“That didn’t come out quite as I intended,” she said.
“I am serious, Thea. I shall not repeat those absurd rumors about sorcery, but something happened to his wife, and who knows what stories he has heard about you. Whatever he wants with you—or with Helen, rather—do not let him find you alone.”
Arabella was right, of course. It was just that Thea had so many questions.
Which she would not ask. She would not.
“Then I shall stay out of trouble by finalizing the plans for my pamphlet and deciding how I shall live when the truth is out and my reputation has been restored.”
Arabella waved the letter. “My publisher in London advises they have had to alter their schedules. They have an opening to print your pamphlets and whatnot this week. Otherwise, you may have to wait several weeks or even months. They recommend a Mr. Witherspoon to manage your publicity campaign. You must send your manuscript and instructions to London tomorrow, with a guarantee to cover the full costs.”
Thea’s heart sank. “So soon. I thought it would be after Helen returned from Scotland, so she could help me gather the money.”
Arabella considered. “I can speak to Mama, on the remote chance she will advance me a sum without asking questions, but otherwise, I am afraid money is one area where I cannot help. It is a source of considerable embarrassment to me that I shall inherit one of the finest estates in the middle of England but I cannot lay my hands on five pounds.”
“You have helped so much already. I’ll figure something out. I have to,” Thea added, almost to herself. “I have no family, no money, and only one friend. I might win, I might lose, but first I have to try.”
When Arabella had left, Thea explored her room, concluding her tour at one of the large windows, studying the expansive view in the lingering summer twilight. On a hill in the distance, past a million acres of garden, parkland, and forests, the famous ruins of Longhope Abbey were silhouetted against the pink sky. Below her, her window looked out onto one of the other wings, a length of stone arches that ended in an expanse of glass walls: the conservatory. The Earl of Luxborough’s rare plants waited for him behind those glass walls.
As Thea watched, a male figure crossed the lawn below her, heading toward the conservatory with the long, graceful strides of a man who could move quickly while seeming to make no effort at all. He wore no hat, revealing untamed dark hair.
Lord Luxborough had also arrived.
The nerve of the man! That the first thing he did was check his plants! Who did he think he was, to smile that gleeful smile, and speak those mysterious, menacing words, and then waltz off to check his plants?
Well, most likely, he thought he was an earl, and could say whatever he wanted, and waltz off to do whatever he pleased.
Arabella was right: The sensible thing would be for Thea to wait for Luxborough to make his next move in whatever rum game he was playing. Because those were the rules: He was the earl, and she was the merchant’s outcast daughter, so he was the one who chose the time and place, and all Thea could do was wait. Oh, how she tired of waiting. For three long, lonely years, she had waited, waited for someone to come for her, waited for her life to fix itself. No one ever came for her. Her life never fixed itself. She had had to brew plans to fix everything herself. And now this—this earl had come prancing along and started some game that threatened to ruin everything, and she was expected to—what? Sit quietly until he was ready to explain himself? Until he fetched her? Until he crooked his little finger to command her to come running?
Below her, he disappeared into the conservatory.
Thea was not going to be at his beck and call. Without another thought, she threw a shawl around her shoulders and made for the door.
In the conservatory, heavy air settled over Thea’s skin, and she breathed in soil and leaves. The plants were packed densely, and she could see little through the rows of thick, lush greenery. She wandered through the aisles, trailing her fingers over the leaves as she passed.
As Thea’s sum knowledge of plants was that they were mostly green, mostly pretty, and somehow produced fruit and flowers, she could not begin to guess which of these might belong to the earl. Certainly, nothing here seemed interesting enough for that big, sure-footed man with the tired, gleeful eyes. When Luxborough did not appear, Thea concluded that she had missed him and may as well head back to her room.
Then she entered an alcove whose single bench bore a dozen plants, including a flower unlike anything she had ever seen.
Closer inspection revealed it was not a single flower, but half a dozen yellow blooms clinging wearily to a single stem. The stem emerged from thick flat leaves that drooped around their pot like yesterday’s stockings. Each flower was no wider across than her little finger, and each had petals in three different shapes and colors: round, yellow petals at the front; long, purple petals behind; and a central dappled point that looked hairy like an animal’s snout.