dropped his letter into the flames. When only ash remained, I turned and walked away. Whether in this world or the next, our forever would begin in Ireland.
*
About the Author
Kari Edgren did not dream of becoming a writer. Instead, she dreamed of everything else and was often made to stay inside during kindergarten recess to practice her letters. Despite doting parents and a decent school system, Ms. Edgren managed to make it through elementary school having completed only one book cover to cover—The Boxcar Children, which she read approximately forty-seven times. Things improved during high school, but not until she read Gabrielle García Márquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude in college, did she truly understand the power of a book.
Ms. Edgren aspires to be a Vulcan, a world-acclaimed opera singer, and two inches taller. She resides in the Pacific Northwest where she spends a great deal of time torturing her husband and children with strange food and random historical facts. Ms. Edgren hasn’t stopped dreaming, but has finally mastered her letters enough to put the stories on paper.