The water was dark gray when I finally emerged, and my head felt slightly better. Not good, but functional. I couldn’t stand the thought of putting on my dirty claim-working clothes and borrowed a long, thick woolen robe from Aiana’s closet. A lot of time had passed, and I wondered if Mira’s event had been far away or if there’d been difficulty in getting her out of it.
In the end, Aiana delivered. Mira walked through the door with a bundle of clothing in her arms that she promptly dropped as she ran across the room to me. I pulled her into a hug and felt the tears come anew. Aiana discreetly retreated to the kitchen and bustled around in the cupboards.
Mira was the same as ever. Beautiful. Fierce. But not as dressed up as I’d expected, based on Aiana’s comment about a social engagement. The violet organdy dress she wore was well-made but too plain to be anything from the Glittering Court. She wore her mother’s shawl over it, and her hair had been tied with a ribbon behind her neck with obvious haste.
“Mira—how did this—Tamsin—”
“I don’t know,” she said, her own voice cracking. “I couldn’t believe it when I heard. Two men came back from the boat to deliver the news—witnesses who swore she wouldn’t board the boat during the storm. They say she ran off into the woods and that Warren was devastated.”
I found that unlikely, recalling his blasé attitude the morning after. The morning after . . .
The storm blew up while we were crossing the bay last night.
Failing to mention Tamsin’s disappearance wasn’t the only odd thing from that conversation with Warren. He’d also said the storm had blown up while they were on the water—not when they were boarding. And really, if it had happened beforehand, would any of them have gotten on the ship?
“The storm was bad here,” Mira continued, eyes shining. “They said it was bad for you too. And the fact that we haven’t heard anything from Tamsin in weeks . . . well, it’s hard to know what to think. If she did survive, where is she? Why hasn’t she gotten in touch? I’ve had some people . . . resources . . . searching, but there’s just been nothing to find.”
The despair sank back into me. “I can’t lose her again.”
“I know. I feel the same way. But you have to put that grief aside for now. We’ll cry for her later—a lot. I hear you have other things to worry about, Lady Witmore.” Her gaze fell on my pendant, which I’d kept on. She lowered her voice. “Or should I say Mistress Thorn?”
I shot a panicked look toward Aiana in the kitchen. “Is it obvious? Is this some telltale Alanzan charm?”
“No, not at all. They’re selling that style of necklace all over town with different flowers. I just recognized the bishop’s lace and took a guess.” Mira hesitated. “But I wouldn’t wear it to court if I were you. You can’t let anyone think you’re Alanzan. And you can’t let them think of you as some frontier woman either. You need to walk in and remind them that you’re the Countess of Rothford.”
She said that last part as she walked across the room toward the dropped clothing. “We tried to collect as much as we could for you around town. There are plenty of dresses not being worn at Wisteria Hollow, but if Jasper noticed you wearing one in the courtroom, there’d be hell to pay.”
“You think he’ll actually be there?” I asked bitterly. “He didn’t seem to care what happened to Cedric.”
Aiana, overhearing, strolled up to us. “He cares what happens to his business, and this all reflects on it. He’ll be there.”
A knock sounded at the door, and we all jumped. Aiana’s casual attitude vanished. She grew tense and alert, her eyes narrowed like a cat’s, as she slowly approached the door. Placing one hand on the knob, she used her other to pull a knife out of her coat that was as long as her forearm.
“Who’s there?” she yelled.
“Walter Higgins,” came the muffled response. “I’m looking for Adelaide Bailey—Cedric Thorn’s partner.”
The name rattled in my head, and suddenly, it clicked. “That’s Cedric’s agent! Let him in.”
Still being cautious, Aiana cracked the door and peered out before finally opening it all the way. A small, wiry young man the same age as Cedric stood there in a smart suit. His face gave away little as he took us all in, but he struck me as someone who filed away every detail he saw.
“Walter,” I said, stepping forward. “It’s nice to finally meet you. Cedric’s spoken very highly of you.”
Walter gave a small nod of thanks and tried to pretend I wasn’t in a robe. “He spoke very highly of you too. I always thought he admired more than just your artistic knowledge. Now I hear that’s true.”
I winced. “Does everyone in this city know the story now?”
“Pretty much,” said Walter. Mira and Aiana nodded in confirmation. “I’m leaving town tomorrow and had some news I thought I’d best share now. With Cedric, uh, detained, I thought I should discuss my business with you. Is there someplace we can talk privately?”
“You can talk in front of them,” I said. Art forgery seemed pretty insignificant now.
He hesitated and then gave a shrug of acceptance. “I have another potential buyer—one willing to pay out a lot more, once he heard there’s competition. And he’s closer too—about a two-hour ride from here.”