Page 26 of A Single Thread of Moonlight

“Lord Wynter and I knew each other as children,” I said carefully. “We met when he and his parents were on holiday, though we have not seen each other for some years.”

Her eyes seemed to sharpen further. “I have rarely seen Nicholas exert himself for someone else, yet he seems to have gone to a lot of trouble to secure you an invitation to this party,” she said. “It is most unlike him – I can always tell when he’s up to something.”

I felt flustered by her words. Was it possible that she had some inkling as to what we planned? She seemed like the sort of woman who could see right through a lie or uncover any secret.

“Interesting,” she murmured. “Perhaps there is hope for the boy yet.”

I tried not to make my relief too obvious. Clearly, his grandmother believed that romance might be in the air. It seemed Nicholas had been right when he suggested that her desire to marry him off may win out over her low opinion of me.

This was confirmed when she added, “The man is Earl Wynter, after all, and he has a duty to his family name. Can’t have the estate passing over to his idiot cousin.”

I wondered how a real potential bride would react to such a statement. I looked down and twisted my hands in my lap.

“I am certain the earl knows his duty,” I said shyly. “He’s a most … responsible man.”

“Hmmmph,” his grandmother snorted, but when she spoke to me next it was in a marginally softer voice. “Tell me about your family.”

I held back a sigh. And so it began. Time to spin this web of lies.

The story Lord Wynter and I had agreed adhered loosely to the truth, had he but known it. I told her that my mother had passed away, spoke warmly of my father, and described life shut away from the world on a large estate, though I moved my home from Kent to Yorkshire. I confessed a passion for embroidery, but I neglected to mention that it was also my livelihood.

Lady Wynter nodded approvingly at mention of this ladylike activity and continued to quiz me about the rest of my accomplishments. Did I sing? Play the pianoforte? Paint watercolours?

As my education in these areas had stopped when I was eleven, the answer to all of them was no. I did not think that she wanted to hear about my skill with a knife or that I was fluent in boxing cant.

“A pity,” the dowager countess sighed. “Still, I believe we can do something with you.”

I bowed my head meekly, largely to hide the outrage that I knew was flashing in my eyes.

“It’s going to be an interesting fortnight,” Lady Wynter mused. “Helena will have been extremely put out by the fact that Stefan didn’t propose to her daughter at the Devonshire House ball,” she sniffed. “We all thought it was a certainty, but clever of her to organize this party as a contingency. Plenty of opportunity to fling the two of them together. She won’t be happy to have another pretty girl around.” I was treated to a sharp look.

“I wouldn’t dream of upsetting Lady Scott-Holland’s plans,” I said sweetly.

“Hmmm.” The dowager countess pursed her lips but said no more on the matter.

When I was sure her interrogation was complete, I picked up my book and tried to concentrate on the pages. The rest of the journey passed quietly. It seemed that I felt every stride the horses took, despite the well-sprung carriage we were in. Each one brought me closer to something simultaneously terrifying and longed for.

Night had fallen before we approached the house, and I was glad of it. I worried that if I had had the clear view of the house from atop a nearby hill then I wouldn’t have been capable of concealing my anxiety from Lady Wynter. As it was, the sight of lights in some of the windows was enough to send a shudder through me. I clenched my hands into tight fists and tried to look calm.

We carried on along the road, round twists and turns that were still as familiar to me as they had been seven years ago. There were favourite trees I had climbed, the village where I had spent my preciously saved pennies on sweets, the fences that I had jumped on my horse, sailing through the air side by side with my father.

I swallowed hard, my fingernails digging into my palms.

By the time we approached the drive I felt like I had lived several lifetimes.

There was nothing I could do to hold back the tears when we finally reached the house itself. There were simply too many memories all tangled together, flashing rapidly through my mind. All I could see were images of my parents erupting on to the driveway to welcome me, as though I had only been away for a short time. I imagined them standing here, laughing, holding me close.

I wiped the tears away quickly, and the dowager countess did not seem to notice. I was grateful for the shadows that wrapped themselves about me as I climbed down from the carriage.

Lord Wynter had appeared at the door, offering me his hand. I took it. His hand was warm and firm even through his gloves, and mine was cold, betraying the slightest tremble. To my surprise, he squeezed my fingers gently.

I lifted my chin, and my eyes found his. For a brief, breathless moment he held my gaze, and then he turned to help his grandmother.

It was enough. He may not know the real reason that I was scared, but his presence had steadied me, reminded me of what I was here to do.

I faced the house. It was lit by torches and exactly as I remembered. My heart contracted painfully at the sight. Then I saw Helena emerging from the front door and any other feeling was overwhelmed by pure, unadulterated rage.

How dare she? How dare she look so comfortable, like she actually belonged here?