Delafield. I never have been.”
I turned my back on her and climbed the stairs with an air of calm I did not feel. As I turned the corner the temptation to look down over-came me. Against my better judgment, I looked over the railing. Mrs.
Delafield had descended the stairs and was crossing the foyer to Mr.
Brandon. She was nearly to him now. He glanced up at me with a frown and then turned to her, as she took his arm and spoke quietly in his ear.
My face was on fire, imagining what she was telling him about me.
But I shoved from my thoughts the lingering shame I felt and turned my steps to the west wing. It did not matter to me what Mr. Brandon thought of me. I was going to find Henry and get my three proposals and leave at once for India. Nobody would be able to look down on me there. Nobody would exclude me or try to control me. India would solve everything.
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Chapter 14
I needed to speak with Henry. The hope of my escape—the open door to my cage—worked such nervous energy within me that I could not be still. I had to speak with him. I had to ask him if he would grant me this favor, if he would release me from my cage. But when I found him in the dining room at breakfast, I could not speak to him alone. And I was certainly not going to ask him to propose to me while others were around to hear.
At least half the company was assembled in the dining room. The room was loud with chatter and the clanking of silverware. I stood inside the doorway and scanned the company, trying to decide where to sit.
He threw me a questioning glance, and I remembered how he had left me last night, when I had sunk into the depths of despair. I smiled to let him know that I was no longer despairing. He looked content and turned away before I could signal to him that although I was not on the verge of tears, I desperately needed to speak with him alone.
Frustrated, I picked at my breakfast and watched Henry’s conversation with Herr Spohr with growing impatience. Sylvia entered the room, and I caught her eye as she sat across the table from me.
My cheeks grew warm as I remembered how we had spoken to each other the night before. Her glance at me was fleeting and hesitant. I wasn’t 114
sure how to behave. She had been blunt to the point of cruelty the night before, and I was half surprised she had not come to apologize to me before breakfast. Miss St. Claire sat beside her and leaned over Herr Spohr to tell Henry good morning.
Henry smiled at her and I looked away, disgusted.
And then Mr. Brandon entered the room. His gaze fell on me. I met it briefly, struggled to hold it, and then glanced away. I was sure that he intended to snub me—sure that Mrs. Delafield had poisoned him against me. But when I glanced up again he was crossing the room with long, easy strides that reminded me of how he had looked walking across the moors. He stopped beside my chair and gestured at the empty seat next to mine.
“May I join you, Miss Worthington?”
I sat up in my chair and looked at him with surprise. “Of course you may.”
He sat next to me, pulling his chair closer to mine than it had been, and turned toward me, ignoring everyone else in the room.
“You have put your hair up,” he said, in such a quiet voice it was almost a whisper. I touched my neck self-consciously, remembering how wild I had looked on the moors this morning. His gaze roamed over my face, and then he said, still quietly, but matter-of-factly, “You are quite beautiful. But never more than you were this morning on the moors.”
My face burned. I looked fleetingly across the table. Henry was staring at me, and so was Sylvia.
I cleared my throat and looked back at Mr. Brandon, at his clear green eyes looking directly into mine. “You have robbed me of speech, Mr. Brandon.”
“That would be a shame if it were true, Miss Worthington.” He flashed me his wide smile and then turned his attention to the other side of the table. “Good morning Miss Delafield, Mr. Delafield, Miss St. Claire.”
Murmured responses and surprised looks met his greetings.
“I believe we had planned last night on a picnic to the ruined abbey 115
J u l i a n n e D o n a l D s o n today, and it looks like a perfect day for it.” Mr. Brandon looked from the others to me, and his eyes were lit up with excitement. “We should all go.”
So. Whatever Mrs. Delafield had told him, it had not resulted in the snubbing I expected. A smile tugged at my lips, and I lowered my gaze so that Mr. Brandon would not see how happy his invitation made me.
“It looks like rain,” Henry said, his voice curt.
I turned around in my seat and looked out the window. The sky was clear blue and the fog had burned off with the morning sun.
“Does it?” I said, turning back around and frowning at him.
He frowned back at me and then looked down at his plate, stabbing his fork into a piece of ham before attacking it with his knife.
“I think a picnic sounds lovely,” Miss St. Claire said, smiling at Henry and trying to angle her face so as to catch his eye. But he was glowering at his plate and would not look at her.
“Will your father be joining us?” Sylvia asked.
“Of course! The more the merrier, I say.” There seemed to be no limit to Mr. Brandon’s enthusiasm for his plan. “What about it, Henry? Can you have your excellent kitchen staff put together a picnic for us?”
Henry pushed his plate away. “Of course I can, Mr. Brandon.” He looked at me, and his eyes were hard like flecks of granite, something like accusation in his expression. “If you all are eager to go along with this plan.”
I lifted an eyebrow. “Why would we not be? It sounds like a fun adventure.”
He shrugged, shoved his chair back from the table, and stood. “Then we shall meet in the foyer at noon.” He nodded briefly to us before walking away without another word.
I watched his retreating back and wondered what he had against Mr.
Brandon’s plan. I tried to remember if Henry had ever mentioned a ruined abbey to me. He had spent hours telling me stories of Blackmoore.
Or rather, he had spent hours answering my questions about Blackmoore.
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But I could not remember ever hearing him tell of a ruined abbey. I wondered why.
L
The walk across the moors to the ruined abbey was fraught with awkwardness. Sylvia still had not spoken to me since our conversation the night before. She stayed apart the entire walk, placing herself close to the elder Mr. Brandon. Miss St. Claire had a very firm grip on Henry’s arm and seemed intent on never leaving his side. Henry did not smile or laugh—he did not look at all like he was enjoying himself, and he had not spoken to me either. The only person, in fact, who seemed at all inclined to talk to me was the younger Mr. Brandon, who was full of enthusiasm for everything about the day, the weather, the walk, the food we would be eating, the sky, the ocean, and anything else that caught his attention.
We walked in the middle of the group, with Henry and Miss St.
Claire at the front and Sylvia and the elder Mr. Brandon bringing up the rear. Servants led two ponies that carried the materials for our picnic.
The sun shone down on us in a clear blue sky, but the wind whipped at our bonnets and hats and skirts. We followed a rough trail through the heather and bracken, and it suddenly struck me that neither of my two best friends was speaking to me.
This was not the way this visit was supposed to go. We were supposed to be here together at Blackmoore, at last, and we were supposed to enjoy every moment, and there was not supposed to be any awkward silence or strangers coming between us. Anger and frustration rose up within me until I hated the sight of Henry’s back and Miss St. Claire’s arm tucked through his. I hated Sylvia’s silence.
We topped a rise in the moors, and I could see the ruined abbey stretched below us. I caught my breath and my feet slowed, then stopped, as I took in the sight. The scattered towers and crumbled walls and 117