It was no secret that Signa had wanted to remain at Thorn Grove as long as possible. She’d dreaded her arrival to Foxglove, and yet now that she was here, finally in a home of her own, she realized that all she’d really needed was a moment to herself in a place where she was in full control. A place where she could focus on having a bit of earth between her fingers. A place where she could finally just… be. No hiding. No pretenses. No being looked at as though she were a monster.
Signa crossed the garden and pressed a tentative finger to the withered juniper shrub. Perhaps it was finally time that she gave her new powers their fair shot—not because anyone else expected it of her but because she wanted to. This garden could be her playground; here, she could do whatever she wished without judgment.
She tipped her head back, savoring the brine and the wind that snarled through her hair. She’d been wrong to fear change—wrong to fear Foxglove, for it was the perfect canvas. A strange, misunderstood place she could explore to her heart’s content. Like, it seemed, had called to like. Here, she would grow roots of her own, and no one could ever force her to leave. Perhaps being alone wasn’t always such a bad thing.
Signa decided it was worth the sacrifice of her nightgown as she lay down on the bed of poppies, shutting her eyes as the earth’s chill sank into her bones.
Foxglove was going to be the perfect home.
TWENTY-NINE
BLYTHE
BLYTHE DIDN’T BOTHER TRYING TO PRETEND THAT SHE KNEW A LICK about what happened at a fox hunt. When she’d arrived, Eliza had taken care to ensure that Blythe was in suitable attire—which still required a corset, a horribly tight navy dress, and a proper black hat that fastened beneath her chin.
She’d been ushered from the Wakefields’ manor immediately after arriving, taken to the surrounding forest with no chance to speak to Everett; she was hardly able to get a passing look at the new duke. He was surrounded by proud, entitled men Blythe recognized all too well.
As Eliza had predicted, none of them spared her or Miss Wakefield any attention. It seemed they cared only for Everett, and winning his ear as the new duke.
To his credit, Everett took the attention in stride, clasping shoulders and nodding whenever appropriate. Still, Blythe imagined it must have been a relief for him when his horse was brought over and another rider with golden hair moved beside him, face bored and stony.
Prince Aris may have been her best bet at helping her father, and yet resentment still curdled Blythe’s stomach when she saw him. Eliza had no such qualms. When she was certain no one was looking, she tugged her corset so that it pushed her breasts up.
Blythe tried not to scrunch her nose at such an obvious display. So much for her interest in Byron.
As if able to feel her thoughts, Aris’s eyes slid to Blythe’s. She expected he would turn away, content to ignore her. But to the surprise of both Blythe and Eliza, he gave his beautiful dapple-white mare a gentle nudge toward her.
Though Blythe rode like a proper barbarian at home, with her legs on either side of the horse, in the public eye she sat in the appropriate sidesaddle fashion. It made her unsteady beneath the weight of Aris’s stare, and for once she was grateful for the corset that kept her straight and unyielding as he approached.
“I assume your cousin is here, as well?” Aris gave no greeting, hardly sparing Blythe more than a glance before searching the distance for Signa.
Blythe hoped that she looked effectively disinterested as she picked at her cuticles. “No, she’s not. I’m afraid you’ll have to settle for having just me around for a while.” She felt a little flutter of satisfaction when his eyes grew dark. Blythe didn’t want Aris as her enemy, especially when she might very well need his help. Still, it was remarkably satisfying to see him riled.
“What do you mean by that?” His voice was a deep baritone that drew the attention of men several feet ahead of them. It was a commanding voice. One that oozed power, and that she had every intention of ignoring.
“Miss Farrow has left Celadon.” It was Eliza who answered, keeping her own voice delectably sweet. She looked prim and innocent from where she sat atop a sleek chestnut stallion meticulously cared for and whose neck Eliza stroked absently.
Though she knew Eliza wanted only to make herself part of the conversation, Blythe was glad that she was the one who broke the news. While he did a fine job at masking it, the heat of Prince Aris’s annoyance beat against Blythe like a current. She turned her attention to her borrowed horse, suddenly finding its coat remarkably fascinating.
“I see.” Aris’s tone held no inflection. “And when are you expecting her to return?”
“Not for a long while, I suspect.” Eliza sat taller. “She moved back to her family’s home. I imagine she’ll be settling in. None of us had any idea she was leaving; it was all very sudden.”
Eliza could barely manage to conceal her pleasure at reporting this, and Blythe was surprised at her own reaction of annoyance. She had to remind herself that it was good that there was someone else who didn’t want Signa to return. Perhaps for a very different reason, but still.
Blythe shouldn’t have been annoyed; she should have been glad. She should hate Signa with every fiber of her being and never want to see her cousin again, instead of being plagued by such stupid, frustrating worries about how Signa was faring in her new home.
She shouldn’t care. She shouldn’t keep thinking about how Signa had admitted things too easily, and that there were pieces to her story that didn’t make sense.
What reason would she have had to kill Percy? She didn’t need the money. And Signa certainly hadn’t seemed bad by nature, just a little odd. So why, then?
Only when the horse twitched beneath her did Blythe stir, noticing that Prince Aris’s eyes were practically boring into her. She adjusted her hat’s strap and said nothing.
Ahead, a voice called out something indistinguishable and the hounds took off, riders on horseback keeping a close distance. Blythe’s own mount didn’t wait for the command before it followed suit. She gasped and held tightly on to the reins as it burst forward.
Everett was at the head of the group, leading the charge. Aris should have been up there with him and the other men, yet no one seemed to miss him when he ruined Blythe’s plans to corner Eliza by keeping back with them. It was strange how easily he seemed to maneuver through society. A thousand people should have been clamoring to get at him, yet he navigated easily, unbothered by a single soul. Blythe wondered what he’d done—or how unapproachable everyone else must have found him—to earn such freedom.
With a snap of the reins, Eliza moved beside Aris. “Are there many fox hunts in Verena?”
Given how severe his face became at the question, one would believe she’d asked whether his mother was a woman of the streets. “Hardly. I have no taste for the sport. If it takes this many people and their hounds to catch a fox, it seems that everyone’s time would be better spent elsewhere.”
Blythe agreed, though she didn’t voice her opinion or her surprise at how plainly he spoke of his distaste, especially in front of a Wakefield. Eliza cleared her throat, only a little thrown from her pursuit. “All the same, I’m glad you came. Perhaps you’ll find that you enjoy it more than you expected. The Wakefield family has been breeding hounds for these hunts for generations.”
It was certainly a lovely morning, early enough that even the birds were still rousing, with weather clear and mild enough to see endlessly ahead. Still, Blythe didn’t have much of a taste for the hunt and preferred to keep at the back of the group and far from where she’d witness anything. Her entire purpose was to see what information she might glean, and while she had hoped to get Eliza alone before she started prying, it seemed there was no choice but to begin.