Had Wild left it there? Another assignment, already? Why had he not told her in the carriage, only an hour ago? But it could not be her next task, because it was too thick. And it wasn’t just one letter—there was a stack of them, tied with a crude piece of string. She ran her thumb over the wax seal of the letter on the top.
There was no way she could sleep without knowing what this was. She carefully relit the lantern and held the packets closer. Her eyes swept over what she held in her hands before the shaking in them caused her to drop it. The packet landed on the floor with a soft thump, but she didn’t hear it. She was already out the door and in the garden. Cool night air washed over her uncovered skin, but she didn’t care. Barely even noticed.
“Nic,” she whispered as loud as she dared. “I know it’s you.”
She paused, listening to the sounds of the night. Nothing moved within the walls of the garden.
“Why did you leave those for me?”
Only silence answered her.
Coldness seeped up from the ground, chilling her bare feet. Goose bumps sprang up along her arms and she wrapped them over her stomach, rubbing her hands up and down her arms for warmth.
“Nic?” She tried one more time, but she already knew. He was gone.
With no other choice, Arista went back inside her room and latched the door. The packet lay on the floor, in the shadow cast by the side table. How did Nic know where she was? Why hadn’t he stayed, so she could see him, talk to him? She picked up the letters and pulled the string loose, letting them spread out over the bed. She picked one up at random and read it. Then another. And another.
Nic had not just left her letters; he’d left the secrets she’d collected as Lady A over the years. The same secrets that the aristocracy had paid enormous sums to either procure or hide.
Did Nic expect her to use them? The one who controls the secrets controls those rich bastards. Nic had always thought that way. He wanted to own them all, just like Bones. So did he now expect her to use them, and continue the blackmailing?
“What am I supposed to do with these?” she asked the empty room.
After tucking the packet safely away in the back of the wardrobe, she crawled under the quilt to fight off a sudden wash of chills.
She lay awake in the darkness for hours. When sleep finally pulled her under, her dreams were filled with shadowy alleyways and voices cutting through thick fog. And faces: Nic, Grae, Bones, Wild. They changed from one to the other until they seemed to merge into one terrible image, staring at her through deep, vacant eyes.
“Good morning, miss,” Becky said cheerfully. Arista blinked her eyes open and was surprised to find the room bathed in morning light. “I thought you might like some help getting ready. The family will be eating in a half hour. Miss Sophia has been hovering outside your door all morning, waiting for you to wake up.”
Becky pulled back the covers and urged Arista to sit. “Everyone here is so nice,” she continued, chattering away. “Do you know that Wilson and the cook, Jane, are married? Mr. Sinclair had rooms added to the house just for them. And Sara, Miss Sophia’s maid, is sharing her room with me, and she gave me this new bonnet.”
Arista watched Becky move around the room, efficiently gathering what she needed. Her steps were light, and she kept smiling between words. A fresh bandage covered her injured eye, and a pretty blue bonnet sat atop her neat curls.
She wore a new dress, too: a plain light-grey uniform with an immaculate white apron. In this attire, her step seemed more sure, her head higher, despite her injuries. Becky caught Arista’s eye and smiled.
There was one thing that needed to be said first. Arista frowned. “You told Grae where I went last night.”
Becky’s face fell, and she clutched Arista’s underclothes to her stomach. “I was worried, miss. You’ve always had Nic to watch out for you, and Mr. Graeden said he just wanted to be sure you were safe. I’m sorry, miss, I shouldn’t have told him.”
Arista sighed. It was hard to be mad at her friend for anything. Becky had only done what she thought best. “When I’m out, no one is to know where. It’s better that way, okay?”
Becky hung her head. “Of course, miss.”
Arista moved across the room and gently took the bundle of clothing from Becky. “Thank you for caring, Becky. That means a lot to me. I don’t mean to be harsh, I just want to keep Grae away from that part of my life.”
Arista didn’t tell her that it was too late. That he knew who she was—what she did. Her friend was happy in the Sinclair home, and Arista vowed to make sure she stayed that way.