He took the valise from Becky, and then stepped back to allow her inside. “Miss?” Becky asked, looking back toward Arista. The butler and carriage driver also watched her. Her skin grew hot under all the scrutiny. The dull thump of her heartbeat sounded in her ears. Every nerve in her body urged her to flee. Becky must have sensed her distress, because she quietly moved to Arista’s side.
“It’ll be okay, miss. I can tell already that they are good people.” Arista closed her eyes and sucked in a long breath. That was exactly what she was afraid of. Thieves, blackmailers, and whores were familiar territory. Arista knew what was expected of her, and what to expect in return. Here, she knew nothing—definitely not how to behave correctly.
Already, she had increased the awkwardness by just standing there in the small courtyard.
“Ana!” The girl waved from beside the butler. “Come!” At Becky’s urging, Arista took a step forward.
“Don’t let old Wilson here intimidate you,” the girl said with a bright grin. She reached up and tweaked the man’s cheek. Arista could see the sparkle of affection in his eyes. Even the servants weren’t afraid to show how they felt.
Arista was the intruder here, surrounded by her lies.
“I’m Sophia, and it is so very nice to meet you. You have the most beautiful eyes, but I bet you hear that all the time. And your dress! I—”
“Sophia,” a stern but equally cheerful voice said behind her.
“Mama! Come and meet Ana.”
“You will scare our guest away, child.”
Had there been a slight emphasis on guest? Did the woman know why she was really there? When her gaze met the woman’s, Arista wasn’t sure.
Her eyes were not cold or filled with disdain, but they were not as welcoming as her daughter’s had been. “Ana, my husband said to expect you. I am so very sorry to hear of your loss. So young to already be a widow.”
Becky’s hands squeezed Arista’s arm. In the carriage, Arista had explained to Becky what Wild had told her. They were to stay with a merchant who owed him a favor; the story was that she was a young widow, in London to settle her late husband’s affairs.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Arista said, careful to keep her voice low and neutral. “Truth be told, I did not know Sir Reginald very well, and had only met him on one occasion before we wed. His death was most sudden and unfortunate.”
The grip on her arm turned viselike and Arista squeezed back, a gentle but firm reminder that Becky should remain silent. Thankfully, aside from a low murmur in her throat, Becky did not speak. With their lives so full of deceit, Becky knew well how to play along.
“Come inside, both of you—you must be weary from traveling such a long way,” the woman said. “I am Marguerite Sinclair.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Sinclair,” Arista said, following the woman as she turned and made her way down the foyer.
Paintings hung on gleaming wood-lined walls. A modest staircase rose to the left, and there were three doors to the right, all closed but one. Marguerite stopped in front of the second door, which was open. “Wilson will show your maid to your rooms. My husband, Robert, would like a word with you before you rest, please. Thank you, Ana.”
Each time someone said the name Ana, it wedged the lie a little deeper under her skin, like a thorn. Arista wiped her sweaty palms on her skirt. Her throat went dry and she tried uselessly to swallow. The man inside that room knew she was not who she claimed to be. No more pretending. She glanced at Becky, but her maid could not help.
Sophia led Becky away, and Marguerite waved her hand to indicate Arista should enter. “Thank you,” Arista said faintly. She stepped into the room—a study, judging by the wall of books and dark wood paneling. In the middle of the room sat a huge desk, and behind the desk a man watched her with a steady gaze.
The door clicked shut behind her, and Arista fought the urge to run and fling it open. Instead, she clasped her hands together and faced the man. Men, she could deal with.
“Have a seat,” he said. His voice had a low but not unpleasant timbre. She studied him as she sat, looking for the typical signs of anger. He simply observed her with a guarded curiosity.
“You have met my wife and daughter.” It wasn’t a question, but Arista nodded. “If not for the favor owed to Mr. Wild, you would not be sitting across from me in my house.” His tone held no animosity, only simple truth. And perhaps a small bit of warning.
“And if not for circumstances outside my control, I would not be here either, sir. This was not my idea. I have…” She hesitated, but only for a second. She admired his honesty and wanted to return it. “I have nowhere else to go, and given the choices, this arrangement was the most practical. In truth, I expected much worse. And I did not know your family existed at all, until your daughter called out from the balcony.”
“Ah yes, Sophia. She is impetuous and spoiled, and unaware of our agreement. As is my wife. My son is readying one of our ships so we won’t see much of him. I trust you will conduct yourself properly inside these walls. I also trust that nothing will go missing while you reside here.”