Table of Contents
Copyrights and Credits
Table of Contents Page
Chapter 1: Royal Commendations and the King’s Younger Brother
Chapter 2: Farewell to the Heyward March
Chapter 3: Reginald Raymond Bailey
Chapter 4: Revelations of Painting and Personage
Chapter 5: Invitation to the Ball
Chapter 8: Regrets of the Past
Chapter 9: The Final Confrontation
Newsletter
Chapter 1: Royal Commendations and the King’s Younger Brother
Chapter 1:
Royal Commendations and the King’s Younger Brother
NOT LONG AFTER THE TRIALS of Gordon and Minister Saquille, Fiona, Giles, and Richard were invited to the palace to receive royal commendations. Upon their arrival, they were escorted to the throne room, a spacious place that glittered with gold and scarlet accents. Aside from the three of them, only the king and the crown prince were present.
I never dreamed I would come here, Fiona thought.
Of course, there was a reason this room had been chosen for the ceremony rather than the typical public setting. Ordinarily, a commendation from the king was a celebration, an opportunity to praise and extol the names of the recipients; the ceremony was usually lavish and held in a cathedral or some other public place of importance. But the head conspirator whom Fiona and her party had foiled—Minister Saquille—was an important member of the peerage, and his plot to seize control of parliament by splitting the rival factions had targeted the king’s younger brother and the crown prince directly. As such, the royal family had decided to keep the scandal—and thus this commendation ceremony—under wraps.
To compensate for conducting the ceremony in private and without the usual pomp and circumstance, the king would sit on his more formal throne—not the throne typically reserved for peacetime.
As old friends of the crown prince and sons of the upper echelons of the peerage, the royal palace was a familiar place to Giles and Richard. The same couldn’t be said for Fiona. She was of noble blood, yes, but as the daughter of a baron, her debut in high society didn’t include an audience with the king. Even her father had only met the king once, when he inherited the title of baron.
I never dreamed I would see His Majesty with my own eyes, nor set foot in the royal palace…yet here I am.
Still in a state of disbelief, Fiona held her breath and bowed her head, listening to the valet’s voice ring proudly through the room as he recited their achievements. With her eyes cast down, all she could see was the deep red carpet and the king’s feet before her. She did not take in the chandelier hanging from the high ceiling, nor the velvet canopy draped over the throne.
“…and so, Fiona Clayburn, I present this commendation to you.”
“I accept it with great reverence, Your Majesty.” As she tucked one leg behind the other and answered him with a curtsy, Fiona was relieved to hear her voice was steady. Richard and Giles bowed beside her and accepted their commendations as well.
Fiona was commended for appraising the paintings sold by Minister Saquille’s accomplice, Gordon, as counterfeit and for discovering the fabricated letters hidden inside of them. Had she not discovered the letters, Minister Saquille’s plot would have brought about major turmoil, and of course, the counterfeit painting scam was a problem in its own right. But Fiona had not done anything particularly special; she merely happened to be in the right place at the right time. Others had made far greater contributions. Rather than feeling proud or happy, she felt undeserving of the king and crown prince’s gratitude and praise.
When the ceremony ended, she looked up but did not meet anyone’s gaze. They left the chamber, and she retrieved her shawl and parasol from the reception room. Only when they parted ways with the palace escorts in the sunny corridor was Fiona finally able to breathe. “I was so nervous,” she murmured.
Compared to the ridiculous length of time she spent preparing for it, the ceremony was astonishingly anticlimactic and quick. Regardless, she had been in the presence of royalty—the king and crown prince, no less. Even without meeting their eyes, she had been overwhelmed by their imposing presence.
“Really? You seemed calm to me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Lord Russel. I thought my heart was going to fly out of my mouth.”
“Aww, how refreshingly modest you are. Right, Gil?”
“You acted too casual, Rick.”
As the son of a marquess, Richard’s ties to the palace were stronger than Giles’s. In fact, they were strong enough that there had been rumors of Richard courting a princess from another kingdom the year prior. He walked through the palace as if he owned the place, and it was this casual demeanor of his that finally soothed Fiona’s frantic heart.
“Anyway,” Richard said, “that’s a lovely dress you’ve got on, Miss Clayburn.”
“Thank you. The Marchioness Heyward and Lady Miranda chose it for me.” It was a conservative dress of plain, fine silk with a design that limited shoulder and chest exposure—perfectly suited for an audience with a king. The dress and the pearl jewelry that accompanied it were most becoming on Fiona, and the whole ensemble was elegant and simple, yet unassuming. This will probably be the first and last time I wear a dress like this.
Fiona’s proper appearance had been made possible by the Marchioness of Heyward—at whose mansion Fiona was currently staying—and Giles’s older sister, Miranda, the Marchioness of Colet. The dress that had been made for Fiona by the Maison de Michele was for soirées, so it would not do for a daytime visit to the palace. When they first learned that Fiona would receive a royal commendation, they were in a bit of a pinch: It would have taken too long to sew a new dress from scratch, and worse, fabric for dresses suitable for royal audiences was difficult to come by. But while the Marchioness Heyward busied herself making calculations to get a dress made on time, Miranda heard about Fiona’s plight and offered to alter one of her own dresses.
In the end, one of Miranda’s dresses was taken apart and reassembled to fit Fiona’s measurements. It wasn’t a stretch at that point to say that Fiona’s dress was made just for her, and she was terrified that she did not deserve the gesture. But Miranda seemed to enjoy beautifying the unrefined daughter of a baron, so Fiona’s humble protests fell on deaf ears. With the dress sorted, the two marchionesses gabbed passionately about accompanying jewelry and hairstyle until Fiona’s ensemble was decided, down to the tiniest details.
The marchionesses were satisfied by the astonished look on Giles’s face when he came to pick her up and saw the transformation, but his dignified and gallant appearance was enough to make Fiona swoon herself. Because of that, she couldn’t exactly remember the praise Giles had given her.
“After all you’ve all done for me, I honestly can’t see how I could possibly thank you,” she told Giles.
“Don’t worry about it. My godmother and sister love to dress you up.”
Giles apologized that Fiona had to go along with the women’s plans, but the dress and the pearls were finer than anything Fiona had ever touched, and they were beyond her station as a lower-tier aristocrat.
Richard and Giles, however, seemed to be in agreement that giving Fiona the dress was no great favor. “Aren’t you the reason Lady Colet didn’t buy the counterfeit painting and the Marchioness Heyward wasn’t harmed by the forged letter?” Richard reminded her.
“Yes, but…that was just luck,” Fiona protested.
“You still saved the day. And you look very nice, besides. Like a beautiful lady I’d see in a painting in any gallery.”
“Lord Russel, I do think that’s an overexaggeration.”
“You think so?” Richard chuckled.
Fiona was unused to being praised for her dress or appearance. Out of respect for the two women who had dolled her up and sent her off with beaming smiles, she had decided that she would accept any praise that came her way today without argument—but being compared to a beautiful lady in a famous painting was simply beyond her! Still, Richard’s light banter extinguished the final strains of remaining anxiety, and she felt that she was finally back to her old self.
He probably did that on purpose, Fiona thought. That’s Lord Russel for you.
Richard was known for being a mood-maker, but he was also highly perceptive. With a sharp man like Giles by his side, Fiona had the sense that there was no ordeal he couldn’t pass unscathed, including the one they’d just undergone.
“I still can’t believe we were the only ones summoned today,” Fiona marveled.
“There are different types of commendations,” Giles explained. “The other people will be called on a different day.”
“Ah, that makes sense.” Fiona nodded.
Different circumstances needed different preparations, after all. Truth be told, Fiona thought the praise she’d received was too grand. When the valet read her achievements, she almost gasped aloud in shock, and her heart filled with an entirely different sort of tension. I’ll need to consult with Father about this, she thought. The commendation Fiona had received was hers and hers alone, and while she could imagine the most effective way of utilizing it, she needed to speak with her father first.
They walked on, and as Fiona was wondering when she would be allowed to return home, Richard said, “I’m about to head to the Scott family salon. Would you two care to join me?”
“No, thanks,” Giles replied.
“Thought you’d say that. What about you, Miss Clayburn?”
“I had plans to visit the academy.”
“Oh, I see. Any specific reason?”
“I go there several times a season, but I haven’t been yet this year. It’s also close to the palace.”
National institutions were positioned densely near the palace. The library, parliament, and museums were all within walking distance, as was the Royal Art Academy, which handled all sorts of cultural projects—including the administration and appraisal of the items in art galleries and museums. The final examinations of the counterfeit paintings had been conducted at the academy and, as the employees of the academy were in the know, they had insisted that Fiona stop by after the commendation ceremony.
“Will you be going with her, Gil?”
“Yeah. The academy really went above and beyond for my family with the appraisals. Now that everything’s settled, I want to thank them in person.”
Painting appraisals ordinarily required an appointment, one that was often scheduled several days in advance, but the academy’s response to Gordon’s forgeries had been prompt. Given the prestigious nature of the suspicious paintings and the name value of the Bancroft and Heyward houses, the academy’s staff surely worked long and hard on the problem.
“Yeah, you would want to thank them personally,” Richard said. “Well, I’ll leave you to it, Gil. I’d love to come along, but we wouldn’t want to overwhelm them with too many guests, would we?”
“I don’t think they’d mind,” Giles said.
“Hey, take the hint. Oh, I’m this way. See you later!” With a light wave goodbye, Richard turned on his heel and went down a corridor that took him in a different direction.
“Why is he always like that?” Giles grumbled.
Fiona giggled. “How very true to form.”
The two of them resumed walking but were soon stopped by a voice behind them calling for Giles. They turned around to see a man running toward them, wearing a palace staff uniform and holding a document.
“Lord Lowell, so sorry to stop you,” he said, “but the party from yesterday’s dealings sent this—”
Sensing this was work-related, Fiona began to sidle away, and Giles interrupted the man to say, “Fiona, excuse me for a minute.”
“Of course. I’ll just go admire the flowers.” There was a beautiful garden beyond the corridor. It was mostly used to receive guests, so nobody was there at the moment, making it an ideal spot for a stroll.
Giles paused briefly, then said, “Promise you won’t leave my sight?”
“I won’t,” Fiona assured him, though there were guards present and no trees tall enough to obscure his view of her. Nothing should ever happen to Fiona on the palace grounds anyway, but even now, with Gordon under lock and guard, Giles maintained a healthy concern for Fiona’s safety. Finding his attentiveness both charming and silly, she left the corridor.
Once in the garden, she opened her parasol and walked slowly through the quaint paths, admiring the blooming flowers as she went. After a while, she turned around to see that Giles and the palace official were deep in what appeared to be a serious conversation. Giles looked up and briefly met her gaze, and she twirled her parasol a little at him.
The Bancroft family always handled diplomatic relations. Much of their work was top secret, and it all went over Fiona’s head. From the familiar way the official had called out to Giles, however, it was clear that the two of them were close. That struck her as funny; at the academy, she’d heard that most officials weren’t all that familiar with higher-ranking nobles.
Fiona occasionally heard little gripes from an investigator of her acquaintance. Noblemen filled roles they’d inherited from their fathers, barring some significant problem that necessitated a change to the line of succession. Giles was set to inherit the title of Earl, elevating his rank. As a nobleman, he had to carefully gather and comprehend all the facts with dignity and without complaint. It was clear just how dreadfully busy Giles was, and if the pompous higher-ups complained, politely distancing himself was his only recourse. It was surely much easier to deal with officials who would hear him out.
He’s already busy enough with parliament as it is… This season must have been particularly tough on him, with the uproar caused by Minister Saquille’s plot. Fiona looked up from the flowers blooming by her feet and saw some of the same white flowers she’d seen in the little garden at that party, blooming through a lattice. At least Giles says our little charade is serving him well.
Once the season was over, their relationship would end—and lately, Fiona had come to think it might be best to end their agreement before it came to term. The rumors traveling through the capital had waned, and news of their relationship had spreadfar and wide, which was all either of them had wanted. But still, something felt wrong. Fiona was certain now that it was not how Giles behaved around her, but rather—
“My lady, do you like those flowers?” a voice asked her.
Fiona snapped to her senses. “Huh? Oh, um, yes.”
The owner of the voice was holding clippers, but he was not one of the palace gardeners. Fiona quickly shut her parasol and sunk into a deep curtsy.
It was Grenville, the king’s younger brother.
“Oh, no, you don’t need to curtsy,” he protested.
“Oh,Your Highness, I wouldn’t dare. I could not possibly defile the face of the king’s brother by looking at it…”
Fiona’s mouth struggled to form words, and astonishment flooded her mind and her heart. Wh-what’s going on?! What is the king’s brother doing out here?!
They had never spoken before, naturally, but he was always in attendance at social functions as a member of the royal family, so of course Fiona recognized his face. And with his violet eyes—a trait only the royal line carried—his identity was unmistakable.
We’re in a garden. This is a garden, right?!
The king’s younger brother was known to spend most of his time holed up in a greenhouse, studying and taking care of plants. Even if you came to the palace, he wasn’t somebody you were likely to meet. Was today destined to be Fiona’s special day of royal encounters?
“Sorry I startled you,” he said. “I heard some of the flowering plants here weren’t doing well, so I came to check up on them.”
“I-is that so?”
“I must say, I don’t usually see fine young ladies out here. And the queen isn’t hosting a luncheon today. What else was there today… Oh, I see. You must be the young lady who foiled the forgeries.”
Unlike the garden toward the front of the palace, this one required special permission to enter. The king’s brother had not been present at the royal audience that day, but he was aware that somebody was visiting the palace to receive a commendation.
Under his kind gaze, Fiona curtsied again. “Yes, Your Highness, I am Fiona Clayburn.”
“Uh-huh, I hear you’ve been through the wringer,” Grenville said. “I couldn’t attend the commendation ceremony, so do pardon me for not recognizing you sooner.” Minister Saquille favored Grenville, and though Grenville himself had no aspirations to the throne, the king would have to hold him accountable to some degree for failing to restrain his devotees.
“Oh, you needn’t apologize!”
Though the apology he offered was casual, Fiona found it even more difficult to look him in the eye after that. She would have been lying if she said she never suspected that Grenville’s disinterest in the throne was a facade and that Minister Saquille was carrying out his secret plot to steal it, but now that he stood before her in the flesh, it was clear her suspicions were baseless—Grenville really did have no desire to rule the kingdom. He wore a rough shirt, dirty work trousers, and tall gardening boots. He carried a dirty hoe, and his sun hat might as well have been just another part of his body. Between that and his air of harmony with the plants, there was no way any of this was simply for show.
Fiona, who went on staring stiffly at the ground, sensed Grenville smirk overhead. She heard the snap of clippers and then felt something touch her downturned head, near her ear.
“A gift from me,” Grenville said.
“Thank you very much,” she said slowly.
Just as suddenly as he had appeared, the king’s brother vanished. By the time Fiona looked up, he was out of sight.
“Fiona!” Having finished his conversation with the official, Giles ran over to Fiona in a fluster.
“Lord Giles.”
“I saw the king’s brother with you.”
“Yes, I bumped into him.”
Giles’s questioning gaze reminded Fiona of the strange sensation she’d felt on her head. With gentle fingers, she reached up and found delicate flower petals just above her ear. She carefully pulled the object free and saw that it was a rose with pale yellow petals. Its thorns had been removed, and it gave off a pleasant, myrrh-like aroma.
“It seems he gave me a gift,” Fiona murmured.
“So he did,” Giles said. “That must have surprised you.”
“Yes, very much. Does he often come to this garden?”
“Not to my knowledge. He probably just happened to be here.”
Standing in the spot where the king’s brother had stood, they both stared at the rose in Fiona’s hand. A gust of wind blew past, carrying the flower’s fragrance with it. Then Fiona wrapped the rose in her handkerchief, and they put the palace behind them.
***
Upon reaching the Royal Art Academy, Fiona eschewed all pleasantries, wasting not one moment before finding her investigator acquaintance. “Inspector Lister,” she said, “I have a favor to ask!”
“Well, hello there, Miss Fiona. Looking lovely as ever today,” replied the handsome chief investigator. Giles found himself surprised by their friendly banter.
“Th-thank you. Um, sorry, but could I please have a glass of water?”
Inspector Lister narrowed his already narrow eyes further, but when Fiona showed him the rose she had been keeping safe from the heat of her hand in a handkerchief, Lister nodded and spoke to a nearby subordinate. Shortly after, someone handed Fiona a glass of water.
“Oh, thank goodness,” Fiona said. “It was such a lovely gift, and I was worried it would wither away.”
“You could always dry it, but its subtle colors are certainly best enjoyed fresh.”
“Exactly. It smells lovely as well. Thank you, Inspector Lister.”
“You’re welcome, Miss. I’m glad I got to set my eyes on such a lovely rose.”
As the pair chatted merrily over the rose, Giles noticed other academy staff beaming at them. Why did it seem like the mood of everyone around Fiona and Lister was starting to relax?
“So good to see you, Lord Lowell,” an employee said, breaking his thoughts.
“Thanks for having me,” Giles replied.
“Oh, of course, you’re doing us quite a favor being here. May I offer you my most heartfelt welcome.”
The man proceeded to answer Giles’s unvoiced question. An aristocrat had come by earlier that morning, he explained, angry that his request had been audited by the academy, and he had blown up at everybody there. He was dissatisfied by the results of the appraisal and investigation, and his abusive language left the ones tending to him quite exhausted.
Lister had caught the brunt of the abuse, and as a result, he’d been curt with everyone even long after the rude customer left, acting so menacing that his subordinates dared not approach him.
“But Miss Clayburn is nothing like the other aristocrats, and her presence always lifts the mood,” the employee concluded.
The Royal Art Academy employed several commoners, and few nobles approached them in an unprejudiced manner. It was also unusual for a young lady of the nobility to visit the academy for a highly specialized matter. Because of that, Fiona was quite popular with the staff, who typically wasted no time engaging her in cheery conversation about the newest pieces added to the Royal Art Museum.
“So you got to speak with the other parties directly?” Fiona asked Lister.
“Yes, and they’ve surrendered several pieces to us,” Lister replied. “The research team was most pleased.”
“That’s wonderful! Will the paintings be displayed?”
“We’re going to construct a section for permanent exhibition. I wish I could say definitively that it will be finished this season, but I’m not actually sure. It’s still in progress, but would you like to see it?”
“Oh, could I?”
It sounded to Giles like Fiona was involved in some art transfers. Fiona’s eyes lit up, and she fidgeted happily at the prospect of seeing yet-to-be-released art. Lister’s gaze softened. As Giles observed their lively conversation, another staff member approached him to explain.
“Lord Lowell,” he said, “have you heard of the artist Chuck Denzel?”
“No, can’t say I have.”
The Bancroft family was well-known for collecting a variety of art, but Giles’s father wasn’t devoted to the hobby. He would never sell his collection, but as far as Giles knew, he wasn’t seeking any new purchases. Giles himself grew up surrounded by art, but none of the pieces ever particularly spoke to him. His grandfather and great-grandfather’s love of collecting art seemed to have flowed mostly to his sister, Miranda. Gordon, of course, had exploited this and almost succeeded in getting Miranda to buy a counterfeit of Raymond’s newest piece. You could hardly blame her, though; she had wanted to get her hands on a Raymond Bailey for ages.
The staff member nodded when Giles said that he had not heard of Denzel. “He is relatively unknown. It’s recently come to light that his later work was an influence on Desmond, but the person who collected his art passed away in the war, and the fate of his art is unknown.” The man went on to explain that Denzel was a historically significant artist from their kingdom, but because much of his work was lost, art museums had only a few sketches and prints to remember him by. Or so was the case until Fiona’s uncle, who traveled abroad frequently, found Denzel’s previously missing family. The family graciously gifted the Royal Art Academy with several of Denzel’s paintings.
“I see,” said Giles. “Well, that is good news.”
“It is, my lord, and it was quite fortuitous that we were able to get his sketches and notebooks as well. With those, we can see how his style changed as he interacted with other artists of the time.” The staff member continued to prattle on about Denzel, with Giles giving suitable responses along the way.
Having spent more time at the barony than in high society, Fiona was not adept at conversing with royalty and the upper nobility, but when it came to art-related news, she focused hungrily on all aspects of the conversation. Giles had once heard that she’d received assistance not only from her uncle (who had just come up in her conversation with Lister) but also Mrs. Bennett and the gallery owner Roche. Her eyes glittered with life as she chatted with the chief investigator.
Fiona had repeatedly expressed her desire to forgo marriage in order to keep her job, but when Giles first met her, he had no idea just how deeply entrenched she was in the art world. Now, those words of hers weighed heavy on his shoulders. He’d never thought deeply about anything related to art before he met Fiona, but she’d given him a new appreciation for it.
Paintings on their own were just paintings. Connecting the painter to the art appreciator and ensuring that the art was preserved for future generations required a facilitator—watching Fiona had made that quite clear. When they’d gone to art galleries together to advertise that they were a couple, Fiona had spoken to him at length about not only the art pieces on display, but also their backstories and the people working behind the scenes. It was clear just how deeply she cared about art preservation, and he came to understand the intentions she had in mind when deciding the order in which to display the art or trading pieces between museums. She’d whisper to him about it with joy in her voice.
Never before had Giles thought of a museum as anything more than a place to look at art. He was oblivious to the people working hard behind the scenes, and to the most important work of all: the research, management, and maintenance that the staff conducted. That complicated, necessary work happened away from the public eye and was so crucial, yet easy to forget—Fiona had revitalized his awareness of this. It was the same with the management and transportation arrangements Fiona had done at Gallery Roche. Confirming the location of an art piece, establishing connections with private collectors, and supporting artists—all of these plain, unglamorous tasks took place outside the spotlight, but every single one of them was vital.
The paintings that weaved together family history and memories belonged to private collectors. Only a greedy businessman would negotiate the sale and transfer of it dispassionately. Inspectors and art sellers needed an empathetic person who could connect with a client, someone they knew they could safely trust with their treasures. Giles was certain Fiona was going to be that person.
If she were a man, he thought, there would be no question of it.
The idea that women—particularly women of noble blood—should not work was not an easy one to do away with, nor was it exclusive to their kingdom. Fiona was skilled, there was no doubt about that, but whether her skills and work ethic were valued equitably was another matter entirely. That Fiona had been calling herself her uncle’s helper all those years most likely stemmed from her tacit understanding of this.
Mrs. Bennett probably had her eye on Fiona because Fiona reminded her of her younger self. She was a master businesswoman, yet she was always considered second-class in her era. No matter how keen her business sense, no matter how blessed she was with opportunities, her path in life was surely even harder than Fiona’s.
Fiona was entrusted with a number of tasks at Roche’s gallery, but it would be difficult for her to strive for anything more. Life would probably be easier for her if she married a high-ranking nobleman and became a patron of artists. The idea tickled Giles’s brain, but he quickly brushed it away; Fiona refused such a future for herself. It was the reason she had agreed to the fake engagement with Giles in the first place.
Still, Giles hoped that he could be of at least a little help to her. Changing societal norms wasn’t something that happened overnight, but he would to do whatever he could to help those in his life. There wasn’t much else that he could do for Fiona, who was dutifully carrying out her end of their agreement.
The staff member finally finished his explanation, and Giles approached Fiona and Lister. Fiona turned around with a little gasp, and Lister looked up.
“Oh! I’m so sorry, Lord Giles, we were rambling there,” Fiona said.
“Do excuse us, Lord Lowell,” added Lister.
“No, it’s quite all right. Inspector Lister, thank you for obliging me yesterday.”
“Oh, of course. It was an honor to be of service.”
Fiona smiled as she watched Giles and Lister shake hands.
“Ah, yes,” Lister said, turning back to Fiona. “That Poiret piece from Gordon’s gallery—would you like to see it?”
“Is it here?” Fiona asked. Giles smirked at the way her eyes gleamed when she heard the name Poiret. Justine Poiret was an artist from a neighboring nation, and she had been active for a time in this kingdom as well. But with the onset of the war, she was falsely accused of being a spy from the enemy nation. As a result, she became a fugitive, and most of her art was burned. When she passed away, she became a sort of mythical artist.
“Yes. It’s been appraised, so we’re keeping it here until his surveillance period has ended.” A plea bargain had reduced Gordon’s sentence, and he was to be under mild surveillance for a while, hence the academy holding his art hostage. “Would you like to see it, Fiona?”
“I’d love to!”
“Yes, it’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, isn’t it? We’ve also borrowed the Poiret from the royal palace, so you can see two of them side by side,” Lister said. The appraisal had revealed the piece Gordon owned was painted when Poiret was their kingdom’s court painter. The one other painting of hers that had survived had been used as reference.
Giles could see that the prospect of seeing a significant piece of art that had escaped the horrors and ruin of war was torturing Fiona’s patience. “Please, lead the way,” he said.
“Of course, my lord. Follow me.”
They were escorted to a storage room where Inspector Lister personally retrieved the painting. It was small. Lister offered his theory that its size was what had helped it avoid discovery and escape destruction.
Lister set the paintings next to each other. Each depicted a large vase with flowers spilling out of it. The brush strokes were delicate and feminine; the overlap of the thin, soft flower petals were lustrously painted with a flair that drew the viewer in. It was the perfect scene for a palace. Though the flower types and colors were different, the mood and horizontal orientation of each painting made them an excellent pair, and Fiona was enraptured.
“So this is Poiret,” she breathed. “Beautiful.”
“It’s exquisite,” Giles agreed.
“Neither is a grand painting, but they are quite lovely,” Lister said. “This one with the blue vase was the one displayed at Gordon’s gallery. Our appraisal determined that it is genuine.”
However, the criminal investigation had not shed light on what such a rare painting was doing in Gordon’s gallery. Poiret’s art had no direct connection to Minister Saquille’s conspiracy or the counterfeit paintings. And, after all, Gordon was an art dealer; it was not strange for him to own a rare painting. The Poiret original had been seized not as evidence, but as a fine—given that Gordon’s gallery was full of fakes and contained no other assets to seize.
“She’s painted some roses just like the one you brought in today, Miss Fiona,” Lister said.
“Ooh, you’re right. This one here.” There were roses among the multicolored flowers, some of which were cup-shaped blooms with numerous petals just like the rose Fiona had received from the king’s brother. Fiona pointed gleefully at the pale yellow one, enjoying the coincidence.
“Do all of the flowers in these paintings exist in reality?” Giles asked.
“Not all of them, no,” Lister replied. “Take this flower with red gradations for example. One of our workers who’s well-versed in botany says he’s never seen one like it before.”
The paintings were not depictions of actual flowers or studies in any particular category of plant. If you looked at them holistically, you could see the painter had adjusted the colors a lot to maintain balance. It gave her work an otherworldly effect.
“I wonder if she painted the colors she saw in her heart,” Fiona whispered.
“Yes, I think she did a lot of that,” Lister replied, sounding happy. They smiled at each other, the mood between them was intimate, with no awkwardness between them. Then another employee approached Lister, and he said, “If you’ll excuse me. You may admire the paintings for as long as you’d like.”
“Thank you. I know you’re very busy,” Fiona said.
“It’s no trouble, Miss.”
“Inspector Lister is amazing,” Fiona said as Lister walked away. “Whenever I ask him a question, he has a thoughtful answer.”
“Yes, he’s very clever.”
“I hear he’s worked in an art gallery outside the kingdom too.”
The pride in Fiona’s voice when she spoke about Lister was obvious, and Giles could understand why Lister behaved as he did around Fiona. The man probably didn’t have any hidden agenda. And yet—
“You two are quite chummy.”
—the sour words spilled right out of Giles’s mouth.
Fiona’s eyes went wide, and she blinked a few times. She hadn’t missed Giles’s insinuation, then. She leaned in and whispered, “Don’t tell anyone I said this, but his daughter actually has the same name as me.”
“Oh?”
“He says she hates her daddy right now, so I’m his daughter until she gets over that phase.” Fiona giggled. “He’s so busy he doesn’t get to see her much, so that’s why.”
Giles blinked. “I…see…”
“I can tell he really loves his daughter.”
Maybe that was what a normal family looked like. Giles wouldn’t know. He nodded, still not quite understanding, and Fiona’s answering smile was as soft as the rose she had just received. The smile lingered on her lips as she turned back to the paintings.
“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?”
“…Yeah.”
The situation where Fiona felt the most content wasn’t a lavish soirée or a royal commendation ceremony, it was in a quiet room where she could admire paintings. Giles stood beside her in silence, gazing at the side of her face as she reveled in her bliss.
***
Later that evening, as the Royal Art Academy staff finished up their work for the day, a visitor came calling. The moment he arrived, everyone jumped to their feet in astonishment and promptly bowed.
“What an honor!” Lister exclaimed. “We weren’t expecting your return until tomorrow.” Their visitor always traveled light, but Lister had not expected him to make an appearance after dark without an attendant.
“Oh, don’t worry yourselves about me. I happened to be in the neighborhood and saw the lights were still on, so I thought I’d swing by.”
“Is that so? Well, would you like to take it now?” Lister asked.
“If possible, yes.”
“I’ll fetch it right now.” Lister disappeared into a room and immediately returned with a parcel wrapped in cloth. It was the Poiret original from the palace that he had shown Fiona and Giles earlier that day. “It was incredibly useful as a reference. Thank you for letting us borrow it.”
“Glad I could help.”
“Well, have a good night, Your Highness.”
Having casually taken the painting from the inspector’s hands, the king’s younger brother turned and left, his footsteps echoing down the empty hallway.
Chapter 2: Farewell to the Heyward March
Chapter 2:
Farewell to the Heyward March
“PLEASE, FIONA, CAN’T YOU STAY here another day?” asked Marchioness Heyward, her shoulders drooping in disappointment as she and Fiona stood in the spacious entrance hall of the Heyward march. “I was so happy to have a companion to chat with… I’m going to miss you, dear.”
“I’m honored you would say that,” Fiona replied with an apologetic smile and a gracious bow.
The marchioness smiled when she was happy, jumped for joy, and sang when she was feeling good. Her rich kaleidoscope of girlish emotions were very charming to Fiona. But Giles, who was acutely aware that it was a performance and all too familiar with its effect, swooped in and sent Fiona a lifeline.
“Save your tears, Godmother. Fiona’s belongings are already packed in the carriage.”
“Oh, Giles, you meanie. How dare you ruin my fun!”
“Didn’t I already give you a week’s extension to appease you?”
The counterfeit painting scheme born from the war for the royal line of succession had been quashed before it could catch fire, and Gordon was under surveillance. Now, with the investigation and commendation ceremony behind her, Fiona had no reason to remain at the Heyward march. But the marchioness’s coy requests for Fiona to stay “just a bit longer” had delayed Fiona’s departure for a day, then two…and soon Fiona started to panic, thinking she might stay there for the rest of the season. She and Giles had devised a plan to get her out that day, whatever the cost.
“But, Giles—”
“I won’t hear it.”
“Um, please, both of you…!” P-please keep it civil!
Fiona was unable to stop the bickering, and her futile attempts at mediation put her in a complicated position. Despite the sudden nature of her arrival, Fiona had wanted for nothing at the march, and in her time there, she’d encountered so many beautiful art pieces. She had also attended gatherings of high-ranking nobles, and though she’d been wary at first, the marchioness acted as a bridge, easing her worries and enabling her to speak to so many people she ordinarily would have no opportunity to converse with. Among them was a noblewoman who invited Fiona to visit her fief. At first, Fiona thought it was just a rhetorical courtesy, but when a letter arrived at the barony addressed to her father, she was startled to learn that the invitation was sincere.
Her dresses and accessories were gradually replaced with finery, accompanied with offhanded remarks that they were old pieces that Fiona was free to keep. Between that and daily grooming from the march maids, plain old Fiona had transformed into a glamorous young noblewoman. Though her outward appearance had changed, her same old eyes stared back at her whenever she looked in the mirror.
They’ve treated me so well…but I can’t be a burden on them any longer, she thought.
“Truly, I don’t know how I can possibly thank you,” she said, bidding farewell to the marchioness.
“Oh, no need to thank me. Just staying here in the march a while longer will be plenty,” she replied, not giving up.
Fiona felt eternally indebted to the marchioness, but she was worried about her family business and Cecelia’s health. She had also decided at the start that once conditions had improved, she would leave.
“Godmother…” Giles chided her.
The marchioness’s cheeks puffed out. “I’m an old woman. Won’t you let me live out my final days in joy?”
“You’ve got years and years left in you, Godmother. Don’t flaunt your age only when it’s convenient.”
“Oh, you insolent boy!”
“The commendation ceremony is long over,” Giles added. “Her family back at Clayburn Manor misses her.”
“But, Giiiiiles—”
“I’m so sorry, Lady Heyward,” Fiona put in, feeling awful about her family being used as a bargaining chip.
This was enough to make even the sassy marchioness back down. Her face quickly lit up with an idea, however, and she clapped her hands delightedly. “That’s it! We should invite your family to stay here!”
“Huh?!”
“We have plenty of rooms. You can bring your father and sister, plus your friends, servants—everyone is welcome! Hee hee, what a splendid idea. Yes, let’s do that!”
The marchioness took Fiona’s hands with a jubilance that suggested she was liable to start dancing at any moment. Giles pressed a hand to his forehead and sighed heavily. “Godmother. I deeply appreciate all the help you’ve given Fiona so far, but that simply will not do.”
“Oh, you spoilsport. It’s been ages since I’ve had so much fun in the royal capital.”
The marchioness sounded so dejected, Fiona didn’t have the heart to free her hands from her grip. “Lady Heyward…”
In fact, the marchioness had a good reason for taking such a firm stand. Her husband had not formally transferred the Heyward title, but the march all but officially belonged to their son, and the marchioness had taken her first steps away from social life. All of her young relatives had grown up, and now they were so busy that she seldom saw them anymore. And as her friends who were the same age as her began to pass away, she started to go out less and less often. Now, she spent most of the time holed up at the palace whenever she came to the capital. And just when she was starting to feel she might burst from the futility of it all, an unexpected surprise landed at her feet: the counterfeit painting con and Fiona.
All sorts of visitors came to the march, now that Fiona was around. That gave the marchioness and her husband more things to talk about, breathing life back into their relationship. Her husband always had a cheerful disposition, and she loved the opportunity to spend more time with him.
“You indulge me in my tendency to ramble at length,” Marchioness Heyward told Fiona, “and you are so elegant and lovely that I know I can take you anywhere without being embarrassed.”
“I have you to thank for that, Lady Heyward.”
“Oh, a little makeup and some new shoes is nothing, my dear. You know of so many lovely shops to visit. Whether we went out or stayed in, I’ve truly enjoyed every day with you.”
“And it was an honor to spend all that time with you,” Fiona said in earnest, squeezing the old lady’s hands.
With a long sigh of resignation and a sentimental smile, the marchioness said, “Promise me you’ll come visit me again soon?”
“Of course. I promise.”
Permitted at last to leave, Fiona walked out the front door and found a carriage parked right in front of it. She paused to say her final goodbye, and the marchioness’s eyes sparkled with sudden inspiration. “Ah, yes,” said the marchioness. “Do come to Her Majesty’s royal ball. I want to see that Michele dress on you.”
“Fear not, Godmother, I’ll be taking her there,” Giles put in.
“Um, what?” Fiona asked, confused for a moment in the suddenness of it all. But then she remembered: Every year, the queen hosted a royal ball at the end of the social season. Apparently, she was invited this year.
Is…is this really happening? Fiona thought. Her pretend courtship with Giles had gotten her invited to a number of soirées, but the queen’s royal ball was another thing entirely. That lavish celebration was meant as the perfect ending to the season and reserved for only the highest-ranking nobles. The Clayburn barony had never received an invitation, so, naturally, Fiona had never attended.
Of course, if her escort invited her, she was permitted to attend. But she’d never dreamed their charade would take her to such extremes.
Fiona stood around hesitantly while Giles and the marchioness made the arrangements for her. “It’s a promise,” Giles assured his godmother.
“All right,” said the marchioness. “Well, I suppose this is goodbye.”
At last, she released Fiona’s hands, and Giles escorted Fiona straight into the carriage. The two women waved at each other through the window as the carriage set off, and only once they’d passed through the mansion gates did Fiona sit back properly in her seat. The thought of the queen’s ball had her worried sick.
A grand function like that is so beyond me…but I guess there’s no use thinking about it. That’s right. Forget it, Fiona!
The wheels of the carriage clacked lightly along the road beneath them. The more distance Fiona put between herself and the march, the further into the recesses of her mind the queen’s ball slid.
She had entered the fake relationship with Giles to put a stop to her engagement to Norman. That goal had been achieved, so Giles’s own goal was now the top priority. If he wanted her to attend a party—any party—she would trust him with it. The choice was his, and Fiona’s only duty was to play her part well.
Fiona looked out the window to clear her mind, watching the aristocratic cityscape she was sure to never see again recede into the distance. She really did treat me so well, Fiona mused, reminiscing about her days at the march and feeling a little melancholy.
“Sorry my godmother was so persistent,” Giles said from beside her.
“Oh, it’s all right. The marchioness was a very gracious hostess.” It was true: In everything from small daily matters to Fiona’s commendation ceremony at the palace, the marchioness had been attentive and caring. Fiona had let the old lady dote on her, giving her nothing in return, and despite any aristocratic motives that might have underlay the marchioness’s actions, Fiona felt nothing but gratitude.
“She’s become very fond of you,” Giles said.
“I think she was just happy to have you and Lady Miranda around more.”
“You think so?”
“I know so. Once this season is over, make sure you visit her on the Heyward fief now and then, you hear?”
“But it snows in the winter…” Giles awkwardly proceeded to explain that the land between the Bancroft and Heyward fiefs received heavy snowfall each year, making it difficult to traverse in wintertime.
Fiona’s face lit up. “Ooh, I love snow!”
“Does the Clayburn barony not get any?”
“Not much, no. The mountains get plenty of snow, though.” It did occasionally snow in the barony, but snowfall was infrequent and scant. The white mountains, on the other hand, received heavy snow that melted into the rivers come spring. The brief annual surge in runoff tended to cause widespread flooding.
Perhaps due to the way the river meandered, the Hayes dominion, where Norman’s family lived, never seemed to suffer as much flood damage as the Clayburn barony. Fiona knew there was no use in making comparisons, but a part of her still wished something could be done about it.
“It’s a nice clean river with good fishing,” she explained, “but it causes so many problems.”
“Yeah, I guess it would.”
“On the bright side, there’s wetlands at the foot of the mountain, and a field of bluebells bloom there.”
Giles looked a bit perplexed by Fiona’s enthusiasm. “I can understand liking the bluebells, but does anything else good come of the wetlands?” The Bancroft fief also had wetlands, but he never gave them a passing thought. They were far from the mansion, and the only memory he had of them was the difficulties they created when he and some guests of the fief went on a hunting expedition.
“Well, yes, it’s home to many animals and plants,” Fiona said. “A wide variety of waterfowls flock there, so it’s a great place to sit and sketch.”
“Huh, I didn’t know you liked to make art as well as look at it.”
“Oh, um, I wasn’t talking about me. My uncle told me that.” Fiona hadn’t yet revealed to Giles the secret that her uncle was the artist Raymond, but she figured it was okay to tell him this much. Sketching wildlife at a picnic was a common enough practice.
After a pause, Giles nodded in understanding. “I always thought your uncle was just an art seller. I didn’t know he also made art.”
“Yes, and that’s why I’ve been wanting to bring Rudolph here at least once.” Rudolph was the boy Gordon had exploited to make his counterfeit paintings. He was to apprentice under a watchmaker, but Fiona wanted to take him out now and then to show him around the barony.
“Good idea,” Giles said. “I hope he likes it.”
“Me too.” I hope it inspires him to make his own paintings.
She did not intend to force Rudolph to paint, but he had such a talent for art. He might not have been able to return to professional art restoration, but she hoped he would at least take painting back up as a hobby.
She stared out the window for a moment, her mind filling with visions of Rudolph’s potential future, before she turned back to look at Giles. “We haven’t spoken much about our lands, have we?”
“You know, we haven’t,” he said.
“Does your land get lots of snow?”
“Yeah. It accumulates a lot every winter.”
“So the ground must be pure white everywhere!” Fiona giggled like a child, and Giles smiled softly.
“Nothing that grand, though I think you would probably enjoy it.”
“Ah… Am I annoying you?”
“Not at all.”
Their spirited conversation carried on, and Fiona did not look out the window again.
Eventually, the carriage came to a stop. The door opened as the driver announced their arrival, bewildering Fiona utterly. They had arrived not at the Clayburn barony but at the Bancroft earldom.
“Lord Giles…?”
“We still have plenty of time,” Giles assured her. “There’s something I want to show you.”
Confused by the unannounced detour, Fiona hesitantly took his hand and stepped out of the carriage. Giles’s butler, Dalton, greeted them with a reverent bow.
“Welcome home, my lord,” Dalton said. He exchanged a few words with Giles, then scurried away. There were no other servants in sight, so Fiona and Giles ambled alone down the spacious entry hall.
Giles always came to fetch Fiona for their outings, so this was the first time she’d visited his home since the day she came to return his cuff links. The paintings adorning the mansion were beautiful and captivating, but Fiona still did not know why Giles had brought her there. It didn’t look like he was taking her to the parlor to which she’d been escorted on her first visit.
“Um, where are we going?” she asked.
“You saw the painting in the hallway, didn’t you?”
“Yes, the first time I came here.”
“Then we’re going this way.” They reached the double doors at the end of the marble hallway, and Giles turned the key.
What room is this? Fiona thought. The heavy doors slowly opened to reveal a dimly lit room.
“Wait here a moment,” Giles instructed her.
“All right.”
Fiona waited in the hallway while Giles entered the room. She heard the sound of parting curtains, and then light streamed into the room. When Fiona saw what was inside, she lost the ability to speak.
“I wanted to bring you here much sooner,” Giles said apologetically.
The room was big enough to host a small party. Its walls were plastered with paintings, and its glass exhibition tables were filled with ceramics and jewelry.
No way… Is this room… Could it be…?!
It was the Bancroft collection room. Fiona stood stiffly in the doorway until Giles took her hands and brought her inside. Her feet wobbled and a smirking Giles steadied her before she could fall, but Fiona was oblivious. She had never dreamed that she might see this room with her own eyes.
The Bancroft family collection had been curated by the earl’s predecessors, who were known to have a keen eye for art. One could see many of their pieces in the entry hall of Bancroft townhouse or in their home gallery, but the collection room was said to be a cut above the rest. No mere acquaintance was permitted to enter, and not even family and close friends could enter it easily. Only the current lord and lady of the family and their direct heir were given the key.
Simply being invited into this room was a status boost, but Fiona’s speechless awe came from the beautiful sea of paintings suddenly appearing before her eyes. Oh, wow, she thought. Oh my goodness… I feel so dizzy.
She knew at a glance who had painted each piece, but even if she hadn’t had that knowledge, each painting would still have been more captivating than the last. One thing was immediately clear: Every work of art in the room was extraordinary.
It was like a mini museum. Fiona didn’t know where to look first.
“Take as much time as you like,” Giles said. He smiled in satisfaction to see Fiona standing there dumbstruck, her amber eyes wide open and rapidly blinking.
I can’t believe my eyes, Fiona thought.
Most people displayed art prominently in their home or other places where people might gather, but the Bancroft family’s circumstances were unique. In their home, the entry hall, hallways, and parlor displayed some famous pieces, but only a small fraction of their collection was on display to the public. This wasn’t due to an unwillingness to display the paintings; in truth, though not many people knew it, they simply owned far too many paintings to display them all.
And here Fiona was, in the presence of their secret collection.
Is that a Rogalio? This one is a Maurice. Oh my goodness, they even have an Ilya! Every way she turned, her eyes landed on wonders that dizzied her mind…and the rest of her.
“This is only a portion of our—Fiona? Watch out!” Giles called from a few feet away. She didn’t respond, and her thin frame wobbled. Giles ran over to her and caught her from behind, preventing her from falling, but her complexion suggested she might faint at any moment. “Fiona!”
“Oh…” Fiona said after a moment. “Breathe. I forgot to breathe…”
As Giles held her, she took a deep breath in and out as if relearning how to do so. Then she looked up at the ceiling and murmured absentmindedly,
“Oh, it’s so beautiful. Even the ceiling is painted… I just might go straight to heaven…”
Giles heaved an exasperated sigh. “Please don’t.” Once he was sure she had regained her footing, he released her shoulders and took her arm. “I know I said you could take all the time you liked, but I’m starting to worry about you. Let’s sit down for a moment.”
There was one sofa in the room, a chaise beneath the window. Fiona obediently let Giles take her to the sofa and sit her down, though her eyes remained glued to the paintings.
“Fiona. Slow breaths.”
Obeying the voice in her ear without question, Fiona took a deep breath in and out. Then, suddenly, something was covering both of her eyes. “Huh?”
“I’m worried you’ll forget to blink too.”
His hands were slightly chilly against her skin, and they completely obscured her vision—and sure enough, now that the inflow of visual information was restricted, her elevated mood finally began to level out.
Giles was right. She hadn’t been blinking. The dryness in her eyeballs stung.
“Yes, I think I did forget,” she told him.
“Well, I certainly didn’t expect you to be quite that awestruck.”
Giles’s breath tickled her ear when he let out a relieved laugh and removed his hand from her eyes. She opened her eyes to find not a wall full of paintings in front of her but Giles’s worried face. He was so close that her eyes took a moment to focus, but once they had, the grayish-blue eyes peering worriedly into hers brought her back to the present.
Ah! He’s so close. Way to scare a girl!
He was sitting close and staring into her eyes out of concern for her health because she had nearly fainted. In other words, it was her fault. Realizing this, she self-consciously took a breath to regain her wits, clutching her chest and willing herself to calm down. Oh, Fiona, get a hold of yourself!
Giles’s brows knit together. “Are you feeling ill?”
“N-no, it isn’t that. I’m fine. This was all just a little too intense for me, it seems.”
The way Fiona mumbled and avoided his gaze only deepened Giles’s dubious frown. “But I thought paintings relaxed you. Art galleries are like home to you.”
“Well, yes, but if you take me into a room like this, filled with nothing but the finest paintings, of course it’s going to be a bit overwhelming.”
This was nothing like going to an art gallery, where she knew to mentally prepare herself for all the art. Her visit to this room was a sneak attack. She hadn’t had a chance to brace herself, and as a result, she drowned in the sea of famous art. It was a turmoil that she only felt because she loved art so much.
“That’s how it works?” Giles asked. Fiona confirmed that it was. “So…you’re not feeling ill.”
“No. I’m fine.”
Giles still did not seem entirely convinced, but Fiona’s insistent tone was enough for him to finally take a step away from her with an understanding nod.
Now free of the distraction of his embrace, Fiona looked around the room again with a tiny sigh of relief. As she beheld the paintings once more, Giles saw the joy he’d anticipated return to her face.
“This is like a dream come true,” she said. “But I wish I’d had some time to prepare myself.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t apologize!” Fiona insisted frantically. “I’m not upset! I guess I just don’t handle surprises well.” In fact, it was only recently, when she and Giles started seeing each other regularly, that Fiona learned she was not built for surprises. Her brain and body froze before she could react. It was frustrating; she’d thought she was more composed, more competent, than that.
Huh? But wait a minute…
She thought about it again and realized something: She always seemed to freeze up when Giles was near her. That meant that the problem lay not in Fiona but in Giles. She recalled the glimmer of mischief she had seen on occasion in his grayish-blue eyes, and a thought occurred to her.
Did he do things to shock her for fun? That was possible, wasn’t it?
“That much is clear,” Giles said. “You freeze up a lot.”
“Huh?”
“In the beginning, whenever I did this…” Giles brushed the backs of his fingers against Fiona’s cheek. His smile was blindingly bright, but only because he was backlit by a window and Fiona was looking up at him.
“Lord Giles—”
“I wasn’t teasing you.”
“No, you definitely were!” I hate being right!
Fiona’s plea seemed to have no effect on Giles; he just laughed at her. Fiona was only beginning to realize how jovial Giles could be—yet another fact about him that she would never have learned without spending so much time with him. She knew it was only her lack of experience that made her such an easy target, but she still looked away from Giles in a huff and turned her attention back to the art.
“Want a closer look?” Giles asked.
“I’m fine here, thanks. I might forget to breathe again.”
“Ah.” He gave another chuckle. Fiona didn’t think she was being particularly funny, but Giles’s laughter was infectious, and she had to admit that she didn’t mind that.
Then, mid-laugh, something caught her eye. Oh! This painting… “The second one from the edge is a Balmain. From his younger years, I believe?”
“You’ve got a keen eye, to spot that all the way back here,” Giles said.
“Well, his style is unique. You know, I’m so happy his work survived.”
“Yeah, his name was removed from the records for a while there.” For all his insistence that he was no art expert, Giles’s eloquent answers made it clear that he knew a lot about the pieces in his family’s collection.
In Poiret’s case, her work was lost because of the war, but sometimes an artist’s style or motifs were denounced as the world and society evolved. As for Balmain, religion made his situation particularly precarious. He had devoted his life to the church, painting realistic and devout art. But his work, which so freely expressed his emotions, was adamantly criticized. During the long period before the public came to accept his art, some hard-liners named him a target to be purged and sent him on the run many times.
It was possible that owners of his art were similarly impacted. Fiona hadnever heard anything about the Earl of Bancroft fielding protests from the church, but maybe that information just wasn’t publicly available. And even if they weren’t ever direct targets, the danger of one day becoming targets remained. They kept the painting despite the risk, a fact Fiona now marveled over. The painting itself was not illegal, but she saw resentment in it over society crushing what was one hailed as sacred. Fiona sat there in awe of the artist who continued to paint when his life was in danger, the art that survived the tumultuous times, and the collectors who protected it. Her eyes were blurry with proud tears when she finally turned her gaze to the next painting in line.
They have some very old paintings here…but they’re all in excellent condition.
There was a window behind the sofa, but it was positioned strategically to avoid getting any direct light on the paintings or glass display tables. And though the room was perpetually shut, the air was neither musty nor dusty. It was clear that a great deal of care was put into preserving the room’s environment. They really did treat these paintings like treasure.
Bancroft was a long-standing house, and it was therefore a house that had known many struggles beyond the recent war. To overcome all that and maintain a collection in such exquisite condition was no mean feat. Moreover, the collection was varied, containing pieces that were simply beautiful alongside historical and dramatic pieces. The Bancroft family collection was well worth its fame.
“Lord Giles, which painting is your favorite?” Fiona asked.
“Huh?” Giles looked surprised at Fiona’s innocent question.
“Are there any you like in particular?” There were landscapes, still objects, all sorts of subjects, and with a variety of colors and motifs, a person was bound to find a piece that spoke to them.
After a moment’s thought, Giles pointed at a painting. “Well… See the hound in that hunting painting?”
“The white and brown one?”
“I used to have a dog that looked like that,” Giles said dispassionately, staring at the painting.
Is that the dog Lord Russel told me about earlier? Fiona thought, recalling the story Richard had told her that night at the Burleigh house.
“The engagement was canceled before any of us knew it, and his beloved dog died around the same time. He started distancing himself from people ever since…”
“I liked this painting a lot when I was a boy, but after my dog died, I didn’t want to see it anymore. I stayed away from this room entirely.”
“Oh… I’m so sorry.” It must have taken a lot of courage for him to open up the room to Fiona, in that case. Fiona’s previously giddy mood crashed to the floor. I’ve been so insensitive, carrying on like this is all about me.
Seeing the shadow come over her eyes and realizing what it meant, Giles turned to her nervously. “Fiona? No, it’s not what you think.”
“But you—”
“It’s true that I didn’t set foot in this room for years, but please don’t misunderstand. It wasn’t a burden to bring you here. I’m grateful to you,” he insisted. Fiona looked up and dubiously met his earnest gaze. “Seeing that painting for the first time in years… Now, it reminds me only of the happy times with him, when he was still a puppy and when we ran and played together on the land.”
“Lord Giles…”
The smile on his face looked strained, but she could hear some relief in his voice as he spoke. “It was my fault my dog died, but I have so many more ordinary memories of him than I do of his cold corpse. I remember… I remember him keeping watch by my feet all night when I couldn’t sleep. I’d forgotten that.” His voice lowered to a murmur. “Funny that I would forget that after all the time we spent together…but I remember now. He was so much more to me than pain and grief too big to bury… Fiona?”
“I’m…so…sorry,” Fiona sniffled. “I didn’t…mean to!” She could not stop the tears flowing from her eyes. She didn’t understand why Giles said it was his fault, but the weight of his beloved dog’s death must have crushed him if it rendered him incapable of remembering the fun times they had shared. Fiona understood the feeling well, because the same thing had happened to her when she lost her mother.
Fiona’s mother had a weak constitution to begin with, and the direct cause of death was a common cold. But Fiona wondered whether it was her fault, because when her mother told her she wouldn’t be long for this world, her dying wish was for the Clayburn family to secure a male heir.
Had Fiona been a boy, her mother’s health might have improved. She might have lived longer.
But if Fiona had been a boy, Cecelia would have never been born.
Young Fiona didn’t know what to think. Her only recourse was to suffer.
Now, as she sobbed, Giles wiped her eyes with his handkerchief, his own eyes wide with shock. He listened attentively as the story spilled out of her, and a troubled smile came over his face.
Eventually, Fiona asked him, “How old were you when it happened?”
“Thirteen, I think.”
His heart had been broken so badly that for over a decade, he couldn’t even look at a painting that reminded him of his dog.
Time did heal all wounds, but it was cruel that time was the only ally Giles had. Fiona had been able to move on from her mother’s death because her uncle, her father, and Hans were there for her. All the crying and talking helped her make some memories of her mother’s passing that weren’t tragic. The thought that Giles had nobody like that in his life, that he distanced himself from everyone because of it—it was too much for Fiona to bear.
“I suppose…you and your dog were awfully close,” she said.
“Yeah. He was my best friend.”
When Giles told her he hadn’t cried when his dog died, a sense of helplessness overwhelmed Fiona. If only she had been in Giles’s life ten years ago. They could have grieved together.
“I’m at a loss,” Giles said. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
“S-sorry,” Fiona managed.
“It’s all right. So…that’s how you cry.”
Fiona looked up in time to see Giles’s face crinkle into a smile. He handed her his handkerchief, and she blinked, beholding the smile of the little boy who had held back his tears. Then Giles wrapped his free arm around her back, cradling her in a gentle embrace.
“Lord Giles,” Fiona said, “you can cry too, if you’d like.”
“You cried for me, Fiona, so I don’t need to.”
“You do need to.”
“I’m all right.”
Birds chirped outside the window. Fiona pressed her forehead to Giles’s firm chest and lingered there for a while, sitting with him in the Bancroft collection room and surrounded by art.
When her tears finally stopped and her heart settled, a realization struck Fiona. No, not that she had sobbed in front of Giles, though that was shocking enough. The real issue was that his arm was wrapped around her. They were in a very compromising position.
Their proximity had been strangely soothing, but once Fiona realized how it would look if someone were to walk in on them, she couldn’t think of anything but how dangerous it was. She could not let them remain like that! Her shoulders flinched at the thought, and she felt Giles was sure to pick up on it. And yet…
Huh?
He didn’t pull away. In fact, he pulled her even closer to him. She heard a light chuckle above her head.
Give me a break!
He was laughing at her, but not for sobbing and losing her composure. No, now that Fiona had regained her senses, Giles was enjoying watching Fiona squirm. It was better than him taking the moment too seriously, but as the person who got all worked up and cried on her own, Fiona resented him a little for it. It wasn’t her fault. Giles had confided in her about his past. Of course she would be shaken by such a heartfelt testimony. Worse, she was painfully aware of her tendency to cry over animals; Fiona once climbed a tree to save a cat, but she loved dogs just as much.
Still, for all that Giles’s story had resonated with her on a personal level, she was shocked by how hard she had cried over it. She was an adult, and a working woman besides. She ought to be able to control her emotions, and she hadn’t bawled like that in years. Her eyes had been stinging before, but now her entire face burned with shame.
Somehow, she managed to compose herself. “Lord Giles,” she murmured without looking up at him, “I want to look at the paintings some more.”
“Of course.”
Fiona pressed her palms to Giles’s chest, trying to separate her forehead from it. After a long pause, he released her from his embrace, and when their bodies parted, a cool, gentle breeze filled in the empty space around her. She drank in the air, which cooled her head, pretending not to notice the pool of loneliness sinking into her chest.
“S-sorry I lost control there,” she said.
“It’s not a problem,” said Giles. Not wanting him to see her puffy red face, Fiona wiped the tears that still clung to her lashes. Then she stood up from the sofa and walked toward the paintings. Giles followed behind and offered her his elbow. “Allow me to offer you some support.”
He was probably worried she might topple over again, but his words brought a different image to Fiona’s mind.
That one day… The first time she visited this mansion, to return Giles’s cuff links. Noticing her hurt ankle, Giles had offered her the same words and the same gesture—but there had been a stiffness in his voice back then, and a reluctance in his touch.
“You said the same thing to me once before,” Fiona murmured.
This seemed to jog Giles’s memory. “Oh, you’re right. I did.”
The way he smiled down at her, lingering on the memory, made Fiona feel peculiar all over. He didn’t smile like this back then.
Fiona’s gaze traveled up his extended arm to meet Giles’s smiling eyes. The chiseled structure of his handsome face remained the same, but she saw not a trace of the cold marble that had been so apparent at their first meeting.
She lowered her gaze and took his arm. As she did, her eyes landed on the glittering ring on her finger. That hadn’t been there at their first meeting either.
“You know,” she said, “I always wondered—how did you know my ankle was injured?”
Her ankle’s sprain was not that serious, and she thought she was able to walk on it rather convincingly. And Fiona had been walking behind Giles, so he wouldn’t even have been able to see the bandage around her foot.
Giles looked up thoughtfully, consulting his memory. “I just knew,” he said finally.
“You just knew?”
“You favored one leg when you left the garden. I think I noticed that.”
“You mean the night of the prince’s party?”
Startled by this unexpected revelation, Fiona stared shamelessly at Giles’s face. She knew that she was unremarkable in appearance, upbringing, and personality—just a tiny speck in a vast ocean of people. To Fiona, that she was invisible was not a condescending statement but an objective fact. She also possessed not the slightest desire to be the center of attention. She loved admiring art, but she never wanted others to admire her as if she were art. So how—at a lavish royal ball where she was nothing more than the dull daughter of a baron who had not even introduced herself—did Giles both notice and remember her?
“Lord Giles,” she concluded, “you have an uncannily good memory.”
“No, Fiona, I remember because it was you,” Giles said. Fiona froze, stunned by yet another unexpected answer, and Giles pressed on without hesitation. “I don’t remember how many other ladies I met that night or what any of them looked like.”
It must have been Fiona’s dress, then, or her hair. She had not worn the latest design, and she’d only had the bare minimum number of accessories—had her appearance really been bad enough to raise eyebrows? “W-was I really that out of place?” she asked meekly.
Giles chuckled softly and gave her a reassuring shake of his head. “Of course not. I just remembered you, that’s all.”
“That’s all? But how—”
“I don’t need a good reason—isn’t that right?”
“Well, I…” Fiona’s heart fluttered. Those were the words that had kicked off their fake romance. It was Fiona herself who had uttered the words “he doesn’t need a good reason,” and knew deep in her heart that she meant them. “B-but—”
“So, where would you like to start?” Giles asked, bringing her focus back to the paintings on the wall. It was clear he did not intend to elaborate any further.
“W-well… Let’s start at that corner over there,” Fiona suggested. Giles took her over to the corner in question, and Fiona stood in front of the painting there. Despite the bad taste lingering in her mouth, she marveled at the exquisite sight.
Every painting in the room was a feast for the eyes, and soon, she stopped thinking about Giles’s troubling words. Time flew as she listened intently to Giles explain and share personal anecdotes about the paintings, and by the time they had finished taking in every painting, with Fiona having uttered nothing but a string of oohs and aahs, the sun was setting.
“Oh my. That was so beautiful. Thank you so much for bringing me here, Lord Giles.”
“Have you had enough?” Giles asked.
“Oh, yes.” Fiona beamed up at him, all traces of tears gone. “I’ve devoured so much great art that I’m sure to dream about it tonight.”
With a satisfied nod, Giles took out his watch. Now that the time was right, he would finally take her back to the Clayburn mansion. “You can come here anytime to see the paintings. I’ll tell Dalton to let you in when I’m go—”
“No, thank you. You’ve done more than enough.”
Her casual rejection of his offer brought him up short. “Why?”
“What do you mean, why?” Because it wouldn’t be proper for me to come back!
It was only a string of coincidences that had connected the pair of them and brought them here, standing side by side. Fiona was only the daughter of a baron, and while she knew a great deal about paintings, she was still learning. She had received more praise than she deserved for identifying the counterfeits and discovering the letter; people like her never received royal commendations.
Giles ought to have known all of this without her having to explain it, but she explained it to him anyway. Not even Lister, the chief inspector at the academy, had ever entered this room. To let someone like Fiona see a confidential private collection like this was unprecedented.
Of course I’d love to see this collection again…but I don’t even deserve to wish for that.
She and Giles were neither friends nor family. They were temporary partners in a charade. Fiona understood the distinction well. Therefore, she took care to burn every painting in this room into her memory.
Pasting on a smile, she said, “But of course, if some day you hired me to create an inventory or to appraise the collection, I would be honor—”
“Fiona,” Giles snapped, his expression swiftly changing. Fiona’s heart jumped into her throat. “I’m not terminating the contract.” She blinked rapidly, unable to follow the sudden change in topic, and his voice dropped into a terrifying iciness. “We’re staying in this relationship until the season is over. There will be no midterm cancellation.”
Oh dear. Did he somehow notice that I was considering canceling our contract? Fiona hadn’t thought she’d let that show on her face, but Giles was quite perceptive. He could probably see right through Fiona’s facade to her true feelings.
Before Fiona could get another word in, Giles placed a firm hand over hers, tightening her grip on his arm. “We’re keeping up the act. End of discussion.”
“Lord Giles…” Fiona’s breath caught in her throat. She felt as though there were a fist clenching her heart, but it had to be the corset, not Giles’s penetrating gaze. She forced her tense face into a nonchalant smile. “Of course. That was the deal.”
Giles finally released his breath. “Let’s get you home.”
“Thank you.”
Fiona chanced a single glance back before they left the room. Then, under Giles’s irritatingly proper escort, Fiona left the Bancroft mansion behind her.
“Sister!”
“Cecelia, how’ve you— Eek!”
Cecelia must have been on tenterhooks the whole day, waiting for her sister’s return. Fiona had barely descended from the carriage before she was in Cecelia’s tight embrace.
“Welcome home! You and that dress both look so lovely!”
“Th-thanks,” Fiona said. “Your complexion looks really nice. I hope you haven’t caught a cold?”
“I’m just fine! Though at first, I…did miss you a little.”
“Cecelia…”
While the sisters rejoiced in their reunion, still embracing tightly, the Bancroft family driver and Hans, the Clayburn butler, set about unloading the carriage. That was when a tall man nudged his way into the scene.
“Welcome home, Fiona.”
“Hi, Norman,” Fiona replied. “Here to visit?”
“He’s here every day, Sister,” Cecilia told her.
“Oh, so you didn’t miss me at all, then.”
“N-no, Sister! You and Norman are completely different to me!”
Fiona giggled. “I’m sure we are.”
Hans’s eyes got misty as he listened to the girls’ delighted squeals. At his side, Giles warmly beheld the scene until his attention was drawn by Baron Clayburn’s hasty footsteps.
“Baron,” Giles said in greeting.
The baron had until that moment only noticed his daughter, but when he heard Giles’s voice, he shot up straight and bowed stiffly to him. “W-well hello there, Lord Lowell!”
“Do forgive me for returning your daughter later than planned.”
“N-not at all! I know my house is grossly ill-equipped to prepare anyone for a royal commendation ceremony. I shall be forever indebted to the Marquess Heyward!”
After a brief pause, Giles said, “Baron, may I have a moment of your time?”
A chill ran through the Baron’s heart when he observed the difference in Giles’s mood from previous meetings, but he was not about to disgrace himself by rejecting an offer from the heir to an earl. “Huh?! Um, of course! Y-yes, it would be my pleasure!”
Giles smiled a bit stiffly at the baron’s overly gracious assent.
“W-well then, shall we head to the parlor? Oh, Fiona, Cecelia, you can carry on your conversation once you’re inside.”
“Yes, Father!” Cecelia said in a loving singsong. “Sister, I’ve asked the cook to make all your favorite dishes for supper tonight! Oh, oh, and also—”
“Cecelia,” Fiona said, “it’s all right. Just calm down.”
“I don’t think she can,” Norman put in. “She’s been like that all day.”
“Norman! You promised not to breathe a word!” Cecilia protested.
Fiona knew that too much excitement would cause Cecelia to break out into a fever. Still, even as she calmed her little sister while they walked toward the front door, she felt elated about the warm welcome she’d received.
Compared to the Heyward and Bancroft mansions, the Clayburn house was like a small townhouse, but it possessed a coziness that Fiona had dearly missed. She felt so relaxed there. I really do think this is the perfect-sized home for me.
As Cecelia and Norman walked her through the front door, a pair of arms suddenly grabbed Fiona from the shadows and started to drag her away.
“Eek!”
“Fiona!” Giles, who had been following closely behind, stepped between them and jabbed the invisible assailant.
Ah! That was…terrifying… Fiona’s heart was pounding—definitely because of the shock—not because Giles’s arms were wrapped tightly around her.
There was a pause, and then Giles asked flatly, “Who is this man?”
“Oh! Um, Lord Lowell—”
The clear guardedness in Giles’s deep voice cast an icy chill over the room. The baron cut himself off mid-sentence and snapped his mouth shut.
Fiona’s assailant had collapsed behind the pot of a giant houseplant and was obscured from view. “Owww!” he said. “Ha ha ha, well, that was a rough welcome.”
“Huh?” Fiona recognized that fearless voice.
The man slowly pulled himself up to sit, his hands clamped to his bottom. Fiona peered out cautiously from Giles’s firm embrace and saw a shocked Norman, a wide-eyed Cecelia, and—
“Hey there, Fiona.”
“U-Uncle?!”
Though he was supposed to be overseas, the person splayed on the floor before them was none other than Reginald Bailey.
Chapter 3: Reginald Raymond Bailey
Chapter 3:
Reginald Raymond Bailey
AN AWKWARD SILENCE HUNG OVER the small entry hall of the Clayburn home. Giles stared, stunned, at the man he had just thrown to the ground, his arm still shielding Fiona. “Uncle?” he repeated suspiciously.
Behind him, Baron Clayburn stammered a hasty apology, blue in the face. “My-my-my-my greatest apologies, Lord Lowell! Th-this man is my brother-in-law, Reginald!”
“Sorry, everyone, I only meant to surprise Fiona a little,” said the man in question, cackling and not sounding sorry in the least. “Looks like I outdid myself.” Reginald’s hair was bright gold and his eyes were amber, and though his coloring resembled Fiona’s, his delicate facial structure and mannerisms favored Cecelia. The polar opposite of the meek baron, he made no effort to get to his feet.
“Fiona, is this true?” Giles asked.
“Y-yes. That’s my uncle.”
But what is he doing here? According to Fiona, Reginald had said he was going to send Fiona a painting, not pay her a personal visit.
Giles extended a hand to the man on the ground. “Do excuse me. I didn’t know you were family.”
“Oh, no harm done! Hup!” He took hold of Giles, jumped to his feet, and shook hands with him.
“Giles Bancroft,” Giles said by way of introduction.
“Aha! So you’re the guy—”
“U-Uncle?!”
Before Giles could respond to the implication in Reginald’s tone, Fiona ran up to them, and Reginald flashed a friendly smile at his bewildered niece. “Yup,” he said. “They delivered me along with the painting.”
“You speak as if it happened accidentally…”
“What’s this? Aren’t you happy to see me?”
“O-of course I’m happy to see you! I missed you so much!”
“C’mere,” Reginald said, spreading his arms wide.
Cheerful at last, Fiona flew into his embrace. “Oh, you gave me such a scare!”
“Ha ha ha! Mission accomplished! Missed you, Fiona.”
He lifted her high off the ground and spun her around in his arms. This little reenactment of a lovers’ reunion was exactly what happened every time he came home. However, while the rest of the party smiled warmly at the sight, Giles went as stiff as an ice sculpture.
“But I thought you weren’t going to return for a while,” Fiona said.
“Well, I heard you were in a little trouble, so I had to come back, Fiona. Of course, I couldn’t get back as soon as I wanted. Sorry I took so long.” Reginald gently lowered Fiona to the floor and shot her a charming wink. The devilish twinkle in his eye did not escape Fiona.
“Uncle, you said ‘mission accomplished’ earlier. Just a wild guess, but…does Roche know about this?”
“Well, of course. He got me my ticket home.”
“Oh, you’re both horrible!”
Suddenly, it dawned on Fiona: When Roche mentioned the “transport arrangements” yesterday at the gallery, he wasn’t talking about a painting.
“Hans was in on it too,” Reginald added.
“He was?!” Fiona shot an angry glance upstairs at her uncle’s coconspirator. For all her indignance, though, she could not hide the joy spilling out of her.
“Well, I wasn’t sure when I’d get here, so I asked them to keep it a secret from you, Fiona. Don’t blame them, okay?”
Fiona returned her uncle’s innocent grin with a smile of her own. “I would never. I was just surprised, that’s all.”
As she stood there, still recovering from the shock, he lifted both her arms up and examined the ring on her left hand, then scrutinized the rest of her. “You’re almost unrecognizable,” he told her. “A lovely young lady.”
“R-really?”
“Well, I’ve always thought my Fiona was pretty, no matter what she wore.”
Why does he always have to lay it on so thick?! Fiona thought, mortified as she always was when Reginald praised her. Her uncle valued uniqueness, and as such, he’d admired Fiona ever since she was a little girl. She thanked him shyly, and he planted a loving kiss on her cheek.
In the next instant, she felt a tug at her waist. Reginald released her and she was returned to Giles’s side.
“Pardon the intrusion,” Giles said, “but I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced.”
“Hm? Oh, right, you. Sounds like you were a great help to my niece here.”
“No need to phrase that in the past tense.”
“Oh? Is that so?” Reginald drew out the final syllable dubiously, and his oddly rough tone of voice sent a jolt down Fiona’s spine.
Uncle, why? And you too, Giles!
Giles did not seem fazed by Reginald’s insolence. He answered it with a perfectly executed Icy Scion stare.
“I hear you’ve had a bit of a rough time lately, yeah? You must be tired. I’ll handle things from here, so you run along and have a rest.”
“While I appreciate your concern, it’s unwarranted.”
Why does the mood feel so icy in here?!
Though Giles and Reginald were acting cordial on the surface, there was something much sharper underneath. Fiona had never seen either man act like this before. She had told her uncle by letter that she had a lover and that her engagement to Norman had been postponed. She also wrote to him about the counterfeit painting scandal that followed. But she kept the fact that her relationship was a charade secret, and Fiona never mentioned Giles by name in her letters.
When he saw Giles, an unfamiliar man, on Fiona’s arm, Reginald must have assumed Giles was the lover she’d mentioned. That was all well and good. It was clear at a glance from Giles’s clothing and mannerisms that he was of much higher status than their family, but as a free spirit, Reginald, of all people, should have understood a romance that flouted the conventions of social class. He shouldn’t have acted with such insolence.
A careful glance at her father behind him revealed a man who was practically foaming at the mouth. But she sensed danger not only in Reginald’s attitude but in Giles’s as well. This was yet another thing that she hadn’t expected.
“Fiona has told me so much about you,” Giles told Reginald. “Though I didn’t imagine you would be such a young gentleman.”
“Do I really look that young? I’m almost thirty.”
Giles raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Surely you jest.”
Reginald shrugged. “Not at all. Though I’ve always looked young for my age.”
It occurred to Giles then that whenever this man had come up in conversation, Fiona had never once described Reginald’s physical appearance. To be fair, Giles had never asked, but as Reginald was the younger brother of Fiona’s mother and had spent years traveling abroad, Giles imagined him as a middle-aged man—about the same age as his father. He’d been wrong; Reginald looked much younger than that. He must have been born years after Fiona’s late mother, and on top of that, he had a babyface. Between his appearance and the rough way he dressed and acted, Giles might have assumed he was Cecelia and Fiona’s brother. This man did not at all seem like an “uncle” to Giles. He could have passed for the same age as Giles and Richard—as their junior, even.
But there was an even greater concern than his youthful visage. Uncle, Fiona thought, seriously, what’s come over you?
Reginald was not interested in people—or perhaps it was more accurate to say that he was not interested in romance. In particular, he showed remarkable disinterest in courting aristocrats. He never initiated a conversation, and even with clients, he spoke only once Fiona or Roche had started the ball rolling. It was unusual for him to carry on a conversation of this length with a stranger for this long—and what was more, Fiona had never heard him speak so brazenly to a person before. This wildly out of character behavior struck Fiona as both surreal and suspicious.
“Well, however I look, I’m still Fiona’s uncle,” Reginald said daringly, not even trying to mask the daggers in his eyes.
Giles’s grip on Fiona’s waist only tightened. Invisible sparks flew between the two men, and Fiona piped up, desperate to smother them.
“Um, Uncle?”
Reginald reached out to touch her cheek then. His fingers, delicate and accustomed to holding a paintbrush, gently traced the skin beneath her eyes. With a sideways glance at Giles, he growled, “Did you make her cry?”
What? Fiona’s eyes widened at the unexpected question. She had indeed cried at the Bancroft mansion, but her eyes had dried hours ago, and she had fixed her makeup. She didn’t think her eyelids could still have been swollen, but apparently, the artist’s keen eye had caught something she missed.
“Well, I—”
Reginald cut Giles off. “My sweet niece courting someone who makes her cry… As her uncle, that kinda doesn’t sit right with me.”
Uncle?!
Reginald sneered and looked away in a huff. His antagonistic behavior had apparently come from a false conclusion aided by his freakishly keen eyesight. Fiona’s cheeks caught fire.
“N-no, it’s not what you think!” Fiona protested. “It was all me—”
“No means no! I’ll never give you my blessing to be with that jerk!”
“Uncle, please listen—”
“I’m not listening! La la la laaaa!”
Fiona was flustered by her uncle’s childish tantrum, and Giles was at a loss for words. Just when it looked like the trio was at an eternal impasse, Norman offered an olive branch. “Excuse me, but let’s not just stand here. Why don’t we move somewhere else?” The other people in the room were not privy to the circumstances of their spat, and Norman’s calm, casual tone of voice cut some of the tension.
“Why don’t we have a chat in the parlor?” Cecelia suggested. “Uncle only just arrived earlier this afternoon, and we haven’t had much of a chance to talk yet.”
“Oh! That’s right, Cecelia. Yes, let’s do that!” Reginald sang, spinning to face Cecelia and turning his back on Fiona and Giles.
The baron, visibly relieved, said timidly, “L-Lord Lowell, um, could you and I chat in another room?”
Giles took a breath. “Uh, let’s do this tomorrow. I don’t want to get in your brother’s way. I’ll take my leave.”
“A-are you certain, my lord?” The baron’s relief was palpable. Fiona offered him a silent apology.
What did they want to talk about? Oh, I suppose it’s about what happened the past couple of weeks. Giles had personally visited the Clayburn home when Fiona was invited to the Heyward march. He probably wanted to follow up with a detailed summary of her visit. What an upright man he was. With this understanding, Fiona turned in the opposite direction of the parlor to send Giles off.
Just as they were about to pass through the front door, Reginald looked over his shoulder and called out to them. “Ah, right. Are you free tomorrow? It’s okay if you’re not.”
His gaze was directed at Giles, who paused and then said, “I’ll make time.”
“All right. Noon, at Roche’s place.”
“Sure.”
Having received this confirmation, Reginald waved his hand and returned to the parlor. Seemingly unfazed by this further display of rudeness from Reginald, Giles bade Fiona’s terrified father farewell and then stepped outside with Fiona.
The sun had just set, and the sky was dyed the same ashy blue as the eyes of the man standing before her. Beautiful, Fiona thought, exhaling deeply as she took in the scenery. It had been a long day.
Giles’s carriage was parked by the front gate, but he paused before heading for the stairs by the entrance. “I’m good here. There’s no need to send me off, Fiona. You go back inside.”
“All right,” Fiona said, thinking that his concern for her safety seemed excessive, given that she was on her own property. Still, there was something heavy in the air, and after a recent succession of surprises, Fiona was happy to comply. She took a breath in and out, then curtsied deeply to him. “I am terribly sorry for my uncle’s rude behavior.”
“No, he was right to worry when so many of your circumstances have been concealed from him. You don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to, but…how much have you told your uncle about us?”
“Only as much as I’ve told my father. Well, maybe less—my letter outlining the more recent events might not have reached him.” She quickly lowered her voice and added, “I haven’t told him it’s an act. I would never.”
“All right.” Giles put a hand on his chin and studied Fiona’s face.
“Lord Giles?” she asked, discomfited by his scrutiny. Just when she was starting to wonder what was wrong, he reached out and touched her cheek. Or rather, he rubbed it. “W-was there something on my cheek?”
Giles was silent for a moment. “No.”
Now she was even more confused. She stood there, blinking rapidly, and Giles removed his hand from her cheek…and promptly replaced it with his lips. Fiona’s eyes shot open in disbelief.
“See you tomorrow,” Giles said. “Go back inside.”
His soft smile left her speechless. He gently turned her around by her shoulders, gave her a gentle tap on the back, and closed the door behind her. Her hand floated up to her cheek, and in her daze, she heard his footsteps receding from the door.
I…I just can’t get used to his kisses!
She realized belatedly that he had simply given her a “goodbye kiss,” as Marchioness Heyward called it, but it came as such a surprise to Fiona that she couldn’t react to it as if it were a small gesture. She knew, however, that if nothing else, she had to cool the fire in her cheeks before her uncle really gave her an earful. She retreated into the washroom, not the parlor, to wash her face…never realizing the spot Giles’s lips had brushed was the same spot where Reginald had kissed her.
Conversation flowed freely at the dinner table. Reginald told them about all the places he’d traveled, and Fiona caught him up on everything that had happened while he was gone. He was less excited about the royal commendation than about Gordon’s counterfeit scheme and the rose from the king’s brother—further proof that he was Fiona’s family. Cecilia, meanwhile, livened up the conversation with anecdotes about Norman’s daily visits to the Clayburn residence.
“Then you know what, Sister? I forgot to put in the cinnamon, but Norman never even noticed!”
“Hey, I did think it tasted a little different than usual.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, but it still tasted great, so I didn’t care.”
Merry from start to finish, Cecelia was clearly in high spirits from Fiona’s return and her uncle’s visit. There was something else, though, something about her banter with Norman. On the surface, their interactions seemed the same as always, but something about it felt different to Fiona. They’re the same as before…but also not the same, I guess.
They’d always gotten along well. Fiona did not doubt that Cecelia was very fond of Norman, but Cecilia had always seemed unaware of the possibility that her feelings for Norman might be romantic in nature—so Fiona herself couldn’t be certain whether Cecilia loved Norman as a brother or as something else. For his part, the way Norman treated Cecilia seemed to fall somewhere between friendly and romantic. This had been the case for a long time, but now, Fiona sensed their dynamic shifting to something a little more intimate than familial.
Maybe my absence lit the spark, she thought. Spending time together daily without Fiona present had probably changed the way they perceived each other. Fiona didn’t think that they had acknowledged their feelings for one another or made any other concrete changes to their relationship, but Fiona wholeheartedly welcomed even subtle changes like this.
She had always thought they would make a great couple. Cecelia had been special to Norman ever since they were little kids—not like Fiona, who remained nothing more than a friend to him even after the idea of marriage was broached. In her opinion, it made far more sense for Cecilia, not Fiona, to marry Norman. And what was wrong with that, now that Fiona’s sickly little sister was finally on the mend? The future was not preordained, anyway. Fiona was healthy now, certainly, but there was no guarantee that she wouldn’t be beset by a horrible accident or sudden illness. People ought to let their hearts, not logic, decide whom they married, just like their mother and father had.
The baron also noticed the change in Cecilia and Norman’s relationship. He looked happy as he watched them interact, but at times, a hint of worry colored his eyes. Fiona assumed that was because he saw himself in Norman and was recalling how Cecelia’s birth had sent his own wife to an early grave. And if that weren’t enough, she was sure he was also deeply conflicted over how to handle Fiona.
His daughters were living reminders of the woman he loved. He wanted to keep them close for as long as possible. As his daughters, Fiona and Cecilia appreciated their father’s love, but in spite of that, a part of Fiona wished he would stop feeling this way.
Well, now that she’d stopped the engagement from becoming official, she could finally go traveling with her uncle. It was the best choice for her dreams and for her land; this was the conclusion she arrived at every time she thought about it. It was the entire reason she and Giles had started their sham romance in the first place.
And Giles can’t stay a bachelor forever either. No matter how infamously marriage-averse he was, a handsome man with a pedigree like firstborn son of an earl would find it exceedingly difficult to remain single until he died. Besides, for all his aversions, Giles treated Fiona like a perfect gentleman, so she was certain he was capable of marriage. It’s obvious he simply interacted with the wrong type of woman all this time.
The same sorts of faces attended all the parties in Giles’s circle, and Giles’s parents selected all his potential mates using the same set of criteria. The houses best matched for an earl were probably filled with young ladies that Giles did not get along with, like Caroline. But some day, he would find a woman that was perfect for him, and that woman would not be Fiona.
Fiona was his for a limited time by contract—nothing more. Giles had only agreed to the charade on the grounds that she wouldn’t fall in love with him. The sudden kiss on her cheek and the warmth of his hand on her back felt so vivid in her memory, but she needed to keep her sights set on the mission at hand.
And yet…her heart tormented her with memories of that night in her room at the march, and of that moment at the opera.
Stop it, Fiona! None of that meant anything. Nothing happened!
No matter what she told it, her heart wouldn’t stop its incessant pounding. She knew it was because she had no experience with romance. She pressed her hands to her cheeks, willing her emotions not to show, and in doing so attracted the concerned gaze of her uncle.
“Fiona, is something wrong?”
“Wh-why do you ask?”
Reginald hummed thoughtfully. “Just a hunch.” He shrugged playfully and, to Fiona’s relief, did not press further.
Dinner ended with a lingering air of discomfort, and Norman went home. And after they saw him off, Fiona chanced asking Cecilia a question. “Are you sad to see Norman go?”
“I was a little sad about it yesterday,” Cecilia replied, “but now I’ve got you and Uncle here!” Her carefree smile showed that she was sincere.
Cecilia would likely outgrow the remaining traces of childlike innocence in her eyes next year when she came of age. The thought of her growing up made Fiona both happy and sad. It was surreal to think that her time as Cecelia’s surrogate mother was coming to an end. For now, Cecilia was tired, so Fiona sent her to bed.
“Fiona,” Reginald called to her, “do you have a minute?”
He and Fiona were the only ones left in the parlor; the baron and Hans had also retired to their personal quarters. Fiona made to sit on the sofa, but instead, Reginald opened the giant windows and invited her out to the porch. Night had fallen, the sky sparkled with stars, and a cool, refreshing breeze was blowing.
Leaning against the railing beside Reginald, Fiona spoke first. She had something on her mind. “Uncle, why did you ask to see Lord Giles tomorrow?”
Reginald had visited the Clayburns with only the clothes on his back. Roche had met him at the train station to pick up the bulky paintings he’d brought with him, and Fiona had been disappointed not to be able to view them at the Clayburn house. Naturally, she was excited to view them at Roche’s gallery in the morning. She just didn’t understand why Reginald had asked to meet Giles there.
“Ah, that,” Reginald said. “I wanted to show him my paintings.”
Fiona’s jaw dropped. “Will you tell him you’re Raymond?” Only the Clayburns and Roche knew Reginald’s other identity. It was a secret that not even the gallery staff knew.
“I haven’t decided yet. I just thought I should tell him that I brought Raymond originals to the gallery.”
Fiona tilted her head, confused. His intentions were opaque to her. Reginald had all sorts of reasons for keeping a low profile, and he was particularly wary of the nobility finding out who he really was. He was careful never to do anything that might even imply a connection between himself and the artist Raymond. That he might tell Giles his secret was inconceivable.
“I heard that your relationship with Giles began because of a fake of one of my paintings,” Reginald continued.
“Well, it… Yes, technically, it did.”
Reginald slanted his eyes upward and bobbed his head. He was not stargazing; this was something he did when he had a scheme brewing. He bobbed his head like that when he was hiding a present from Fiona or Ceceila, for example, and no matter what they did to get the secret out of him, he always refused to give them any further hints about it. “Is he the sort of person who tells other people’s secrets?”
“Of course not,” Fiona replied promptly. She had become associated with Giles relatively recently, but she trusted he wasn’t that sort of person.
“Yeah, I thought not. If he were that kind of guy, I’d recommend you break up with him immediately.” With a curt nod, Reginald shifted his gaze from the sky to Fiona. “Hey, Fiona. What do you want to do?”
“What…do you mean?”
“Do you still want to travel with me?”
His expression and tone of voice were jovial as ever, but when Fiona met Reginald’s amber eyes, a shade lighter than hers, she saw a hint of gravitas in them. Those eyes took her voice right out of her, and her mind raced, recalling all the stories of foreign lands that her uncle had told her, time and time again since she was a little girl. Unknown lands, unknown buildings, hair and skin of varying shades, unfamiliar languages and music, the energy of a bazaar. In her mind’s eye, she saw herself in a lively crowd of people garbed in vibrant cloth, not the tight dresses she was used to.
Someone in that crowd called her name, and when she reached out, her fingertips almost touched—
No…this can’t be.
Fiona had imagined herself in that foreign land countless times, but until now, the man she’d imagined by her side had always been her uncle, his sleeves stained with paint.
She clenched her fists, feeling the weight of the ring on her left hand.
“Yes…of course I do,” she finally replied. She shook her head warningly at the figure in her mind who had taken her hand in that crowd.
“I see.” Reginald set his hand on the top of her head and smiled, and Fiona smiled back. The stars shone brilliantly in the night sky above them.
Chapter 4: Revelations of Painting and Personage
Chapter 4:
Revelations of Painting and Personage
IT WAS TIME for Giles’s meeting with Reginald, but when he arrived at the gallery, Dennis was the only one in the back office. Dennis had initially been hired to work at the gallery so that he could act as Fiona’s bodyguard, but by this point, he was a full-fledged member of the staff. Having served under Giles in the military in the past, he put down his pen and stood at attention as soon as he spotted his former superior officer. He suppressed the urge to give a formal military salute and instead went for a frantic bow, then peered behind Giles questioningly.
“Um…are you alone today?” he asked.
“Is there a problem with that?” Giles asked gruffly.
“Ah! N-no, of course not! That’s right, Miss Fiona returned to her family home, didn’t she?”
Giles looked away from the flustered man and over to the low-set table. A large parcel lay atop it, tied up with string.
“Th-those are the paintings Mr. Reginald brought,” Dennis explained. “We’re going to open the parcel today.”
That was the answer Giles was expecting to hear. Though he’d been surprised when Reginald asked to meet him at the gallery, he thought he knew what it was about.
But why does he want to show me these paintings?
Fiona was excited about it, so Giles figured that Reginald had good taste and the paintings on the table would turn out to be great art. The fact that they were in Roche’s possession, however, meant there was already a buyer. Why would Reginald want to tempt Giles with them?
“Have you been told what kind of paintings they are?” Giles asked.
“No, we were just told to keep them safe here,” said Dennis. “Not even Mr. Roche has seen them. I’m quite excited to see what’s inside.”
Giles was a little surprised to hear impatience and enthusiasm in Dennis’s voice. “Are you an art man, Dennis?”
“Uh…no. I was neutral about art in the past, to tell the truth, but after I started working here, I’ve come to learn how great art is. I’m…easy to please, aren’t I?” Dennis chuckled and nervously scratched his head, but Giles did not mind his earnestness. “Truth be told, I was going to seek employment elsewhere once my bodyguard skills were no longer needed, but now I’d like to stay here as long as possible.”
“I see.”
“I learn something new every day, so it’s very fulfilling work. I’m even going to visit an auction soon.”
“Yes, I remember you excelled at bargaining. I think you’ll be good at it.” Dennis had also done intelligence work in the military. The fields were different, but some of his skills were surely transferable, and though Giles had more or less forced Dennis to accept the bodyguarding gig, it pleased Giles to hear that he was happy with the way things had turned out.
“Well, I’m not sure how good I’ll be, but yes, I’m very excited to find out,” Dennis said.
Roche entered the gallery then with Rudolph in tow, and Dennis yelped, “R-Rudolph! Why, you—!”
He rushed over to Rudolph, who appeared to be about to say something, and clamped a hand over his mouth. While Dennis pressed down to keep the mumbling boy’s mouth shut, the door behind them opened, and in walked Fiona…and Reginald.
“Oh my, aren’t we having fun today?” Fiona’s eyes sparkled as she watched Dennis and Rudolph scuffle.
Her hand was firmly in her uncle’s grip. The gallery, Giles knew, was like a second home to Fiona. He doubted that she required and escort but was in no position to raise an objection.
Fiona turned to greet him. “Lord Giles, thank you for everything yesterday.”
“Not at all.”
Noticing Giles’s gaze, Fiona tried to retract her hand from Reginald’s grip, but he only seemed to squeeze her hand tighter. He then shot Giles a provocative gaze from an angle that ensured Fiona wouldn’t catch him in the act.
This son of a bitch. Giles was being played.
Noticing Reginald’s devilish antics, Roche grimaced and pinched the bridge of his nose, looking resigned. Giles surmised that this behavior must be typical for Reginald.
“Uncle, I can’t open the paintings unless you let me go,” Fiona told him.
“Huh? Aww, well, if I must.”
The moment Reginald’s hand left hers, Fiona marched over to the parcel, her eagerness visible in every line of her body. Reginald sulked in her wake, apparently sour about taking second place to the paintings in Fiona’s heart.
What’s this? Giles thought, surprised by the sensation arising within him. He thought he had felt something like this before. For the first time in a long time, his heart was stirring.
From an early age, he had been made to believe that it was foolish to let one’s feelings be impacted by others. The lesson was pounded into him. By letting your emotions show or allowing your heart to dictate your actions, you displayed your shortcomings as an aristocrat. But ever since he met Fiona, he’d experienced so many exceptions to the rule.
She approached everyone, not only Giles, with sincerity instead of pretense, and Giles could not help but reciprocate. He knew their romance was only an act, and knowing that, he had expressed feelings best left hidden. And I didn’t mind it either.
As the heir to the Bancroft name, his behavior was out of character, but he wasn’t even sure what was in character for him. Privately, he scorned himself for harboring such adolescent doubts at his age.
“Mr. Roche, can I open it now?” Fiona asked, glowing with anticipation as she stared at the bundle of paintings.
“Yes, please do,” Roche replied, handing her the scissors. The sound of the string snapping returned Giles to the present.
Rudolph, who had stopped his whining and wandered over to the table, was obviously equally keen to see the parcel’s contents. Everyone in the room waited with bated breath.
No, not everyone—Reginald, the man who had delivered the art, maintained a carefree stance. The insouciant way he had sat down on a desk instead of a sofa should have raised a few eyebrows, but Giles knew that worrying about Reginald’s behavior was a waste of time.
With a dry ripping sound, Fiona removed the paper, and the paintings emerged.
“Oh…my…” Fiona’s eyes went wide, and a dazzling smile overtook her face.
Beside her, Rudolph’s jaw dropped. “Holy shit…” He stared at the paintings, transfixed, unable to form any other words.
What do we have here? Giles thought.
There were three paintings in total, and the unframed, exposed canvases overwhelmed the room. Two of the pieces were still lifes featuring unfamiliar fruits and shellfish, and the third was a landscape painting depicting ships passing through an inlet. The simple yet deliberate brushstrokes evoked a sense of depth, conveying the foreign atmosphere and the delicate wanderlust that had brought the painter there. Each was so distinctively similar in style that it was obvious at a glance that the same artist had painted them.
The weight of the brush and use of color looked familiar to Giles. “Raymond?”
“Ooh, was it that obvious?”
“Uh, I suppose.” Giles nodded back at Reginald, who seemed pleased for some reason.
Giles’s sister loved Raymond Bailey’s art so much that Gordon had almost successfully conned her with a fake. Unlike the fake Giles had seen that day, however, these paintings evoked a quiet energy that only an original Raymond Bailey could capture. How, he wondered, did Reginald get his hands on three Raymond originals?
Raymond, an infamous recluse, was known to only do business with Gallery Roche. That meant Reginald had to be a close friend of his.
Fiona dreamily looked up from the paintings and over at Reginald. Her eyes were dancing just as brightly as they had in Giles’s private collection room. “Oh, Uncle, they’re beautiful!”
“Pretty good, huh?” Reginald gave a smug snort.
Roche nodded in satisfaction. Dennis remained quiet, but his eyes were wide open as if beholding something magnificent. Fiona turned to meet Giles’s gaze, and when he saw the unbridled bliss in her face, his heart hammered against his chest. His focus narrowed to only Fiona and his own pounding heart, but Fiona’s gaze soon returned to the paintings at her fingertips.
While everyone in the room stayed captivated by his paintings, Reginald leaned over to ask Giles a question. “Do you like them too?”
“Yes. They’re beautiful.” His sincere feelings spilled right out of him, that’s how incredible the paintings were. Reginald asked him which of the three was his favorite, and after a moment’s hesitation, he answered, “The inlet.”
“The inlet, huh? Thanks. Okay, Roche, sell the inlet painting to Lady Colet.”
“Huh?” Giles said.
Roche gasped, “What?! R-Reggie, slow down—”
“You’ve helped Fiona a great deal, haven’t you?” Reginald asked Giles. “And I heard the Lady Colet wanted a Raymond original.”
“Yes, she does,” Roche said, uncharacteristically frazzled, beads of sweat forming on his brow. “But these paintings already have a buyer—”
Reginald steamrolled him. The man clearly marched to the beat of his own drum. “I’ll get another painting here right away. Give Lady Colet this painting first. Of course, if she says she doesn’t want it, you can pass it on to the other buyer.”
“I highly doubt she would ever refuse this painting,” Giles said.
“I know. You’re her little brother; you should take it to her. Oh, and settle pricing and framing and all that business with Roche. I don’t have much patience for that.”
So this was why Reginald had called Giles here. For all the shock, it made sense to Giles. From the way they talked, it sounded like Reginald had more of a say in what happened to Raymond’s paintings than Roche, the gallery owner himself. Giles could already imagine the fit of ecstasy his sister would have when he brought the painting home, but he thought he should double-check with Roche just to make sure. “Roche, is this all right with you?”
“No, it is not all right! It’s very much not all right with me, but…” He sighed. “Once Reggie makes up his mind, there’s no swaying him. Ugh…all right, you win. What am I going to tell Lord Watson…”
Roche’s woeful pleas fell on deaf ears. “Smooth things over with him, Roche. You’re good at that. Isn’t he, Fiona?” he asked, a nonchalant smile on his face.
Fiona looked apologetic but pleased. “Lady Miranda will love this painting, so I would appreciate it if you could make it happen, Mr. Roche.”
“Well, that’s settled!” Reginald declared.
Roche sighed. “It’s been a whole year since I got new paintings. Ah, so much for my perfectly constructed sales schedule…”
Reginald consoled him with a pat on the shoulder. “There, there, Roche, let’s have a drink tonight.”
“You’re paying, you son of a bitch!”
While Giles sympathized with Roche, Reginald was apparently acting true to form. He saw what Fiona meant when she said her uncle was a bit odd. He was the sort of person some people could never hate. If not for Fiona, Giles would have had no problem with the man.
A polite knock interrupted the cheery room, and a staff member popped his head inside. “Excuse me, Lady Fiona? Mrs. Bennett is here to see you.”
“She is?!”
“Go see her,” Reginald said coaxingly. “I’ll wait right here with the paintings.”
With a reluctant smile at the paintings, Fiona rose to her feet. She met Giles’s gaze for a moment before she excused herself. “Sorry, I won’t be gone but a minute.”
“L-let me come with you,” Roche pleaded. “I need a damn change of scenery to restore my spirits.”
“Hee hee! Mr. Roche, you’ve been cursing an awful lot lately,” Fiona informed him.
“Oh no, I’m drowning here… Dennis, bring some hot tea to the sales room in the back.”
“Um, yes, sir.”
The giggling Fiona and gloomy Roche left the office. Dennis followed them out, off to fetch the hot tea, with Rudolph in tow so that he could teach Rudolph how to make it. In the end, the office contained only the three paintings, Giles, and Reginald.
All right, Giles thought, what now? He was sure Reginald had questions, but first, there was something they needed to settle. “Are you sure my sister can have this painting?”
“Huh? Yes, of course,” Reginald replied, swinging his legs where he sat on the edge of the desk. It seemed he still favored the desk over the sofa.
“But Mr. Roche said it already had a buyer.”
“It’s fine. I can just paint another one.”
“Wait. Paint?” Not “buy,” but “paint.” Giles looked at Reginald in horror, realization dawning on him.
Those amber eyes that were brighter than Fiona’s crinkled mirthfully. Not bothering to hide his smirk, Reginald hopped off the desk and extended his right hand to Giles. “Sorry. I haven’t properly introduced myself yet. I’m Reginald Raymond Bailey.”
Raymond Bailey, the mysterious, widely beloved artist. Giles was so taken aback that he let the pause between them stretch out a bit too long before firmly shaking the man’s hand. “Raymond, eh… So it’s you.”
“Surprised?”
“Yes, I suppose.”
“Aww, you seem awfully calm to me. I was hoping you’d be more shocked,” Reginald whined, puffing out his cheeks. He pumped Giles’s hand up and down firmly, and Giles thought back on everything Fiona had said about her uncle.
That’s right. She never once said that her uncle was an art dealer.
What she had said was that her uncle sent pieces of art from overseas. Richard and Giles had been the ones to assume that he was an art dealer. It had never occurred to him that Fiona’s uncle painted the works he sent to her.
And then there was that thing Fiona said when she confronted Gordon: “But he has painted a common redpoll before.” She’d said it with authority, and she’d explained that Raymond had painted it ten years prior and that his family was in possession of it. There was no record of the painting, and it had never been sold. Only the painter, his family, or someone close to family could have known of his existence. Moreover, she had mentioned the day before that her uncle was going to do some sketching outdoors.
Just as she promised at the very start, Fiona had not uttered a single lie. Giles was a third party, so she could not tell him the truth, but she had dropped several hints.
Well, now I feel stupid.
When Reginald finally released Giles’s hand, he ran it roughly through his golden fringe as he processed this situation. Giles did not feel deceived. If anything, he trusted Fiona as a confidante all the more for it. “Oh, trust me, I am shocked,” Giles assured Reginald.
“Are you suuure?”
“Looking back, there were many clues. Regretfully, they escaped my notice.” Fiona’s knowledge, passion, and deep understanding of art—there was no doubt that her uncle played a big part in that, and now that Giles knew that her uncle was an artist, it all added up. The picture formed in his mind like a jumble of puzzle pieces rearranging to fit together, making perfect sense of both the man standing before Giles now and of Fiona, who was not in the room. “I have to ask, though: Are you sure that revealing Raymond’s true identity to me was the right call?”
Fiona and Roche guarded Reginald’s secret so fiercely that Giles thought it must have been unwise for Reginald himself to reveal it so easily. Catching the judgmental tone in Giles’s question, Reginald looked surprised for a moment, then burst into laughter.
“Ha ha ha! Is that what you’re worried about?”
This man had no sense of self-preservation. Giles fumed a little at the flippant way he disregarded his allies’ hard work. “I don’t see what there is to laugh about.”
“Well,” Reginald said, dragging the word out, “if I’m being perfectly honest, I wasn’t sure whether I should tell you. I trust Fiona, but I don’t exactly know you.” He wiped the tears of laughter out of his eyes and leaned back on the desk. “But when I saw the way you looked at my paintings just now, I had a feeling.”
His carefree smile reminded Giles of Fiona. The uncle and niece may have had different coloring in the eyes and hair, but their manners were similar.
“I’m not sure what you mean,” Giles said.
“You truly loved my paintings,” Reginald said, eyeing the paintings on the table. “You loved them, even before you knew they were Raymond originals.”
Giles didn’t know what to say. What did Reginald mean by that? To be sure, Giles did think they were good paintings—he’d been honest in his praise. But he’d meant nothing more than that.
“Oh, dear. Please don’t freeze up like that, my good fellow,” Reginald said. “Let me explain. I can tell the difference between lip service and words meant from the heart.”
“Yes, but I’m still not following—”
“You saw my paintings, not my name, so I judged you more leniently. In truth, though, Fiona also factored into my decision. She assured me you weren’t a loose-lipped sort of person.”
“Fiona?”
“I hope you won’t betray her trust?”
“Of course I won’t.” Knowing that Fiona lauded Giles as someone she could trust warmed his heart, even under these odd circumstances. At the same time, however, an unidentified emotion began to well up within him.
What is this? Giles thought. He kept up his end of the conversation while he examined his feelings, willing Reginald not to notice. Finally, he arrived at the answer:
Longing. He wanted more.
The revelation surprised him. His relationship with Fiona had begun with a contract. All that was required between them was trust. He knew he shouldn’t want anything more from it. And yet…
Reginald leaned back on the desk again, tapping it with his fingertips. The noise brought Giles’s focus back into the room.
“There are many reasons why I hide my true identity,” Reginald said in a casual tone, staring up at the ceiling. Giles nodded, reining in his racing thoughts. “The main reason is to save myself the hassle. I just want to paint; I don’t want to be rich or famous. It may be uncouth to say so, but I have more than enough money saved to live on. If you ask me, there’s nothing worse than having to schmooze with people or do business with art galleries.”
In Giles’s experience, all artists lived in a different world from normal people, and Reginald, it seemed, was no exception. Reginald laughed breezily, but Giles sensed the strength in him—his inner core guided him to pursue his passion as if it were a primal instinct.
“And sure, it’s better to have money than not to, but I’d rather not have to deal with people I don’t know in the pursuit of it. I’d rather sell my stuff for cheap at a street stall than do that.” Reginald proceeded to admit that he’d once tossed a painting to a kid during his travels because “I didn’t want to bother carrying it,” and Giles’s head started to hurt. “For a while, I tried leaving my business in the hands of a few random art brokers, but there were always delivery issues, and I got stiffed a few times.”
“Isn’t that a bit of a sloppy business model?” Giles asked.
“Ha ha! You’re a smart man. Yes, Fiona gave me an earful about it, so now I let her and Roche handle all my business.” He explained that with steady investigations and negotiations, Fiona and Roche had recovered the paintings Reginald had carelessly parted with. It sounded to Giles like it took a lot of perseverance to wrangle the hassle born of Reginald’s hatred of hassle.
Reginald fell silent then, an expectant look in his eyes. Sensing he was being tested, Giles asked, “Raymond Bailey… Is that a pseudonym? I’ve never heard the name Bailey mentioned by the nobility in the royal capital, and it’s not Fiona’s mother’s maiden name.”
Every fact about Raymond the artist was thoroughly concealed, from his personal details to his physical appearance. It was hard to believe that Reginald went to such lengths solely to avoid dealing with people.
At the onset of his fake romance with Fiona, Giles had researched the Clayburn family, just to be safe. Once he’d determined their good character, he deemed further investigation unnecessary. However, the name Bailey never once appeared in the records.
Reginald gave Giles’s question a satisfied smile and folded his arms. “Ooh, that’s a great question. I got the name Bailey from my great-great-grandmother. I’ve been cut off from the family, so I couldn’t use the family name.” So that was the other reason Raymond the artist remained out of the public eye: his relationship with his family. Reginald was the sole heir to Fiona’s mother’s family line. “The way the story goes, the debaucherous heir to the family was disowned. He vanished and was missing for years, and then he died.”
“Is that so,” Giles said slowly.
“My cousin inherited the family line. If they found out that the true heir is not only alive but also a famous artist, that would cause trouble for my parents and cousin, you know? Ah, and in case I wasn’t clear—don’t contact my family.”
“I won’t.”
“I figured you wouldn’t. So…what’s your story?”
Reginald’s voice suddenly oozed with implication. Giles’s defenses shot up. “What do you mean?” he asked coldly.
“Come on. You’re hiding something, aren’t you?” It was an assertion disguised as a question.
He thought for a moment that Reginald was referring to Giles’s false romance with Fiona, but she had assured Giles that she hadn’t breathed a word of their arrangement to her uncle.
Reginald’s head-on stare stripped Giles, exposing his secrets and innermost feelings. Ah, Giles thought, suddenly understanding how it was that this man was a great artist. That explains how his paintings capture the heart.
In no mood to wait for Giles’s answer, Reginald steered the conversation forward on his own. “Fiona is a good girl, but you are of a different class from her. I don’t think you’ve laid the groundwork or possess the grit necessary to bridge that gap.”
When Giles reported Minister Saquille’s scheme to his father, he’d been told that he lacked the grit to make Fiona his. “How dare you,” Giles managed, struggling to form words in his outrage. Reginald, heedless, unfolded his arms and jabbed an index finger into the middle of Giles’s chest.
“You would never have even met her if something hadn’t brought you together.” The subtext of Reginald’s words—you’re too different—was inarguably correct.
As her uncle and as an artist, Reginald’s bond with Fiona would never be severed. That fact filled Giles’s heart with an indescribable indignation and fear. It was a bit different from the sense of longing he felt earlier. This was a haze that filled his heart like a dark storm cloud. He knew it was insecurity.
Reginald slid his finger up Giles’s chest, then gripped his chin and tilted it upward. The act was the epitome of disrespect, but Reginald was a renegade operating outside the class system, so this was of no concern to him. Giles couldn’t find it in his heart to rebuke him for it.
“Are you listening?” Reginald asked sweetly. “My Fiona can walk on her own two feet. She says that’s what she wants. And if you intend to rob her of what makes her Fiona, I will tear you away from her with my bare hands—and gladly so.”
Reginald locked his gaze firmly on Giles. He wore an exaggerated, flamboyant smile on his face, but his eyes were all ice and no emotion. Giles swallowed hard. He had rarely felt this intimidated before.
“I don’t mind if you court her,” Reginald continued. “But if you want to pursue a future with her, can you be sure Fiona will be happy?”
He was saying nothing that Giles didn’t already know. It was Fiona’s independence that had attracted him to her.
Wait. I’m attracted to her?
Yes. He was attracted to her as a human being…and as a woman. Realizing it now, after all this time—that he cared for Fiona, this woman who had something he lacked—took his breath away.
The way Fiona looked. Her voice. The way she tucked her hand in his arm. Even the way she blinked her eyes. The vivid images of her that were appearing in his mind clinched it, and he started to comprehend just how important she had become to him.
Reginald’s aggressive stance had Giles holding his silence so as not to provoke Reginald further, but his heart was anything but quiet.
I’m in love with Fiona. Now that he’d acknowledged it, everything was falling into place. When did I come to feel this way? Oh, surely from the very start. Otherwise, I never would have been able to pretend to be her lover.
“I was only a minor nobleman, but I was forced to erase my entire existence in order to defy my family’s wishes as their heir and live my own life,” Reginald said, his voice resonating in Giles’s ears. “You carry the weight of the Bancroft earldom on your shoulders. Are you truly capable of doing what it takes?”
Of course I…
A long silence filled the room. It was ultimately broken not by the forceful Reginald, but by Giles.
“You’re right,” Giles admitted. “At present, I’m not prepared. I won’t deny that.”
“Thought so,” Reginald singsonged.
With a slight, elegant toss of his head, Giles freed his chin from Reginald’s grasp. A mesmerizing smile took over his handsome face, and Reginald made an inquisitive sound. Giles said, “That was a very illuminating piece of advice. I owe my father an apology.”
“Hmm? Wait, what?” Reginald asked. Giles looked like a heavy weight had just been lifted from his shoulders, but his relief was contrasted by Reginald’s wide-eyed shock. The predator had just become the prey. “Wait a minute. That’s…unexpected.”
“Oh?”
“Oh, don’t be so aloof. Ah! Say, can I ask ya something?”
“What is it?” Giles gently brushed and straightened his jacket. His mind was already elsewhere, as if his conversation with Reginald were already over.
“Just a hunch, but were you unaware you’re in lo—”
A knock on the office door cut Reginald’s question off. He and Giles both turned around with a start just in time to see Fiona walk in.
“Fiona,” they gasped.
Fiona answered with a mysterious little smile. “Pardon me, gentlemen. Uncle, sorry, I just need to scoot behind you.” She made her way to the cabinet behind Reginald to retrieve some documents. “Mrs. Bennett is waiting, so I’m not staying. She wants the auction date and the list of items to be sold… Aha! Here it is.”
When she held the papers aloft triumphantly, Giles whipped them from her hand.
“Lord Giles?”
“I’ll come with you,” Giles said. “I still haven’t thanked Mrs. Bennett for sewing your clothes so quickly.”
“You, um, want to do that now?” Fiona asked, confused. Giles marched out of the room with the documents, and she scrambled after him. “Um, but I thought you and Uncle were in the middle of a conversation.”
“We just finished.”
“Y-you did?”
Giles grabbed her thin hand. “It’s not a problem,” he assured her, then steered her toward the reception room in which Mrs. Bennett was waiting.
Behind them, Reginald said, “Aww, well, guess I’ll join you.” He sounded dissatisfied.
“We can’t leave the precious art in this room unguarded,” Giles snapped back. “You must be tired from your travels. You stay in here and take a break. If you’ll excuse me.”
There was a politeness in Giles’s curt rejection, but he had the air of a man that would not take no for an answer. Fiona was still bewildered by the series of events, but between the waiting guest and Giles’s firm grip, she had no choice but to leave. “Um, well, anyway, I’ve got to go. See you later, Uncle!”
The door to the office banged shut, and Reginald heard their footsteps grow faint as they walked away. Left alone in the quiet room, Reginald slowly lowered his arm, which was still raised in protest of the couple’s quick exit. He floated over to the sofa and flopped onto it, then leaned back against the backrest and stared at the ceiling, his sigh gradually changing to laughter. “Ah, now it all makes sense. Ha ha…ha ha ha!”
Giles was in love with Fiona. Reginald had seen that in Giles’s eyes the moment they met. The heir to an earl and the daughter of a local baron—the gap in social status between them was uncrossable. It was understandable that Fiona would tread carefully around him, but intuition told him there was something else altogether standing between them.
When Reginald caught wind of a secret, he wanted to expose it. That was his nature. Regardless, if Giles did not want to tell Fiona about his feelings for her, Reginald would respect his wishes.
That didn’t mean, of course, that Reginald had no concerns regarding the man’s sense of restraint. Reginald did not like noblemen, but he understood their minds. He knew that Giles was the sort of man who rarely discussed his feelings. But for his part, Reginald was an unrestrained and half-baked nobleman, and a stranger besides. He’d thought that one blunt attack from him would be all it would take for Giles’s mask to slip, and then he would hear Giles’s true feelings.
“Hoo boy,” he said to himself. “And here I thought I’d make him either lose his temper or blurt out a secret.” Giles’s actual reaction had been outside the realm of Reginald’s expectations. How could Giles not have noticed just how deeply in love he was? Was it even possible for a man to be that oblivious? “So much for my plan. Maybe I should’ve just let him be.”
Had Giles remained unaware of his feelings, his relationship with Fiona might have ended during Reginald’s visit to the capital. But now that Giles acknowledged his feelings, it was anyone’s guess what he might do. Reginald felt like a man who’d reached into a hole out of idle curiosity and yanked out a giant snake.
Baron Clayburn was clearly worried about their courtship. Reginald’s brother-in-law was a doting father who would undoubtedly find fault with any man who courted his daughter, but he had been worried enough about Giles to pull Reginald aside and tell him,“I’d sooner you whisked my daughter away overseas than have her marry into the Bancroft family.” He was reluctantly accommodating of Fiona leaving the house, but he never offered his direct support for her relationship with Giles. Looking at it that way, it became clear how trapped he felt.
The arranged marriage with Norman had been decided because the baron wanted a distant relation to marry into the Clayburn family. Reginald had not been consulted for his opinion on the matter. Had he been invited to share it, he would have discouraged the union. In his view, Fiona and Norman acted like sister and brother, nothing more. Frankly, expecting Fiona to remain at home or marrying her off to another noble house was consigning her to far too dull a life.
Reginald cared nothing about appearances, but if traveling the world with Fiona as his assistant proved to be too difficult, he wouldn’t have minded marrying her, if only in name. That was how fond he was of his niece. Putting that aside, though, he knew that Fiona was more than capable of thriving in an earl’s house. She would be judged harshly for her inexperience in high society, and she couldn’t exactly count on material support from her family, but her husband could make up for that with his support.
Then there was the big brother side of him that wanted his niece to live a comfortable life within her means and without any needless strain. That was familial love; Reginald would not bother denying it, though it was difficult for him to empathize.
When he saw Fiona again for the first time after a long absence, he noticed that she had changed—not physically, but emotionally. Her amber eyes went soft whenever she talked about Giles. Reginald recognized that look, having seen it in his sister after she met her husband-to-be, but his keen eye did not miss the sad tinge to Fiona’s gaze. The light in her eyes when she looked at Giles was cool like moonlight, and he did not know why.
“If the worst happens,” he murmured, “I’ll have to apologize to my brother-in-law.”
How would the chips fall? He was eager to find out.
Reginald gazed at the paintings on the table, and his lips quirked up in a cheeky smile.
***
Fiona glanced up at Giles, walking beside her down the hallway. She had thanked him politely when he offered to go with her to deliver the documents, but there was a questioning look in her eyes.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Nothing. It’s just…you seem calmer than before. Your mood is different.”
Giles touched his face—not that doing so would tell him anything, but he supposed it was possible that he was displaying some outward sign of the confusing change he had just undergone. “I’m different?”
“Yes, a little different from when I first saw you in the office. I, um, just assumed that my uncle’s sudden request to see you had caused you some stress.”
From this cryptic explanation, Giles surmised that Fiona had thought he was feeling either tired or defensive. Giles himself had thought he was acting normal enough, but there was probably a tension in him that showed through. “Nothing to worry about,” he assured her. “I’m glad I got to speak with your uncle here today.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear it. But I’m really sorry if—”
“Fiona.” He stopped her before the door to the parlor, pressing a finger to her lips to silence her. An apology was not what he sought. His touch softened, and Fiona’s eyes went wide. She seemed frozen to the spot. “I don’t need an apology. I had to make a few adjustments, but I haven’t done anything I didn’t want to do.”
Fiona, like the hallway itself, was dimly illuminated with afternoon light. He peered searchingly into her eyes. Giles knew that there was plenty about his looks that he should be grateful for, but he’d never cared for the icy color of his eyes. Fiona’s more common amber eyes held a warmth that his lacked.
Fiona’s gaze darted around nervously for a moment before settling on a spot slightly to the side of Giles, and a red flush flooded her white cheeks. Satisfied by this, Giles removed his finger from her lips.
“R-really, Lord Giles!” Fiona chided him in a burst of pent-up nerves.
“Gil.”
“Huh?”
“We’re much closer now. Call me Gil.”
“Wha—?! B-but—”
How much longer are you going to treat me like a stranger? Giles thought but did not ask aloud. Duly chided, Fiona was rendered speechless. Giles was relieved to see that she looked reluctant but not repulsed.
Fiona’s fondness for Giles was largely based on respect. It was, first and foremost, the proper attitude to display toward someone with whom one shared a contract, and a contract was a contract. One wrong move would be all it took for Giles to lose the trust that Fiona—the one person he could believe in—had placed in him.
The blame lay with Giles for falling in love with Fiona, and now that he had that feeling, he couldn’t bear to lose it. As Reginald had said, they might easily have never even met.
Giles still held her left hand. He felt the ring on her finger and pictured her watch in his pocket. Suddenly, he knew what he should do. He leaned in close so that he could whisper intimately in her ear. “You know, with your uncle here, it’s best we be thorough. Come on, Fiona…say it.”
Fiona’s eyes went wide once more, her lashes fluttering wildly. He continued to coax. She opened her mouth and shut it again numerous times, but finally, he heard a faint, uncertain murmur escape her lips. “Lord…Gil.”
That alone was enough to fill the space in his heart that had been empty all those years. Giles knew he was being ridiculously single-minded, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. “Say it again.”
“L-Lord Gil.”
“Good. But drop the Lord.”
“I can’t!”
“Then say it one more time.” This is getting dangerous, he thought. Her bright-red face was so adorable, the tears of embarrassment welling in her eyes so tantalizing, he was tempted to keep making her say his name, over and over. “Come on. Fiona?”
“St-stop!”
“Uh…what’re you doing?”
They whirled to find Rudolph pushing a cart in their direction, a tea set balanced atop it. Down the hall from him was Dennis, whose mouth was opening and closing in a panic with no actual sound coming out.
“We get it,” Rudolph continued, “you guys are in love, but if you’ve gotta be gooey with each other, get a room.”
“G-gooey?!” Fiona stammered.
“Anyway, sorry to butt in, but can you let us by? I’ve got my hands full here,” said Rudolph.
“Y-yes, of course!”
Whispering a silent thank you to her savior, Fiona whirled around, put her back to Giles, opened the parlor doors, and let Rudolph in.
“Tough break,” Giles murmured.
“L-Lord Gil! Enough of your jokes,” she hissed.
“I wasn’t joking,” he whispered back, taking the door from her.
Even after Fiona entered the room, the redness did not leave her cheeks.
Chapter 5: Invitation to the Ball
Chapter 5:
Invitation to the Ball
IT WAS THE DAY of the queen’s royal ball, and it was chaos in Fiona’s room at the Clayburn barony.
“Mmph! P-please, no more… I can’t…”
“Oh, no you don’t. Come on, big breath out! One, two, three!”
Her pleas rejected, Fiona obediently surrendered the air from her lungs. The woman pulling the strings of her corset so tight it defied the laws of physics was Marianne, who had become a seamstress at Maison de Michele’s shop.
“What do you think, my lady? I can still pull it tighter.”
“M-Marianne, I’m done!”
“Yes, I think we can leave her there,” Mrs. Bennett said, bringing an end to the torture. Fiona sighed in relief.
That day, there was a real struggle to determine who would help Fiona get ready for the ball. For the royal commendation, the Marchioness Heyward and Giles’s older sister, Miranda, had gleefully taken Fiona under their wing and beautified her, but they would attend the ball as guests themselves. They had their own preparations to attend to and could not devote their time to Fiona. When the two of them bickered over who would get the honors anyway—with Miranda offering to send her maids and then the Marchioness Heyward insisting she did have time to personally attend to Fiona after all—Mrs. Bennett gracefully pushed her way past both of them to save the day. “I know you’ll show off my dress more beautifully than anyone else,” she’d declared confidently, setting the wheels in motion.
On the day of the ball, Mrs. Bennett had arrived at the Clayburn house with one of her seamstresses and Marianne in tow. They were now in the process of dressing Fiona. Unfortunately, Fiona was already exhausted, and all they’d done so far was get her underthings on. Getting dressed for the royal commendation was a similar ordeal, but this is brutal!
During her stay at Heyward march, she had grown accustomed to the feel of corsets, but when it came time for her fitting, the dressmaker showed her no mercy. Fiona was not so constricted that she might faint, but according to Marianne, most people wore their corsets even tighter.
Fiona had lost her mother at a young age and grown up free in the countryside, so she’d had nobody around to scold her for not dressing like a proper lady. Moreover, her greatly beloved late-mother’s dresses had been designed to be gentle on the body. Having never had any real reason to change the way she dressed, Fiona could hardly be blamed for being uncomfortable with the conventional styles. She’d known the dress would be uncomfortable to wear, but even so, this dressing process was hard on her.
“Oh, Sister, you’re going to be so beautiful,” Cecelia cooed.
“That’s right, dear, suck it in!”
“Cecelia… Olga… You two are having fun at my expense, aren’t you?”
Fiona beseeched them with tears in her eyes, but her friend and little sister were unmoved. They sat there like spectators of a sport.
“Well, it is fun!” Olga chirped. “Right, Cecelia?”
“Oh yes, very!”
Meanwhile, I can hardly breathe, Fiona grumbled silently.
The daughter of a small baron attending a royal ball for the highest of the nobility was as unprecedented an event as they came. Only the carefree smiles of her two companions kept Fiona positive when all she felt like doing was withering away.
Mrs. Bennett gave her seamstress instructions on corsage placement, then weighed in on the argument. “Dressing up is a way of satisfying our innate desire to be in the spotlight, not just to show off our family’s good standing. Of course, I can’t say that I’m not also keen on the good publicity you’ll give Maison.”
“Yes, I understand,” Fiona said. Just as Mrs. Bennett said, beautiful clothing held a deeper significance that transcended the institution of fashion. An event was colored, and its success influenced, by the fineries its attendees wore. To dress elegantly was also a symbol of loyalty and devotion to the host—the queen—and to the royal family as a whole.
Mrs. Bennett, Marianne, and the seamstress were also taking their time to construct a perfect appearance for Fiona out of consideration for her confidence. She understood this and was grateful for it.
Mrs. Bennett glanced at the clock. “Oh dear, look at the time. Let’s take a short break.”
“Good idea,” said Marianne. “Fiona, you should get something to eat now while you can.” Draping a dressing gown over Fiona’s shoulders and loosening her corset slightly, she looked like a goddess to Fiona.
As if on cue, Olga produced a basket. “I’ve brought some biscuits and sandwiches. I cut them small so they’d be easy to eat.”
“Ooh! Thanks, Olga.”
“I’ll go make some tea,” said Cecilia.
“Cecelia, could you go check on Flora for me?” Fiona asked. Marianne’s husband, Kyle, was away on business, so Marianne had brought their daughter, Flora, with her. Flora was in the parlor on the first floor, being cared for by the baron and Fiona’s uncle—under Hans’s supervision, of course.
“Flora’s fine,” Marianne assured Ceceila, adopting a motherly tone. “I heard her babbling happily earlier.” Cecilia scurried out of the room all the same.
The dressing room had, in fact, been graced occasionally by the baby’s happy squeals and snippets of the counting songs Fiona’s father was singing to the baby. Flora’s shyness had proved an issue only at first. Thankfully, she recognized the baron’s face, making the babysitting an easy affair without any anguished crying.
“But won’t she be missing her mommy about now?” Fiona asked.
“She actually seems to prefer her grandpa,” Marianne replied. Ever since their reunion at the Clayburn house, Marianne had paid frequent visits to her father Talbott’s home, and her father’s dedicated, albeit clumsy, attempts at pampering Flora had won her heart. Fiona and Marianne exchanged amused grins, each picturing the sour-faced Talbott in the domestic role of grandfather. “I really owe everything to you, Fiona.”
Fiona cocked her head dubiously. “But I haven’t done anything. I only gave you a space to meet.”
Marianne and Mrs. Bennett rolled their eyes at each other. “Fiona, you could stand to be less modest,” Lady Bennet told her.
“But I’m hardly a pinnacle of altruism and integrity.”
“I’m not suggesting you’re a selfless martyr. It’s not your actions, it’s your philosophy. In your career and in your personal life.”
“Oh, don’t be silly.” Fiona knew that Mrs. Bennett meant well, but the compliment still made her feel a little guilty. Fiona had cooked up a fake romance to avoid getting engaged to Norman; in her view, she was selfishness personified.
But even Olga was nodding in heartfelt agreement. “Absolutely. You aren’t exactly naive, so I’m sure you aren’t an easy target for deception, but you can be oddly reckless at times, Fiona. Just try not to get yourself caught up in something strange. Here, have a sandwich.”
“Um… Uh… Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind. Did you make these, Olga? They look scrumptious.”
Feeling a little awkward, Fiona gingerly took the sandwich while reflecting on recent events. Don’t get caught up in something strange, huh?
Fiona’s connection to the incident with the warring factions in parliament was not public knowledge. The official report had mentioned a “person connected with a gallery,” but only a small handful of people knew that the person in question was Fiona. This was one of the reasons her commendation ceremony had been conducted in private. Olga, of course, was not privy to the details of the counterfeit art scandal, nor her fake romance with Giles, but Fiona could not deny that both of these things could be called strange.
She had mentally prepared herself for the difficulty of keeping such a big secret from her best friend, but it weighed heavily on her heart. She knew, however, that if she confided in Olga, Olga would only worry about her. Even setting the counterfeit painting scheme aside, Olga getting caught up in a scandal about her fake romance with Giles was something Fiona wanted to avoid at any cost.
Besides, their agreement would be over soon. The royal ball that night would signal the end of the social season in the royal capital. After the party, the nobles would return to their respective territories for the rest of the year. Well, houses with further business to conduct—like the Heywards and the Bancrofts—might remain in the capital a while longer, but smaller noble families like Fiona’s were generally finished once the season ended. The Clayburns were scheduled to return to their barony within the week.
After the royal ball, I’ll return his ring, he’ll return my watch…and our fake romance will end.
Truly, their agreement had yielded results beyond their wildest dreams. Fiona’s engagement to Norman was done for, and Fiona was told that Norman was relieved that it “ended before it ever was.” As for Giles, he’d seen a significant decrease in unwanted advances and marriage proposals. Fiona had heard that his parents had stopped bringing up the topic of marriage at all.
At the royal ball that night—a ball she never could have dreamed of attending before all this began—their little charade would come to an end.
She ought to have been happy about it, but for some reason, the thought weighed on her shoulders and dampened her spirits. She had no appetite and could only nibble at the delicious sandwiches Olga had made. Her only silver lining was that everyone would assume her subdued behavior was due to her nerves and her tight corset, and they wouldn’t think twice about it.
When Cecelia returned with the cup of hot tea, Fiona took it and inhaled its comforting scent.
“The royal ball is to be held at the White Palace rather than the royal palace. Do you know what sort of place it is?” Olga asked dreamily of the place with a beautiful name.
“It’s constructed mostly of white marble,” Marianne explained. “There’s also a big crystal chandelier in the great hall, and the building is like a beautiful gemstone. That’s what my father told me, anyway.”
The White Palace stood beside a small lake outside the royal capital. The region on which the palace stood had escaped the ravages of war and was ordinarily restricted to visitors. This would be Fiona’s first time there.
“Each of the many ballrooms in the palace has its own dance,” Marianne continued. “The great hall is reserved only for waltzes.”
“Have you been to a ball there, Marianne?” Olga asked.
“No, I just went to see it once, briefly.” Marianne was a daughter of House Talbott, and her father was the former prime minister. Under normal circumstances, a woman like her would be getting ready to attend the royal ball herself, not helping Fiona. But she had eloped with Kyle, a common-born soldier, before her official debut into high society—so she never received an invitation to any kind of social functions for nobles. “Oh, but don’t misunderstand me. I want to see the White Palace for inspiration in my sewing. I don’t want to actually attend the royal ball,” Marianne added confidently. “I’ve had and caused my fair share of difficulties but regret nothing. Besides, if Kyle and Flora aren’t welcome there, that place is no home to me.”
“Well spoken,” Fiona said.
Marianne is so beautiful, Fiona thought. She wore a plain dress, the sort of thing she would never have touched as a noblewoman. The sun had bleached her hair and tanned her skin, but the sparkle never left her eyes, and her voice was always strong and confident. On her vibrant face lay the satisfied smile of someone who had discarded her past and now lived in the present.
Fiona beheld her own reflection in the mirror behind Marianne. As for me…I’m not so sure anymore. She was beautifully adorned in the finest dress, about to attend a royal ball that women like her never attended. Sure, she looked the part, but she didn’t feel it. She looked down, her eyes falling on the ring on her left hand. When this was all over, would she be able to forget?
She saw Giles’s face in her mind and thought, He’s changed again. He’s a bit different from before. There was no dramatic change, and she couldn’t quite put her finger on what exactly she was noticing. He just felt…closer to her, somehow.
No, he’s always been too close for comfort! But now he’s close in a different way.
Now that her coconspirator wanted her to call him by a nickname to help sell their romance, Fiona felt as if she were constantly playing defense. She wanted a chance to redeem herself, but that was easier said than done.
Tonight is the final event. I need to do my best.
If they made a firm enough case that they were deeply in love, the rumors about them would last all the way until the next social season. Fiona was confident of that. She had only one concern: Could she play her part well enough?
She heaved a quiet sigh, which the others in the room misinterpreted. Mrs. Bennett beamed radiantly at Fiona, coaxing her along. “Come, come, let’s get you in that dress. Don’t you worry, I’ll take good care of you.”
“Yes, let’s!” Marianne said. “Once you get dressed, we still have your makeup to do!”
“Oh, Marianne,” Olga cut in, “Cecelia and I will take care of her hair. Go be with Flora, won’t you?”
“Thanks, Olga. I’ll take you up on that.”
The chatter brought Fiona’s mind back to reality, and she looked down at herself with a sheepish smile. “You know, I’m only just realizing…I’m still in my underwear.” This time, she let herself heave a proper sigh.
They ought to have had plenty of time to get ready, but by the time Olga and Cecelia finished doing Fiona’s hair, it was nearly time to depart.
It’s over, Fiona thought, calming herself with a few deliberate breaths. Thank goodness she hadn’t done what she’d been tempted to do and ask Mrs. Bennett if they could start later. The cosmetics drape was removed from her neck, and as she stood from her seat, she received an adoring cry: “Oh, Sister, you’re so beautiful!”
“You look lovely, Fiona,” Olga agreed. Her eyes were lit up just like Cecilia’s. Mrs. Bennett gave a satisfied nod and thanked her assistant for making all the detailed adjustments.
“Thank you all so much,” Fiona said, feeling bashful from the praise. “This dress and the makeup are really doing all the work.”
“The dress is nothing without the lovely person wearing it,” Mrs. Bennett insisted. “You look a treat in it—better than I even imagined you would.”
Mrs. Bennett’s masterpiece from Maison de Michele was too gorgeous for words. It was a ball gown with a bodice that contoured perfectly to Fiona’s body and a full-length skirt that billowed down into a wide puff. It was a perfect dress for a royal ball. The decollete was quite open—it was meant for a nighttime function, after all—but the short sleeves, which lay just off the shoulders, kept it from exposing too much skin, so Fiona felt safe moving in it. The most notable element of the dress, however, had to be gradation of color. The light gold at the bust melted gradually into a smoky blue as the fabric traveled down Fiona’s body, evoking the image of a pool of water under a sunset.
Mrs. Bennett and the dress’s designer had both insisted upon that special bolt of fabric, and the deal had been sealed when Giles and Fiona visited Maison and Giles liked the fabric at first sight. The lustrous pale gold silk matched the tone of Fiona’s hair and eyes and brought out the color in her complexion, and the golden embroidery adorning the skirt’s hem beautifully accentuated the yellow diamond in Fiona’s ring.
The beautiful dress was, in design and composition, flawless—or it should have been. It’s beautiful, but now that I’m wearing it, I can’t ignore it, Fiona thought, looking down at the hem of her skirt in bewilderment.
Marianne returned to the room with Flora in her arms and a suggestive glimmer in her smile. “You know, Fiona, while I embroidered that skirt, I thought to myself, my, this blue does resemble Lord Lowell’s eyes.”
“Marianne, don’t remind me.”
“Aww, there’s no need to be shy!”
“Olga, please…”
That was the problem. The beautiful grayish-blue of the dress, which so resembled the twilit sky, made her think of Giles’s eyes. She knew that dressing to match her partner was the correct move for their charade, but it filled her with an inexplicable anxiety. How could it not? They were not lovers, nor were they promised to one another. Their relationship was a sham. She couldn’t help but feel wretched, wearing that beautiful gown.
Unable to stand the stares of the women around her, she looked in the mirror and realized something was missing: In the design she’d been shown, there was supposed to be a corsage at her chest. Touching her unadorned neckline, she turned to Mrs. Bennett. “Mrs. Bennett, wasn’t there supposed to be a corsage here?”
“Oh, the corsage is attached. Look.” Mrs. Bennett pointed at Fiona’s back in the mirror, and Fiona craned her neck and saw that there was indeed a corsage at her waist.
“Ah, so it is.” The skirt was gathered at the center in the back, with the corsage right at the spot where the folds started. It looked as if the dress had been designed that way all along. “So you moved it to the back. It’s very pretty there.”
“Well, I don’t like it when the embellishments copy each other.”
Copy each other?
Mrs. Bennett shot a secretive glance out the window, and Fiona surmised that Mrs. Bennett had some other, more legitimate reason for the change. Fiona didn’t know what that reason might be, but she was a fashion dunce, so she kept her mouth shut, figuring it best to leave fashion to the experts.
“Sister, give us a twirl!” Cecilia insisted.
“Yes, Flora wants to see it too,” said Marianne.
“Oh, you girls are so silly.” Fiona smirked and twirled obligingly so that Flora, who was giggling in Marianne’s arms, could see.
The merriment was interrupted by a knock at the door.
“Lady Fiona!” Hans breathed in wonder. “How beautiful you look! Oh, I am so happy to see how you’ve grown up!” He beamed proudly, clearly pleased to have been able to see her in the dress before his master had a chance.
“Oh, um, thank you, Hans,” Fiona said. She looked at the clock, panicked. “Father and Uncle must be impatient by now. I was just about to go downstairs.”
“Yes, of course,” Hans said. “But before you go, Lady Fiona, I must inform you that Lord Lowell has arrived.”
He made an apologetic gesture and swung the door behind him wide open. There stood Giles, immaculately adorned in his finest.
Oh… Wow…
His jet-black tailcoat made him look every inch the wealthy scion. Everyone in the room blushed at the sight of him, not just Fiona. His chiseled face was handsome as always, but Fiona’s eyes batted dumbly at the sight of his suit, which was far manlier than what he wore at the prince’s party where she first met him.
Giles had entered the room jovially, but as soon as he laid eyes on Fiona, he became just as speechless as her. They stood still, staring at each other. When they finally spoke, they did so in the same moment.
“You’re beautiful,” Giles said.
“You look beautiful,” Fiona blurted.
Their delayed confessions overlapped each other, and both of them looked away nervously.
“S-sorry,” Fiona stammered, pressing her hands to her red cheeks.
“Uh, likewise,” Giles replied. There was a softness in his voice.
Sensing this was not the Icy Scion they knew, the ladies jumped out of their seats.
“Well, we’d better leave you two alone.”
“Olga?” Fiona asked.
“Yes, time to retreat!” said Marianne.
Cecilia said, “See you later, Sister.”
“Huh? Wait a minute. Marianne, Cecelia?”
The three ladies scurried away with Hans, leaving Mrs. Bennett and her assistant behind with Giles and Fiona. Mrs. Bennett took a step forward and said, “So good to see you, Lord Lowell. You took so long we were beginning to worry.”
“Do forgive me. I just received it earlier today.”
What are they talking about? Fiona cocked her head curiously. She gleaned from the exchange that Mrs. Bennett and Giles had made some sort of arrangement, but she had no guess as to what it was.
All was revealed, however, when Giles produced a thin box and opened it before Fiona’s eyes. Atop the black velvet inside lay a gorgeous necklace.
“That looks lovely,” Mrs. Bennett remarked. “Quick, try it on.”
“E-excuse me?”
Mrs. Bennett whirled Fiona around and Giles draped the necklace around her neck from behind. Wait, Fiona thought, give me a minute! She stood there, wide-eyed, her spine tingling from Giles’s sudden proximity and the faint feeling of his fingertips on her neck as he finished fastening the necklace. It was of an antique design, with beautiful golden flowers and tiny pearls strung together like lace. There was a yellow diamond at the center that matched her ring.
Mrs. Bennett took a step back to admire Fiona and breathed an awed sigh. “It’s absolutely perfect in length, size, and color. What excellent craftsmanship.” She was right: The chain elegantly hugged the line of Fiona’s clavicle, beautifully adorning her chest. It was a perfect match for the dress.
“I am relieved to hear you say that,” Giles said.
“I changed the position of the corsage to accommodate this necklace. It’s a good thing it’s this magnificent.”
Giles chuckled. “Harsh words, my lady, but you are a professional.”
So that was it. Mrs. Bennett had changed the dress design to go with Giles’s necklace. It all made sense to Fiona now, but she had little time to contemplate it. What should I do? This is too much!
The jewelry was not just delicate; it was also expensive. What if she dropped it or snagged it on something? The mere thought made her shudder.
Mrs. Bennett and her assistant bowed to Fiona and Giles and left, leaving them alone in the room. After a long silence, Giles murmured anxiously, “Is it not to your liking?”
“Th-that’s neither here nor there. I don’t remember you telling me about this!”
“Well, that’s because I didn’t tell you.”
Fiona had thought that the look of the dress was too simple when the corsage was removed from the bust, but she would have never have imagined this was why Mrs. Bennett made the change. She raised both hands gingerly, terrified to even touch the necklace, and Giles snickered.
“Truth be told, I was going to get you matching earrings.”
“O-out of the question!”
“I figured you’d say that, and Mrs. Bennett said the same.”
“You saw right through me…”
Giles offered his hand as he always did, and for all Fiona’s groaning, she obediently took it. As they walked, she looked up uncomfortably, and Giles smiled softly back. His gaze reminded her of that moment at the opera when he held her close, and her heart began to pound.
“It suits you,” Giles said. “You should wear it all the time.” The directness of Giles’s words left Fiona at a loss. What was she supposed to say to that? It was not a command from a nobleman or a future earl; it was an innocent request from a man. Fiona couldn’t argue with that.
Even more alarming than his words, however, was his gaze. Fiona knew that if she looked into his eyes for a moment longer, the memory she was supposed to have forgotten would come rushing back.
“All right,” she conceded finally. “But if it starts to fall off, you must tell me.”
“I promise.”
“D-don’t laugh! This isn’t funny! But, um…thank you. It’s beautiful. I’ve never worn such a nice necklace before…”
She looked down to hide her burning cheeks and caught sight of Giles’s wrists. Shining on his cuffs were a pair of familiar black cuff links.
These cuff links…
Noticing Fiona’s gaze, Giles flipped up his jacket sleeve and showed her. The onyx cuff links with the earl’s crest—they looked just as Fiona remembered them. “Did you put them on yourself?” she asked him.
“No, Dalton did it for me.”
The cuff links were old, and there was a trick to putting them on. The night of the prince’s party, Giles lost them because he tried to adjust them himself—or so Fiona had later been told. If the Bancroft’s reliable butler had fastened them for him this time, though, there was no need to worry about them falling off. Fiona smiled, regaining a little of her composure. “Well, I suppose you won’t take them off at all tonight, then.”
Giles raised an eyebrow as he walked. “As long as you’re the only woman I dance with.”
“But you have to dance with other—”
“I won’t.”
He sounded unconcerned, but this was a formal royal ball, not a common soirée. Attendees were expected to dance with many partners. “What about the quadrille and reel?” Fiona asked.
“I’ll only dance the waltz.”
“Lord Gil…you seem strangely resistant to changing your opinion on this.”
“And I have no desire to change.”
“Please don’t be so stubborn.” Fiona burst out laughing at his bullheadedness, and Giles’s cheeks softened in turn.
Laughing, they descended the staircase together to find everyone waiting for them in the entrance hall. So many oohs and aahs came their way that it was difficult to tell which were for the beautifully adorned young lady and which were for the obvious smile her escort was aiming at her. In the sea of merry faces, however, Fiona’s father’s frown stood out like a sore thumb.
Fiona and Giles came to a stop in front of him. “It is an honor to escort Fiona tonight, my lord,” Giles said respectfully.
“Y-yes, quite,” said the baron. “Take good care of her. Fiona…you look beautiful. Your mother would have loved to see you like this.”
“Father,” Fiona murmured, rapidly blinking back tears. Because his love for her was so big that he could drown in it, her father rarely mentioned his late wife. To hear him do so now had Fiona choked up.
Reginald came to her rescue, pushing himself between Fiona and her father. “Brother dearest, that sounds like something a father would say to his girl on her wedding day, don’t you think?”
“Wha—b-but I didn’t mean—”
This teasing was effective at drying Fiona’s eyes. Her father took out his handkerchief and wobbled away, busily dabbing at his own eyes and his brow.
Reginald glanced at Giles, then smiled sweetly at Fiona. “Yup, you look lovely. Can’t say I’m thrilled that this guy is the one on your arm, but I do hope you have a great time anyway.”
“Thank you, Uncle. I’ll see you later.”
Giles, who seemed not the slightest bit bothered by the icy scorn in Reginald’s tone and gaze, bowed lightly back. Reginald shook his hand and then took a step forward to give Fiona the customary parting kiss on her cheek. But—
“Let’s go,” Giles said and spun Fiona around into his arms.
Huh?!
While everyone stared at them, wide-eyed, Giles offered the room a breezy goodbye and tugged on Fiona’s hand. The next thing she knew, she was in the carriage. She turned back to look at the unusually rowdy entryway, and the carriage began to move, leaving Fiona’s home behind.
Chapter 6: The White Palace
Chapter 6:
The White Palace
JUST AS THE SUN began to set, Fiona and Giles arrived at an elegant castle of pure white that stood by a tiny lake, surrounded by lush green trees. This was the palace that would host the night’s ball. Their carriage entered a long, slow procession of lavish carriages extending from the front gate to the palace doors. All of the ball’s attendees were arriving on the same day, so there was a long line.
The driveway was lined on each side by sprawling gardens. The castle grounds contained old buildings said to have been there since the palace was first built. Even the front garden was filled with sights to see.
Wait a minute. That marble statue by the tower that we just passed—wasn’t that a Brandon? And that rose window… Was that an original from the era?
“Fiona,” Giles said.
“Y-yes!” Snapping back to attention, Fiona whirled away from the window at which she’d been eagerly perched and sat up straight. Fiona had said very little during the drive over, her nerves having gotten the better of her, but once they entered the palace grounds, nerves were the least of her problems. She wasn’t all that knowledgeable about architecture, but her heart was so drawn to the historical significance of the old buildings that she had been practically falling out the carriage window to look at them.
But she was there for the royal ball, not to sightsee or study.
“There will be plenty of things to see inside the palace too,” Giles told her. “So please, just for today, let go of the idea of seeing the Brandon or the rose window.”
“Um…was I thinking out loud just now?”
“You were lost in a dream for a while there yes.”
Oh. Oh, I could just die! Her cheeks burning from her early blunder, Fiona shrank into a ball on the carriage seat. “I… I’m so sorry…”
“No, it’s quite all right. This is a special night. You should enjoy yourself.” From the light chuckle in Giles’s voice, it was clear that Fiona had reacted precisely as he’d imagined she would. Still, for all his reassurances that she needn’t worry, Fiona was dying of mortification. Giles added, “I know that seeing old paintings and buildings will relax you far more than chatting with me.”
“Oh dear, but I didn’t mean to—”
“I know. And that’s fine for now.”
For now? Fiona looked up at him, curious about his wording, and found him looking straight at her. She stopped breathing. He was much closer to her than she had expected.
“You finally looked at me,” Giles murmured.
“Lord Gil…”
“Your head was in the clouds. You haven’t looked at me all day.”
“Oh, um… Well, that’s because…” Fiona floundered. Giles’s expressions had become far richer as of late. He would smile one minute, then sulk the next, which made Fiona feel strangely guilty. He’d always been surprisingly straightforward with his emotions around her, whether he was happy or angry, but recently—ever since the day she opened her uncle’s paintings—he had been even more open with his feelings.
By no means is he doing anything wrong…but this is bad for my heart!
The Impenetrable Icy Scion. It sounded complimentary on the surface, but Giles couldn’t have been happy to be called that. Fiona ought to have been pleased to see the change in him, but seeing him so vulnerable made her emotional, regardless of how he appeared on the surface.
And of course, if that weren’t enough, Fiona had an eventful evening ahead of her.
“Because what?” Giles prodded.
“I just can’t help but be nervous,” Fiona said.
“Just think of this party as a friendly visit with my godmother and sister. Everyone else is just set dressing.”
Giles dismissing the queen’s royal ball as “set dressing” made Fiona smirk. How easy her life might be, if only she could see it that way! Her family had sent her off warmly, bidding her to enjoy herself, but she just couldn’t enjoy the palace’s dreamlike ambience.
“Attending the party tonight is our most important objective,” Giles assured her. “Don’t worry yourself over social interactions.”
“But—”
“It’s just like any other party.”
Um, no, it’s definitely different! She refrained from saying so aloud, but in her mind, Fiona was adamantly shaking her head no.
Besides, nerves weren’t the only reason she hadn’t been looking at Giles. She stared at the ground and mumbled, “Also, Lord Gil… You’re just so beautiful, it hurts to look at you.”
“Fiona.” Giles lifted her chin, gently and effortlessly, with just one finger.
Urk! See, what did I say?! He’s practically glowing!
“I think that’s my line, not yours.”
“Wha…?!”
He trapped her in his serious gaze, and any words Fiona might have said back to him vanished from her mind. She felt herself flush all the way to her neck. Then the carriage came to a halt, and somebody told them it was time to get out.
Thank goodness, Fiona thought with a sigh of relief.
Giles removed his finger from her chin. “Feel more relaxed now?”
Fiona’s eyes shot open. Oh… Oh, he got me! Apparently, it had all been a tactic to get Fiona to relax. Well, no harm done; the ordeal had made her uncomfortable, but somehow, it wasn’t a bad discomfort. Fiona sighed heavily, a genuine smile spreading over her face as her blush receded. “Thank you very much.”
“You should learn to rely on others more, Fiona.”
“I rely on you all the time, Lord Gil.”
Before she met him, Fiona had never even attended a party outside of her work for the gallery. Her manners were passable, but her behavior and aristocratic conversation were clearly lacking. The more parties she attended, the more she looked the part, but that was only because she had Giles by her side.
She really had relied on him too much. It made her feel guilty. Giles had helped Fiona more than he could imagine, even if he’d only done so because it was necessary to keep up the charade.
“But you’re still trying to get by on your own,” Giles argued.
“Is that wrong?”
Fiona’s mother was dead, and her father had his hands full managing his barony and caring for sickly Cecelia. Blessed with a healthy mind and body, Fiona had grown up young and developed a habit of doing everything herself. Hans doted on her, but he never crossed the line between them, the one that separated master and servant. Fiona had never even asked Norman for his help, not even when she ought to have.
Now that she thought about it, it occurred to her that ever since she was a little girl, her uncle, Reginald, was the only person she let dote on her. And now that Reginald was free of the confines of high society and enjoying his freewheeling nature to the fullest, it was Fiona who looked after him. “I have to take care of this on my own” was a mantra that had become second nature to her long, long ago…yet when it came to socializing with the nobility, Fiona leaned on Giles for everything.
Thinking back on it, she was shocked by how readily she had accepted his help. But she could not let herself be content to succeed only when Giles was helping her. They had so little time left together, and she wanted to pay him back in what small way she could.
“I wasn’t only talking about social situations,” Giles muttered. “Well, no matter.”
Fiona gave him a quizzical look, but the door to the carriage opened then and cut their conversation short. Giles climbed out of the carriage first and offered Fiona a hand, which she took readily. Then they walked together into the White Palace.
True to its name, the White Palace had floors and walls made mostly of white marble. The tastefully lit interior was stunning no matter which Fiona looked. “Oh my,” she breathed. “Lord Gil, I’m in trouble!”
As it turned out, walking through the palace halls gave Fiona no chance to work on calming her nerves. The furniture and decorations were all exquisite, and everywhere she looked, her eyes were drawn to famous paintings. In fact, she nearly forgot her nerves entirely, but before she could freeze up and gawk, Giles gave her a gentle nudge.
“Glad to see you’re happy,” he said, “but more people have arrived. Let’s move to the great hall before it gets crowded.”
“S-sorry. There’s just no end to the wonders.” Dazed, Fiona tore her eyes away from the painting she’d been most recently fixated on and looked at Giles, who treated her to a soft smile. This smile of his, which had become commonplace to Fiona, turned the heads of the people around them who weren’t used to seeing it. They began to whisper—not all of them quietly enough. Fiona heard some of them appraising her as if she were livestock.
I shouldn’t let what they say get to me, Fiona thought. It wouldn’t be fair to Giles. Nobody could stop a rumor, and in all likelihood, most of the scorn was directed at Giles, not Fiona. As if to shield her from what he had long endured, he remained by Fiona’s side protectively at every party they attended, from the Burleigh party they had first attended as a couple right up to this ball. Fiona needed to stand tall and keep her eyes on the prize.
Besides, it was a waste to worry about outsiders’ insults when she was surrounded by such beauty.
“I recall there being a tapestry and some more large paintings in the other room,” Giles told her.
“Sounds like I won’t want to miss that,” Fiona said as they entered the great hall.
“Yes. But the biggest draw has to be that over there.” Giles pointed, and Fiona’s eyes shot open. There was a lake outside, basking in the glow of the sunset.
The great hall was in the shape of an enormous semicircle that extended out over the lake like a pier. One of the walls was made of thin panes of glass overlooking the lake’s surface. Framed by an ornately decorated windowsill, this immense window was the highlight of the room. It was typically closed off by armored doors and only opened for special occasions such as this. The space was extravagant in every sense of the word.
Beyond the glass, the sun was just kissing the lake’s surface, and the sky glowed red. As the sun began to sink into the lake, it cast glittering rays of gold over the water. This signaled the start of the ball.
“It’s so beautiful,” Fiona sighed.
“It is,” Giles agreed.
The orchestra started up with a song, and the people nearby began to let the rhythm carry them. Turning, Fiona saw the infamous crystal chandelier; it had six sections, some big and some small, and it sparkled in the golden light of the sunset. The floor beneath her was comprised of slabs of milky-white marble, and the hall itself was accented with ornate pillars that had beautiful carvings etched into them. Between the décor and the breathtaking attire adorning all those in attendance, the room was a sight to behold.
It was exactly what a royal ball ought to be.
Fiona gazed around at her surroundings in awe until Giles escorted her to the window. Spotting a waterfowl out on the lake, she turned to him. “Lord Gil, look.”
“Yes, a duck.”
“Doesn’t it have an unusual color?”
“It’s probably because of the sunset.”
They went on like this. Whenever Fiona spotted something that tickled her fancy, she looked up and immediately met Giles’s gaze. In other words, Giles’s eyes were fixed on her.
Oh, Fiona thought, I just don’t know what to think anymore! She felt a strange ache in her heart again, because in truth, Giles’s behavior was not at all strange—for a lover. Fiona admonished herself for letting her emotions show, and somehow, she managed to steady her heart.
“That’s right, Fiona, the dining and dancing areas are separated here,” Giles said. “If you’re thirsty, the other room has—”
“Aha! There you are!” a familiar voice cut in.
Fiona spun around to see the Marchionesses Colet and Heyward scurrying over to them, the very picture of beauty in their glamorous attire.
“Well, Miss Fiona! How remarkably lovely you look tonight,” Miranda continued. “That’s a Michele dress, all right. You look a treat in it.”
“The colors are perfect for you, and that necklace is an excellent match, I’d say,” Marchioness Heyward put in. She and Miranda were both giving Fiona a thorough looking over and nodding in approval. Apparently, Fiona’s attire had received a passing score even though neither woman had a hand in dressing her this time around.
“Thank you, ladies,” Fiona said. “You both look lovely yourselves.”
Marchioness Heyward continued to chat gaily with Fiona, who chimed in with suitable responses when they were required of her. Meanwhile, Miranda pointed at her brother with her fan. “So, Gil. You actually came.”
“I said I would,” Giles pointed out.
“And how many times have you made that promise and broken it, dear brother?”
Giles shrugged irritably and changed the subject. “Where are Father and Mother?”
“Ensnared by somebody in the other room. Well, I’m sure they’ll speak with you later—oh my! Hello there, Rick.”
“Hey there. Good to see you all together,” said Richard’s cheerful voice.
Giles turned around and saw Richard standing there, adorned just as extravagantly as himself. With his lustrous blond hair and turquoise eyes, Richard was handsome as ever.
When Richard met Fiona’s eye, he threw up his arms in exaggerated astonishment. “Oh my heavens, Miss Clayburn, you look utterly ravishing!”
“Lord Russel, a pleasure to see you again,” Fiona demurred.
“Oh, don’t speak as if I’m a stranger! We’re friends, you and I. Won’t you dance with me tonight?”
“Hey, Rick,” Giles said warningly.
“You shouldn’t keep this beautiful young lady all to yourself, Gil.”
Richard was smooth. He could lay it on thick without batting an eye. Fiona graciously thanked him with a smile, but Giles did not even attempt to hide his displeasure. His scowl earned him an elbow from Richard, who seemed thoroughly amused.
Lord Russel is always like this, isn’t he? As the head conspirator of the fake-romance plot, Richard had been apprised of their circumstances down to every last detail. To Fiona, who lived in a state of constant fear that the secret would be exposed, Richard was a valuable ally with whom she could lower her guard. Giles had insisted that Fiona wouldn’t dance with anyone else but him, but only dancing with Giles would draw too much negative attention, and if Fiona needed another dance partner, Richard was just the man.
Fiona sauntered over to Giles, who continued to adamantly reject Richard’s proposal. “Lord Gil,” she said.
“Oh come on, just one dance—whoa!” Richard’s eyes widened, but his surprise was quickly followed by a goofy smirk. He looked like a little boy who was pleased that his prank had succeeded. “Well, well, well, we’ve become awfully chummy now, haven’t we?”
Giles exhaled sharply. “Fine. Just one dance.”
“Huzzah! Well, see you later,” Richard said and disappeared into the crowd.
Just then, an awed gasp rang from near the window. The hall erupted with music. The sun had just set completely, and thus, the curtain rose on the royal ball.
Several songs after the king and queen’s first dance, Fiona and Giles hit the dance floor. “You seem quite at home to me,” Giles told Fiona.
“You have Lady Miranda and Marchioness Heyward to thank for that,” Fiona replied. The decorations and paintings at the White Palace were, in a word, exquisite—but it was the ultra-high caliber of the guests that overwhelmed her most of all. The hall was a sea of powerful faces so famous that even a country bumpkin like Fiona recognized them. Luckily, the casual conversation with her friends had untangled her big ball of nerves.
“Well, those two women don’t know the meaning of the word nervous,” Giles muttered.
Fiona giggled. “It would seem so. They taught me a lot of valuable information about this ball too.”
Giles had told Fiona that she didn’t need to worry about socializing, but if someone approached him, he would have to respond in kind. After their dance, he was busy chatting with all sorts of guests, so Fiona stayed with Miranda and Marchioness Heyward. Miranda was on top of the world now that she was the proud owner of a Raymond original, and she was even more dutiful than usual in giving Fiona advice.
“What did you all talk about?” Giles asked when he returned, drawing her into another dance.
“Lady Miranda told me the Flower Room was best for desserts and the Blue Room had the best variety in cordials,” Fiona told him.
Giles chuckled. “That sounds like my sister.”
Miranda also informed Fiona of the beautifully furnished spare rooms on the other side of the palace that were designated for resting, along with all the other important features on the premises that a lady needed to know about. She even told Fiona which places to stay away from; some parts of the palace grounds were off limits to local ladies for their safety, since many guests from foreign lands were in attendance. There wasn’t any obvious signage that might mar the glamorous affair, and the guards that night were dressed in ordinary formal wear instead of their uniforms—so Fiona might risk inviting misunderstandings if she unknowingly approached these restricted areas.
While Fiona was grateful that Miranda had been kind enough to tell her all of this, Giles seemed to question whether the information was really important. “You’ll be safe if you never leave my side,” he argued.
“But I can’t exactly take you to the powder room with me.”
“Well, I wouldn’t let you go unattended,” Giles replied, seeming uncomfortable, but Fiona knew that she needed to keep a respectful distance when more people inevitably approached Giles to chat. Besides, she had her own concerns to deal with. All of the other parties they had attended together had allowed the guests to leave when they pleased, but the royal ball permitted nobody to leave before the party was officially over. The ball was also a rather long affair, so the spare rooms had been staffed with maids to fix ladies’ hair, makeup, and dresses. Fiona was relieved to have this resource on hand, but men were not permitted entry into the powder rooms.
She explained all of this to Giles, who fell silent, seemingly perplexed and upset that he had not considered this. “Don’t worry, Lord Gil,” Fiona said, “I have a good sense of direction.”
“But you might swoon over a painting and never come back.”
“Oh, I would…never do that.”
“Be honest,” Giles said, smirking when he saw that Fiona could not entirely deny it. He stopped disparaging her and twirled her to the music.
Dancing like this was another thing that had become routine to Fiona. She had fun even with a simple waltz without any complicated steps or popular arrangements. She had no need to put on a show because her body moved happily all on its own.
Once again, they drew stares from around the room, this time owing to the intimate way they danced together. The Earl of Bancroft’s son—the man who had once shunned every single woman who approached him—now made regular appearances at social functions with a partner, and his partner was the same woman every time. It was only ever her. And if anyone didn’t believe the rumors, well, they would only need to look at the couple’s romantic behavior that night at the royal ball to seetheir courtship for themselves.
“I suppose we’re drawing attention, aren’t we?” Fiona lamented.
“Does it bother you?” Giles asked. She returned his worried gaze with a cynical smirk.
“I’m all right. I can’t quite get used to it, but it doesn’t bother me as much as it used to.”
If only I could stop being bothered by it at all… Being nothing special in neither pedigree nor appearance, Fiona had nowhere near as much experience in the spotlight as someone like Giles. She’d been the target of exponentially more stares in the months since taking on the role of his lover than she had in her entire life up to that point. Well, I knew exactly what was in store when I agreed to the charade.
For all his pushiness, Giles always put Fiona’s needs first. He had been vigilant about repelling anyone who wanted to exploit her or do her harm. He treated her so well. How could she not be pleased?
The problem was that it felt unfair that she was constantly under his protection. Even now, some ladies criticized Fiona as “dreadfully common and inferior,” but those ladies looked more resigned to Fiona’s presence in Giles’s life with each passing day. The appraising looks of those with higher social status had also tapered off steeply since her stay at the Heyward mansion. But she’d achieved none of these victories on her own.
Fiona had only attained her current standing because she had Giles backing her and because she was protected by the Bancroft earldom and the Heyward march. She was attracting admiring gazes from gentlemen—a far cry from the early parties in which she’d endured jeers from the young ladies in attendance—but those gentlemen were likely only looking at her because she’d had a friendly chat with Lord Talbott earlier. Giles found their behavior far more bothersome than Fiona, and he held her protectively as they danced, as if his body were a shield that could ward off the insolent stares.
At the end of the day, there wasn’t much Fiona could do. On some level, she wished that Giles would exploit her. What can I do for him in return? Besides act like his devoted lover…
She squeezed his hand and pulled him closer. Giles met her gaze, surprised, and she smiled and lowered her voice. “Didn’t you say we should put on a show that will buy us time until the next season, Lord Gil?”
“Well, I… Yes, I did.”
“Well, rest assured, I’m not as weak as I look.”
Giles surprised her then by looking away. He tightened his arm around her back, pulling her even closer.
“Lord Gil?” Fiona asked.
He hesitated. “I just don’t want anyone else laying his filthy eyes on you tonight,” he whispered, but his words were drowned out by the orchestra. Fiona asked him to repeat himself, but he insisted that it wasn’t important.
They moved seamlessly into their second consecutive dance together—or would have, if a booming voice hadn’t interrupted them. “Giles,” the voice said.
Fiona turned around, expecting to see Richard, but there stood the Earl and Countess of Bancroft.
Giles’s parents!
Flustered, she curtsied to them. She had seen Giles’s father just once before, a distant glimpse of the man when she was on the way home from the opera, but she had never met him face-to-face. He outranked her in the peerage, so it was unsuitable for Fiona to initiate a visit. And since she and Giles were not genuine lovers, Giles had told Fiona that there was no need for her to meet his parents—to which she had happily agreed.
Now, she looked up from her curtsy and met the gaze of the woman standing next to the earl. She had never seen the Countess of Bancroft before.
What a beautiful lady.
Lustrous, honey-brown hair and an understated elegance gave her a delicate, chaste femininity befitting of a countess. Her outfit was not elaborate, but it was obvious at a glance that she wore only the finest attire and jewelry. Her style reminded Fiona a little of Miranda. When their eyes met, the countess’s eyes softened into a smile. The quiet fondness of her gaze made her look as though she were gazing not at Fiona but into a distant memory.
“We’re switching partners,” Giles’s father announced. “Your poor mother hardly ever sees you.” With that, he gave his wife’s hand to Giles and yanked Fiona over to himself.
“Father?” Giles asked.
“The music’s starting.” The earl dragged Fiona away without giving her a chance to protest.
Fiona followed awkwardly. The orchestra transitioned into its next melody, and she listened to the music, stepping in time to it. The earl’s lead was skillful, and Fiona had no difficulty dancing with him. It was a while into the dance when the earl spoke again.
“He seems preoccupied with you,” he said.
Fiona didn’t have to ask what he meant. She had sensed Giles’s concerned gaze on them throughout the dance. “He must be worried that I am acting disrespectfully, my lord.”
“A greenhorn like him who steps on his own feet has no business worrying about other people’s dancing.” The earl gave a soft snort, but somehow, he looked pleased.
Fiona chanced a glance in Giles’s direction and saw his mother telling him something. Once the Earl of Bancroft was certain his son was no longer staring at them, he danced Fiona even further away from Giles and the countess.
“We never had the chance to be acquainted,” he said.
“I’m terribly sorry, my lord, for dishonoring you by—”
“Leave it. I don’t care for trivial politeness. I deal with enough bluster and mind games at work.” The swift way he truncated her groveling made him seem even more dignified to Fiona, and his slapdash tone made her feel even more insecure. Seeing Fiona’s rapid blinking, the earl raised an eyebrow sharply. “What is it.”
“Um, nothing, it’s just…I see a very strong resemblance.”
“I hear that a lot.”
“You’re both so logical, yet sincere.”
The earl frowned and fell silent, apparently surprised by Fiona’s statement. There was an earnestness, she saw, deep beneath the blunt surface of his words. He could have easily put on a facade around Fiona, but he hadn’t; she could tell he was being genuine with her, and that made her own protective walls fall down around her.
“Don’t we look alike?” the earl asked eventually.
“Oh, um, yes, you also resemble each other in appearance.” Fiona smiled.
“I…see.” Once again, he seemed surprised by her response. Perhaps she should have mentioned the physical resemblance first?
As she twirled in his arms, trying to think of what to say, it occurred to Fiona that the earl had wanted to talk to her, not the other way around. That was why he had asked her to dance. Did he want her to stop seeing his son?
It was painfully obvious that Fiona was no match for Giles in either upbringing or appearance. There was nothing objectionable about Fiona or the Clayburn house, but that didn’t mean that the earl would accept her, much less welcome her with open arms, and under no circumstances could she confess to him that her romance with Giles was an act.
Fiona was certain the expression on her face must have looked strange, but what the earl thought of it, he did not show. To distract herself from the anxiety, Fiona thought about how much he looked like Giles when Giles was being the Icy Scion.
Silence hung between them for a while as they danced, until finally, the earl murmured, “My son has changed since he met you.”
“He…has, my lord?”
“He’s taken his work more seriously ever since rumors of your courtship spread.”
Fiona didn’t know what to say. From what she had seen, Giles was always more than capable when it came to his job. Apparently, his father had thought there was much to be desired—and from the way he spoke now, it didn’t sound like Giles’s transformation was limited to his work ethic.
“It seems he finally realized he was relying too much on his talents and neglecting his work,” the earl continued. “Took him long enough, but better late than never.”
Harsh words! Fiona thought, shocked. That was an earl for you. She quaked to think of the scale of what was expected of an earl’s son but managed through sheer willpower not to let her emotions show.
It felt quick because a lot of time had passed before they’d begun to talk properly, but the waltz was already coming to an end. In truth, Fiona suspected that the earl still hadn’t told her what he’d come to tell her, but for her, it was more than enough to just have danced and exchanged a few words with him. The earl turned her one last time, and then they stilled. He released her fingers, and his ashy eyes—a deeper blue than Giles’s—bore into hers.
He looked as if he were at peace. At length, he said, “I’m grateful to you.”
Fiona stared at him, not quite believing what she had heard. The earl spun on his heel to leave just as Giles jogged over to them.
“Fiona,” Giles said, catching her hand.
“Don’t worry, Lord Gil, I’m all right.” She smiled and extracted her hand from his so that she could take the hem of her grayish-blue dress. “Lord Bancroft…”
The earl stopped in his tracks and glanced over his shoulder.
“Fiona Clayburn,” she said, meeting his gaze and smiling softly. “It is an honor to meet you, my lord.” She gave him a heartfelt curtsy and hoped he saw her gratitude in every inch of it. It was a gesture beautiful enough to take the breath of anyone who saw it.
With a glimmer of a smile on his face, the earl raised a hand. “I know.”
Fiona and Giles watched him return to his wife and then left the circle of dancers.
“Let’s have a little rest,” Giles suggested after a while.
“All right.”
They left the great hall, which was booming with endless music, and headed for the terrace in a different room. The dining area between the ballroom and the terrace was heavily populated, but nobody was outside yet. They navigated the jungle of party guests and made their way out there to find a stunning view completely unlike the one they’d seen during the day.
“Oh my,” Fiona gasped. The formerly pink sky was now a deep indigo, and the moon was rising over the horizon. Lanterns shone all around the lake, their reflections glowing on the water’s surface like spirits. Fiona dashed out to the terrace and gripped the railing, turning to face Giles as he caught up to her. “It’s just like a painting.”
“Would your uncle paint this?”
“I’m not sure. He doesn’t tend to paint the sort of scenery the average person would consider beautiful.”
“Sounds like a typical artist.”
Fiona shrugged, thinking of her devilish uncle, and Giles joined her at the railing with a chuckle. “He sees the same things as us…but when he paints them, they look completely different. Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve thought his paintings were magical…” She tore her eyes from the lake and turned to face Giles, lowering her eyelids in a sincere apology. “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you about my uncle.”
Fiona hadn’t been at all surprised when Reginald told her that he had disclosed his secret identity to Giles. Her uncle had remained secretive about it for so long, so it was unusual for him to tell someone who he really was—but on some level, she understood why he had done it.
Of course, when I asked him why, he just laughed and wouldn’t tell me.
Giles shook his head at Fiona. “No need to apologize. You didn’t lie to me. I was the one who made the incorrect assumption that he was an art dealer.”
“But I said things that led you to that false conclusion. Still…I’m glad.”
“Glad? Why?”
“Because now I don’t have to keep any secrets from you anymore. I can finally relax.” With the truth out, her face softened. For a moment, Giles looked dazzled.
“I…see,” he said. “So that redpoll painting—do you have it?”
“Yes. It’s in the house on our land.”
“I wish I could have seen it…but it’s on your land, huh?” he murmured, sounding disappointed.
Fiona giggled. “Yes, quite a distance to travel to see one painting.”
The Clayburn barony had been Fiona’s home since birth, but there wasn’t anything remarkable about it. Sure, maybe its pastoral quality would seem unique to a nobleman like Giles who spent his life in the royal capital, but the Bancroft lands were spacious and lush.
Giles will probably never see the redpoll painting. It made sense, yet she felt empty inside at the thought. She laughed silently, scolding herself for getting too attached, and leaned forward to support herself on the railing and look down at the lake below.
The lights from the lanterns reflected off the water like a kaleidoscope, rippling and sparkling in the night. Were they a bridge, she could have walked on them all the way to the other shore.
“Careful now,” Giles admonished her. However, he did not stop Fiona from indulging her childlike curiosity. Instead, he held a protective stance behind her.
“It feels like we’re on a boat,” Fiona remarked.
“The great hall and this terrace do give that impression, yes.”
Fiona twisted her neck to look up at the palace and saw that the guest rooms above the second floor had an excellent view of the lake. She marveled over the luxury of enjoying the exquisite view from the privacy of her own room, until Giles distracted her by changing the subject.
“Sorry about that little surprise back there,” he said. “Did Father want to speak to you about something?”
He probably assumed the earl had given her a stern talking to. Fiona turned around and looked up at Giles, and giggled when she saw the worry in his eyes. “He praised you, Lord Gil.”
Giles blinked. “What?”
“He said you’re devoted to your work. He has also graciously forgiven me for seeing you without a formal introduction,” Fiona told him. When Giles gave her a blank stare in return, she asked the next question on her mind. “Had it been a while since you and your mother danced?”
“Y-yeah. We haven’t danced at a ball like this in two years. She was angry with me.”
Two years… From the way the earl spoke, Fiona had imagined that Giles did not socialize with his mother often, but she had no idea it had been that long. Fiona rarely went to parties, but even she danced with her father several times a year.
Seeing the startled look on her face, Giles awkwardly elaborated. “I don’t attend many parties with my parents, and I always leave early. Well, to be fair, I had been avoiding them at home as well.”
Fiona assumed that Miranda’s marriage had shifted all the scrutiny about marriage to Giles and that he had kept his distance as a result. She imagined that it was probably easy to avoid people you lived with if your home was a big mansion and you were all on different schedules.
Fiona understood all too well what it felt like to have family members pressure one to marry, whether one wanted to or not. She was in no place to blame Giles for his behavior. But still…that look in the earl’s eyes earlier had reminded Fiona of her mother in days gone by.
“When I saw your father,” Fiona said, “he reminded me of my mother.”
“He did?” Giles asked.
“Yes. I was small when she died, though, so my only memories of her are hazy impressions.”
Any time her mother felt well, she had been with Fiona. Even when she could no longer lift Fiona into her arms, she held Fiona’s hand, caressed her hair, and sang to her. Fiona remembered her mother’s cold hands when they cupped her cheeks—but more than that, she remembered the warmth of her mother’s heart.
“My mother was very kind,” Fiona continued in a murmur. “She praised me for my horrible attempts at nursing her.” She remembered her own tiny hand holding out a spoon, and her mother smiling gently, eating, and telling her it was delicious. But Fiona knew now that her mother had no appetite back then. “The only thing is…I can’t remember her voice. I remember her songs and the things she said to me, but not her voice. Isn’t that strange?”
She trailed off under Giles’s gaze, lost in thought. These distant memories, tucked away in a warm, safe place in her mind, were Fiona’s most precious treasure. At times, they rose to the surface like bubbles in water, sometimes gentle, sometimes very painful.
After a brief silence, Giles asked cautiously, “Your mother… You remember the things she said to you?”
Fiona smiled and nodded. “She said a lot of things, of course, but every day, she told me that she loved our family, and that she prayed for our happiness.”
“Did she…”
It was common, of course, for children to outlive their parents. Death was always just around the corner. At a very young age, Fiona had learned the crushing pain, the heartbreak, of losing a loved one. It had taught her to cherish the people she loved in the present so that she would have no regrets when they were gone.
“Only my family remembers my mother,” Fiona said. “But I’m glad you know about her now too, Lord Gil.”
“Fiona…”
“I almost forget sometimes that that flamboyant uncle of mine is her little brother.” She giggled, her joke shattering the somber mood.
“I’m…not sure how to feel about that,” Giles admitted. He smirked, picturing Reginald, that trailblazer, in his mind.
“If his example tells us anything, my mother would probably have been quite the tomboy if she were still around.”
“Like you?”
“I’d be proud of the title of tomboy if I got to share it with my mother. Shall I live up to it and jump in the lake right now?”
“Please don’t.”
“But I can swim!”
“That’s not the issue here. We should head back.”
They shared a laugh, and Fiona took Giles’s extended hand. A man in a suit entered the terrace then, and he approached them as they walked in his direction.
When the man recognized Giles, he looked relieved. Apparently, he was a servant who had been searching for Giles. “Excuse me, Lord Lowell, but His Royal Highness the Crown Prince has asked to see you.”
“He has?”
“Yes. So sorry to intrude, but please come with me.”
Fiona and Giles exchanged surprised glances. The night’s festivities were hosted by the queen, but typically, this ball did not demand the formal soirée protocol of paying respects to the royal family. Attendees were supposed to be able to socialize freely throughout the party. Unlike at ordinary gatherings, the king and other royals were out in the great hall with the rest of them, indulging in dancing and light conversation. In a way, rank was put aside for the night so that everyone could enjoy themselves. This was why they were surprised to hear that the crown prince was asking to speak to Giles, his old childhood friend, even though that request might not normally seem out of place.
“Must I go now?” Giles asked.
“Yes. And I’m terribly sorry, but he specified that he wished to speak with Lord Lowell alone.”
The servant emphasized that last word, and Giles frowned a little. The great hall should have been sufficient for a conversation; a private room shouldn’t have been necessary. What did the crown prince want to say to him that he did not wish others to overhear?
“Go ahead, Lord Gil. I can return to the party on my own,” Fiona assured him, removing her arm from his.
Giles looked at her, then at the servant who had come for him. “Where is he?”
“I’ll escort you, my lord.”
For security reasons, the rooms in which the royal family stayed rotated every year. Giles’s face clouded over even further at the insinuation that he would not be permitted to learn where the crown prince was, but there was simply no way he could refuse the summons. “All right, then summon another servant to take Miss Clayburn to my family or the Heywards.”
“Very well, my lord. If you wouldn’t mind waiting here a moment, I shall return presently.”
The servant turned and hurried back inside, and as he went, Giles turned to Fiona and apologized. “He’s one of the crown prince’s closest servants.” Giles had recognized the servant’s face, which meant that the summons was legitimate.
“Don’t worry, Lord Gil. I’ll be fine.”
“But I want you to stay with my sister or godmother. Or Rick, if neither of them can be found.”
“You don’t suppose Lord Russel was also summoned?”
Giles paused thoughtfully. “Fair point.” Richard was old friends with the crown prince too. The prince was so high above Fiona that he felt like a god to her, but, well, that was what it meant to be a higher noble. Once again, Fiona was acutely, painfully aware of the stark difference in status between herself and Giles. “If he’s busy, then you can stay with my parents. Just make sure you’re with someone you know until I get back.”
Giles was certain that the moment Fiona was alone, a crowd of ladies would flock to her. The amount of slander aimed at her had decreased significantly, but she had the highly coveted position of Giles’s lover; some of the noblewomen were likely to still have it out for her. Fiona understood their anger and felt it might be best to let them taunt and vilify her so that they could get it out of their systems, but Giles put his foot down. He was vigilant about Fiona’s safety, and the way Fiona had been targeted on her way to and from the art gallery left him worried that somebody would become violent with her.
He was forgetting, of course, that everyone who entered the White Palace that night first had to pass a strict security check. It would also be difficult to attack her with so many other people in attendance, and even more difficult to kidnap her without anyone seeing. Fiona didn’t understand why Giles was so paranoid.
While Fiona and Giles were talking, the servant brought back a dutiful-looking male servant around Fiona’s age, whom he introduced as a trainee in the crown prince’s inner circle.
“I am Jeremy of the Bergman barony,” the young man said with a cordial bow. “I’ve come to escort you to the Flower Room, where the Marchioness of Colet is waiting.”
This reassured Giles somewhat. With a final reminder to Fiona to exercise caution, he left, following the servant who had come to find him. He still looked a bit preoccupied, though, and he turned around briefly to look at her as he left. Fiona gave him a casual wave goodbye.
“Well, Miss, let’s get going,” Jeremy said. “The Flower Room is on the other side of the great hall. It won’t take us long to get there.”
Fiona thanked him with a cheerful smile and let him take the lead. They crossed through the great hall, exchanging pleasant greetings with the familiar faces they passed, but just when they were about to reach the Flower Room…
“Fiona Clayburn,” said a woman in a deep red dress who was standing in wait. “You and I need to have a little chat.”
It was Caroline, the Earl of Burleigh’s daughter.
Chapter 7: Caroline Burleigh
Chapter 7:
Caroline Burleigh
FIONA WAS STARTLED to find Caroline waiting for her, but she had known that a confrontation at the ball was possible. Caroline had been scowling at her every time Fiona made the rounds and greeted other guests at the party; Giles’s presence beside her had been the only thing preventing Caroline from approaching her.
Before Fiona could answer Caroline, Jeremy moved Fiona safely behind him and said, “Lady Caroline, please let us by.”
“You’re Baron Bergman’s son, aren’t you, boy? Well, I must speak with that woman behind you,” she insisted.
“I am escorting Miss Clayburn somewhere. We are in a hurry, so if you’ll excuse us…”
Caroline did not yield. In fact, she blocked the path further.
Lady Caroline looks so pale, Fiona thought. And has she lost a lot of weight?
In fact, it might have been more apt to say that she looked gaunt. For all her stubbornness, Caroline had always been a beautiful noblewoman brimming with confidence. But now, in her determined gaze, Fiona saw no trace of her former spirit.
Her makeup was thicker than usual, perhaps to hide her pale complexion, and the deep red dress that complemented her hair color so well gave off a menacing, rather than flowery, impression. Fiona’s heart ached to see her transformation. This is my fault. Our fake romance did this to her.
It was common knowledge that the Burleigh family, at Caroline’s emphatic request, had sent Giles multiple requests for an arranged marriage. It was also well-known that Caroline could not take no for an answer. Even after Giles and Fiona became an item, Caroline held strong.
Were her romance with Giles genuine, Fiona might have still had an inferiority complex, but she would not have felt any guilt over Caroline’s situation. Unfortunately, reality was a different story. Fiona had prioritized herself and Giles, even knowing it would hurt people, and she needed to atone for that.
Caroline eyed Jeremy up and down as he stood protectively in front of Fiona. Her gaze dripped with scorn. “How nice it must be to always hide behind men.”
“My lady, do pardon me, but I must insist that you withdraw,” Jeremy said.
“Oh my, and now you’ve seduced this humble son of a baron! You country girls have no shame, do you? I could never stoop so low.”
“Ignore her, Miss Clayburn. Let’s go.”
“The audacity,” Caroline hissed bitterly. “You’re just the puny son of a baron.”
Not taking the bait, Jeremy gestured for Fiona to walk. Fiona knew Caroline wanted to discuss her courtship with Giles and was open to hearing Caroline out, but her escort would reprove her if she stopped to listen. Jeremy was one of the crown prince’s trusted servants, and he was also under Giles’s direct order to protect Fiona; he had a duty to carry out. With great reluctance, Fiona walked away.
“I hear your little sister comes of age next year,” Caroline said as she passed. Fiona stopped cold in her tracks. “Do you suppose she’ll be able to function in high society with a deplorable older sister like you? Well, never fear. I’ll look after her. I’ll take good care of your sister, just as I’ll take care of Jessica Bergman.”
Jeremy gasped under his breath. It seemed he had a younger sister of his own.
Caroline glared at the two of them. “As the esteemed daughter of an earl, I shall teach your little sisters how to behave properly as dignified ladies and instill in them the knowledge necessary for success in high society. And I shall do so most diligently.”
“Fine,” Fiona said. “Let’s talk.”
“Miss Clayburn!” Jeremy grunted with suppressed rage.
Caroline’s red lips curved in a smile. With unimaginable strength, she wound her wiry arm through Fiona’s and yanked, nearly making Fiona wince in pain. “See? You should have agreed from the start.”
“But I have an obligation to this fellow here,” Fiona told her. “He needs to know everything, including who I’m with and where I am.”
“Do as you like,” Caroline spat. She proceeded to tell Jeremy where she was going to take Fiona. Fiona nodded at Jeremy, who still looked fretful, and he withdrew in bitter defeat, turning on his heel and quickly walking back the way he came. He was probably going to report straight to Giles.
As the guests began to return to the hallway, Caroline gave Fiona’s arm a firm tug.
“Please let go of me,” Fiona said. It wasn’t just that her arm hurt; Caroline’s grip on it made it difficult for Fiona to walk. “I promise I won’t run away.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t be too sure. Homewreckers are fast runners.”
With Fiona limping, they made way to a corner of the palace Miranda had told her about, which hosted some of the resting rooms. Along the way, they crossed paths with plainclothes guards, but the guards recognized the Earl of Burleigh’s daughter and waved her past unquestioningly, likely picking up on Caroline’s desperation. Spats between daughters of the nobility were frowned upon, but they were not at all a rare occurrence. If anything, the guards were probably grateful that Caroline and Fiona were going somewhere private to quarrel rather than causing a scene on the dance floor.
In time, they reached a room with an “occupied” marker on its door. Caroline unceremoniously opened the door and said, “Get in!” She released Fiona’s arm and pushed her from behind, sending her stumbling into the room. Fiona barely stopped herself from falling, and she remembered the same thing happening to her back in the little garden at the prince’s party.
The room was unoccupied. Caroline had probably put the “occupied” marker there herself. Fiona braced herself for the worst, her spine stiffening with dread. A quick glance around the room revealed a sofa, a canopy bed, and a low-set chest of drawers. It was an ordinary guest room. The window by the bed had floor-length curtains blocking their view of the outdoors, but there was nothing else unusual about the room.
Caroline slammed the door shut and locked it, staring accusingly at Fiona. “I think you know what I brought you here to talk about.”
“I do. Lord Gil and I—”
“Don’t call him that, you whore!”
Fiona clamped her mouth shut in the face of Caroline’s enraged shriek. Caroline’s shoulders were heaving violently in indignation, her malice stabbing Fiona like a knife—yet it seemed that she was working desperately to suppress her emotions. Fiona held her tongue and remained cautious and watchful, knowing it would not be wise to go on the offensive.
Caroline’s heeled shoes clacked loudly on the marble floor as she approached Fiona. “I am far better suited to be the Countess of Bancroft than you. What dirty trick did you use to steal him?”
Fiona heard the unspoken words in Caroline’s accusation loud and clear. Giles had vehemently rejected romance and marriage. Any marriage of his would have been arranged by both families, but word had it that the Earl of Bancroft did not deem an arranged marriage necessary at present. Caroline had known that no matter how hard she begged, the chances of Giles desiring her in return were slim, and she thought the role her heart desired was unattainable for anybody…until Fiona came along.
“You’re just a common daughter of a baron,” Caroline went on. “You’re not even slightly pretty. Why would he choose someone like you?” She grabbed Fiona roughly by the shoulders and pushed her back against the wall.
“Ouch!” Undaunted, Fiona stared into Caroline’s eyes, which were murky with dark resentment. As Giles’s fake lover, she thought, I’m in the same position as her. That was how ardently Giles had avoided women and marriage.
“I am a much better match for him. I dare you to deny it.”
She couldn’t. A union between Giles and Caroline—House Bancroft and House Burleigh—would be universally accepted, a union between Giles and Fiona would not. As the heir to the earldom, Giles would have to marry someday, and when he did, Fiona would not be his bride. It was inconceivable to think she might be.
This was something Fiona had thought she understood, but when she heard it from Caroline’s mouth, a jolt of pain shot through her heart. I just… I just want Giles to be happy. She wanted the woman by Giles’s side to make him smile, not as the Icy Scion but as his true self. She truly wanted that for him.
“Lady Caroline, Lord Gil—Lord Lowell is very special to you, isn’t he?”
“Of course he is. It has been decided since we were children that I would be the future Countess of Bancroft.”
Caroline’s answer revealed an attachment that was a far cry from love. Fiona was not so sentimental as to believe the cliché that love conquers all, but she sensed a desire for status in Caroline’s words, not romance.
That’s the sort of thing Giles despises most of all.
She had learned something about Giles during their time together. He could compartmentalize in order to do what he had to do as the heir to the Bancroft house, and he would exploit his status when necessary, but he secretly loathed himself for it. Maybe a heart was not necessary in high society…but Fiona thought that was a deeply unfulfilling way to live. Giles was a highly perceptive man, so he was always keenly aware of the true intentions of those around him, which only made interacting with them all the more painful. In light of that, it was inevitable that he would decide to forego the most intimate relationships—and marriage was the most intimate relationship of all.
Fiona was sure that he would meet a good woman someday. Caroline, however, had decided unilaterally that she was the most suitable match for Giles. She gave reason after reason why they ought to be together, but she showed no hint of consideration for how he might feel. All Fiona sensed from Caroline was a need to be the center of attention. From her lips, the word “suitable” sounded like nothing more than “convenient,” and that saddened Fiona.
If she had approached Giles in earnest, he might have accepted her, she thought. This was a man who respected Fiona’s unconventional desire to work for a living, and who still grieved the loss of his beloved childhood dog. Giles was tenderhearted.
Fiona could not stand to let anyone disregard his heart and push their own agenda on him.
“Lady Caroline… If Lord Lowell decided not to succeed his father, what would you do then?”
“What? But that would never happen. I am going to be the wife of Giles, Earl of Bancroft.”
Caroline was talking in circles. If she would respect Giles as an individual, rather than a high-ranking nobleman in the public eye, Fiona would end the charade and graciously bow out of her fake romance with Giles. “So you’re saying Lord Lowell’s feelings don’t matter?”
“I’m saying there’s no need to confirm his feelings, you stupid girl. Well, I suppose your daftness was the exotic quality that drew him to you.” Caroline released an exaggerated huff and let her anger flow freely. She raised her free hand to Fiona’s cheek, digging her long, red nails into it. “If you weren’t in the picture, he would choose me in a heartbeat.”
Her hand slid down to the necklace around Fiona’s neck. She gulped, dreading the worst, but Caroline had her pushed so firmly against the wall that she couldn’t move.
“That ring was enough to make me sick, and now you’re flaunting this necklace? You’re unworthy of it.”
One firm yank was all it took for Caroline to snap the thin chain. Fiona was more shocked by the sight of the broken necklace in Caroline’s fist than by the dull pain in the back of her neck. “How could you?!”
“You disgust me,” Caroline spat. “You belong in the countryside, playing in the mud.” She threw the necklace onto the floor as if it were cursed. Fiona stood there, dazed and bewildered, and Caroline went in for the kill. “You are a shameless little harlot. But I have an eccentric gentleman who will be just perfect for you.”
“What…are you doing…”
“You really do amaze me. You have a way of bewitching men, don’t you?”
“So sorry to disappoint,” said a man’s voice, “but you haven’t made a good match, my lady. This woman utterly despises me.”
Fiona gasped and looked for the owner of the voice. He emerged from behind a curtain at the back of the room. When Fiona saw him, any words she might have said froze on her tongue.
Wait a minute…he’s supposed to be under surveillance!
He had dark brown hair and dark, slanted eyes. It was the man she had met that day in the Earl of Bancroft’s parlor!
Caroline snorted. “Oh, I don’t care. Just take her away from here.”
“What’s the rush? Ladies always take so long to talk,” he retorted.
“Shut up!”
Where did those wiry arms of Caroline’s get their strength? Fiona remained pinned against the wall, unable to move, as she scrutinized the man approaching her. What is he doing here…?
“So good to see you again, Miss Fiona Clayburn. I’ve been looking forward to this for a long time.” Gordon sneered down at her, his eyes as dark as the bottom of the lake.
***
The office at Gallery Roche on Bay Street received a gentleman visitor that night. The staff had recently grown accustomed to this gentleman’s after-hours visits.
“Oh, Mr. Roche,” Rudolph said, “the lady’s crazy uncle is here again.”
“Sorry I keep crashing your party, Rudolph. C’mon, Roche, have a drink with me! Let’s drown our sorrows!”
“Reggie…you’re in quite a state. Something wrong?” Roche asked.
“Oh, everything’s wrong! My sweet Fiona has gotten too beautiful for her own good, and the thought that it’s his doing makes me furious!”
Reginald set a bottle of wine on the table and flopped onto the sofa. Rudolph cast a bored glance at the familiar sight of Roche and Dennis greeting their guest with sheepish smirks.
“Ah, yes,” said Roche. “She’s at the royal ball tonight, isn’t she?”
“I would have loved to see Miss Fiona all dressed up,” Dennis added.
“The royal ball?” Rudolph cut in. “You’re a noble, Dennis, why aren’t you there?”
Dennis reached out and tussled the boy’s hair. “Tonight’s royal ball is a special affair. Bottom-shelf nobles like me aren’t invited.”
“Huh. I guess noblemen have their own problems,” Rudolph said dubiously. He knew what it was like to be excluded.
“Say, Rudolph, is it true Fiona body-slammed you and caught you trying to pick her pocket?” Reginald asked teasingly.
Dennis beamed. “She sure did. Then we dragged him back here from the alleyway.”
Rudolph squirmed uncomfortably. He didn’t like Dennis blabbing about that embarrassing story as if they were discussing the weather.
“Ha ha! Serves ya right, kid, trying to steal from Fiona.”
Rudolph sulked. “Don’t laugh. Noblewomen aren’t supposed to run that fast.”
“Yes, indeed, our Fiona is a special girl.” Reginald grinned proudly.
“You can say that again. That other noblewoman looked like she couldn’t outrun a snail.”
“What other noblewoman are we talking about now?” Reginald asked, sitting up on the sofa in sudden interest.
“Huh? The lady who told me Fiona was the one who saw through the counterfeit paintings.”
“Whoa, slow down, Rudolph,” Dennis said. “You’ve never told me about this.”
Dennis’s cheerful expression had turned on a dime, filling the once peaceful office with an air of tension. Rudolph faltered. “Wh-what’s the big deal?”
With some patience, Dennis succeeded in convincing Rudolph to recount the events of that day.
“So…you didn’t know who Fiona was before then?” Dennis pressed him.
“Of course not. Some other rich lady told me she was the ringleader.”
“This other rich lady… What was she like?”
Rudolph gave a simple description: She was a shrewd-looking beauty with her blonde hair tied back. Everyone else in the room thought of the same woman. Caroline Burleigh kept popping up everywhere; she’d been the one to send Fiona the threatening letters and stalk her. It was common knowledge that she had her sights set on Giles, but without any concrete evidence of her actions toward Fiona, they could do nothing more than remain vigilant for her presence.
But Caroline was an ordinary noblewoman. And with the gag order on Minster Saquille’s scandal, there was no way she could have known that it was Fiona who exposed the counterfeit paintings for what they were. She also couldn’t have known about Rudolph.
Someone was feeding her information.
“Gordon…?” Roche muttered.
Reginald jumped to his feet noisily. Gordon had been at large for a time before he was arrested. He had testified that he was overseas to buy art during that period, but what if he had actually stayed in the country, laid low, and made contact with Caroline? “Hey, Roche. You said he’s being guarded, right?”
“He’s supposed to be, yes. Let me check and confirm that. Dennis, go straight to the White Palace and inform Lord Lowell. Then we’ll need to go to the Burleigh residence and—oh, blast it, they’re all at the royal ball too!”
The royal ball had already started, and Fiona and Caroline were both there. Dread filled the gallery office.
“I hope we’re just being paranoid,” Roche murmured as a panicked chill ran through the room. He looked out the office window to the dark sky outside.
Chapter 8: Regrets of the Past
Chapter 8:
Regrets of the Past
GILES LEFT THE TERRACE behind him and was escorted to the royal reception room, where he found the crown prince. Just as Fiona had predicted, Richard was also in the room with the crown prince.
“Sorry to call you away from the party, Lord Lowell,” said the prince.
“Not a problem, Your Highness. Sorry it took me so long to get here.” It was then that Giles noticed that there was another person in the room. “Oh my… Good to see you too, Your Highness.”
It was the king’s younger brother, Prince Grenville. His presence was the biggest surprise of all.
What is he doing here at the ball?
Grenville lived out of the public eye and minimized his involvement in royal affairs as much as possible. It was strange to see him at the royal ball at the White Palace. As the current king’s younger brother, he and his nephew (the crown prince) were considered rivals for the throne. In truth, the crown prince and Grenville got along just fine, but they typically maintained a safe distance from one another so as not to needlessly stir the waters between the warring factions. If not for the feud over the line of succession, the mild-mannered crown prince and his reclusive intellectual of an uncle would have been great friends.
“It’s all right, drop the pleasantries,” the crown prince said, interrupting Giles’s formal vassal’s bow. “This is an informal meeting.” He gestured to a seat, which Giles took gingerly. “So, let’s get right to it: My uncle needs to speak with the both of you.”
I figured as much, Giles thought, exchanging a glance with Richard. Why else would the king’s brother be here?
Grenville took a breath. “This is going to take a while, so please listen closely.”
In other words, nothing from this “informal meeting” was to leave the room. Between that and the assortment of faces in the room, Giles had a strong guess as to what the meeting was about. There was only one thing that Giles, Richard, and the king’s brother all had in common.
“It’s about Otto Gordon.”
Right again. Giles gave an understanding nod.
The king’s brother lifted his gaze, his violet eyes, unique to the royal family, fixed on Giles and Richard. “First, a disclaimer: What I’m about to tell you comes from me, not my brother. The king knows nothing about this, and I want it to stay that way. I only told my nephew about this just the other day.” He waited for Richard and Giles to nod their understanding before continuing. “You boys worked on Minister Saquille’s case, so I’m sure you know about Justine Poiret. Gordon is…her son.”
“That possibility had occurred to me, yes,” Giles admitted after a brief pause. Justine Poiret, the unfortunate artist who was known for her still life paintings of flowers. Gordon’s possession of the Poiret originals and the flower sketches in his design book all pointed to a connection between himself and the phantom artist. Based on Gordon’s age, the logical conclusion was that he was her son.
Prince Grenville’s gentle, tanned face became strained. “It is my belief that Gordon’s father was the former king—my father.”
Giles and Richard’s jaws dropped. “Prince Grenville, are you saying—”
“Yes. He is my younger half brother.”
This statement was unexpected, but Giles had considered the possibility that there was someone else backing Gordon in addition to Minister Saquille. Gordon’s past was locked so tight that they’d turned up no answers, despite all their searching. His hideout was impossible to find, and he had that mysterious connection to Minister Saquille… Gordon had a way of speaking that made it easy to convince oneself that all of these things had rational explanations, but none of them made sense for a common art dealer.
He also hadn’t seemed upset at all by the puppet master Saquille’s fall from grace. In fact, he seemed happy to provide testimony at the trial to put the minister away. The events had stirred up discord between the political factions, yes, but Giles had theorized that Gordon’s goal was to part ways with Minister Saquille.
The problem was that we could never prove it.
“Would you boys indulge me by letting me tell you a little story about the past?” Grenville asked. His brows were knit together, and he had a distant look in his eye. “I wasn’t as competent as my brother when he was crown prince. I was particularly poor at academics, and I often skipped class.”
He went on to explain that it when he ran around the palace searching for places to hide, he met and became acquainted with Justine Poiret, the court painter.
“She was an extraordinarily unique woman. Her paintings were so detailed and beautiful, yet also bold and courageous. Well, she would have to be an extraordinary woman to be able to make a living painting, and do it in a foreign land.” His eyes were distant, focused on the past. “She was dazzlingly brilliant. I idolized her. But I wasn’t the only one who felt that way… Not long into our acquaintance, she became my father’s lover.”
“I’m sure you already know the former king is exactly what I aspire not to be,” the crown prince said, a pained smirk on his face.
The former king had been infamous since childhood for behaving badly and seeking out conflict. Shortly after he ascended the throne, wars broke out all over the continent, and his own government could hardly have been called peaceful either. But he possessed an extraordinary intellect and powerful charisma, and his role as a unifying force was a necessity in times of war. Because of this, his inner circle turned a blind eye to his most intolerable behaviors in his private life.
“She never loved my father. That much was clear,” Prince Grenville said. As strong as Poiret was, she was a guest from another land. It was impossible for her to defy the king when he set his sights on her. She was the king’s favorite, but she couldn’t join his harem—which was still legal at the time—and their affair had to remain a secret. “I don’t know what was going through my father’s crazy mind. But when the queen found out about their affair, he didn’t lift a finger to protect Poiret.”
Understandably, Poiret’s position in the palace became more and more precarious.
“And when war broke out with the nation she came from, she was suspected of espionage…and sentenced to death in an unofficial trial. She was innocent,” he spat out, his voice heavy with bitter regret. “I loathed my own helplessness. I watched them trample an innocent woman’s body and spirit, yet I could do nothing to stop it. I was just a child, but that was no excuse.” He clenched his fist tightly. “In the chaos that broke out when the enemy reached the royal capital’s outskirts, I mustered up everything in me to help her escape.”
He didn’t investigate whether she had made it safely back to her own nation until after his father had passed and the war came to a close. But in the fragmented confusion of the war’s aftermath, he found no traces of her.
“I couldn’t tell my brother about it. He had just been coronated, and I detested our father.”
Grenville cursed his own impotence. If the king who had so vehemently opposed their father found the woman who used to be their father’s lover… Well, he could easily imagine the backlash. So he had to keep the investigation top secret.
It wasn’t until years later, when he was nearly ready to give up on the investigation, that he received word that she had been found. The report stated that she had already passed away and that the year after she returned to her homeland, she bore a son. Based on the timeline, he arrived at the conclusion that the baby was his father’s son—and his younger brother.
“I did not know that she was with child. Had I known, I would have taken much greater care to ensure her safety. All I did was shove a bunch of gold in her hands and sent her as far away from the danger as I could.”
Giles thought this was a heroic effort, one far beyond the capacities of most ten-year-old boys. But he also knew that saying as much would do little to ease the prince’s remorse.
“Poiret had a very hard life after she returned home. They scorned her for cozying up to the enemy,” Grenville said with a heaviness in his voice. The boy had been taken to an orphanage, but Grenville’s investigators inquired at several institutions and couldn’t determine whether the boy had survived. In a continent full of war orphans, it was impossible to locate a single boy when you didn’t know so much as his hair color. “About two years ago, I made a goodwill appearance at an intimate party in a neighboring kingdom, and I was gifted a painting… Yes, it was that Poiret original. It was Gordon who gave it to me.”
The man said his late mother had painted it. His first name and age matched the report Grenville had received about Poiret’s son. His face even resembled hers.
“The only evidence I have of their familial connection is that painting and Gordon’s testimony. But I knew then that he was her son.”
He also sensed that art dealership was in Gordon’s blood. At a later date, he reached out to Gordon, and they began a discreet, exploratory correspondence from there. When Gordon hesitantly shared that he wanted to see the kingdom his mother had visited, Grenville was very pleased.
“I wanted to atone for my sins. Even though I knew it would not bring her back and could not erase the suffering either of them had endured.”
Grenville knew it was inevitable that Gordon would not think highly of the kingdom that had caused him and his mother so much suffering. Still, Grenville yearned to atone for the regret that tormented him.
“As for what happened to Gordon after he came to this kingdom, you boys are already well aware.”
Gordon’s correspondence with the king’s brother and his connection to the royal family had to remain strict secrets. But when he told Grenville that he wanted to open a gallery, Grenville provided the funding. And when Gordon wanted an in with the nobility, Grenville did him the favor of introducing him to Minister Saquille.
“I recognized immediately that he was going to exploit me, but I didn’t care…and at a certain point, I exploited him right back.” Grenville’s lips quirked up in a self-deprecating smile. “Gordon wanted to sow discord. Extreme discord. And when I determined that I could not stop his quest for vengeance, I thought I might use him to quash the warring political factions.”
Despite Grenville’s insistence that he did not want to be king, Minister Saquille seemed hell-bent on finding any crack in the system that would allow him to put Grenville on the throne. He wanted Grenville as his puppet, and Grenville was tired of it. But the king’s younger brother removing Saquille from office and dissolving his faction was guaranteed to cause an uproar among the nobles involved in palace politics, so he decided self-destruction was the wisest strategy. He would see his wish fulfilled by letting himself get caught up in Gordon’s conspiracy.
After a thoughtful pause, Giles muttered, “Is that so.” That explained why Gordon had acted without regard for his own safety and why his goals had seemed so vague: He was under the influence of two people with very different intentions. With this revelation, all the pieces fell into place.
“As much as I hated my father, I am his son,” Grenville said. “I made the mistake of believing this would all serve me well.”
“Uncle, please stop chastising yourself like this,” the crown prince protested.
In the end, as the head of the operation, Minister Saquille, fell from grace. In spite of a brief moment of instability, parliament had settled and was moving in a good direction. In the long term, this could have been the most advantageous political transformation the kingdom had seen in many years.
But…why is he telling us all of this? Giles thought. Knowing about Prince Grenville’s personal circumstances was helpful, but Giles could not see what it had to do with him or what he should do about it.
Richard, apparently, was thinking along the same lines. “I am humbled that you have confided in us, Your Highness. But what is it you wish of us?”
From the way the king’s brother spoke, it was clear he did not intend to let Gordon’s crimes slide. Given that, what did he want from Richard and Giles? If all he wanted to do was open up about the past, then there was nothing further for them to discuss—he needn’t summon them away from the royal ball for the conversation. He could have shared this with them the day before, or after the ball.
A bad feeling washed over Giles.
“Gordon has become obsessed with Clayburn’s daughter,” Grenville said.
“What?!” Giles clenched the armrest of his chair. Prince Grenville averted his gaze uncomfortably and squinted his eyes a little.
“She does not resemble Justine physically in any way, and though I have only briefly spoken with her, I don’t believe their personalities are similar either. Yet somehow, that girl reminds him of his mother. That’s my theory, at least.”
“Prince Grenville, please, what exactly are you trying to say?”
Grenville paused, then said frankly, “I want to arrange a meeting between her and Gordon.”
“But that’s madness!” Giles said. Richard clamped a firm hand on his arm to prevent him from jumping out of his chair.
“Naturally, their visit will be supervised. I’ll have guards watching them, and Gordon will remain shackled. I just… I don’t want Gordon to be dragged down by the past any longer.”
“But why Fio—that is, what does him meeting Miss Clayburn have to do with that?” Giles asked, but even as he said the words, he began to understand. Perhaps, when he met Fiona, someone reminiscent of his mother, Gordon’s mind could be brought to the present, and he could let go of his past.
But the plan was far too dangerous. At the Bancroft mansion, and at Minister Saquille’s mansion… Gordon’s sinister gaze was still burned into Giles’s memory, and Prince Grenville knew nothing of it.
“I implore you,” Grenville said. “Once they’ve met, I will abdicate any claim to the throne forevermore.”
“What?!” the crown prince exclaimed, his face pale with shock. Apparently, not even he had been apprised of this part of the plan.
“I never wanted to be king, nor do I want it now. But Minister Saquille pushed so strongly for me to rule, and I am partially at fault for not reprimanding him more strongly.”
“B-but, Uncle!”
“Forgive me. Let me have this one selfish wish,” Grenville said, bowing in humble apology. A hushed silence fell over the room. “Other opportunists like Minister Saquille will rise, and I am utterly exhausted. I will take this opportunity to disappear completely from the public eye alongside Gordon.”
“Prince Grenville,” Giles murmured. He kept his eyes fixed on the king’s brother, sensing Richard’s gaze on the side of his head all the while.
“I want to dedicate the rest of my life to raising flowers in mourning for Justine and the victims of the war,” Grenville said.
He’d always distanced himself from politics and palace affairs. Beneath his devout passion for flowers lay love and grief for the artist who painted them. The wrinkles in his suntanned skin were signs of his mourning. Regret cast a shadow over his peaceful violet eyes.
“Is this an order, Your Highness?” Giles asked.
“No, but I can order you, if you’d prefer that. My first and final command as your prince.”
I suppose he means to say he would order me to arrange the meeting, but he would not force Fiona into it. Excluding Fiona from this meeting was a diplomatic move. As the daughter of a low-ranking baron, she could not possibly refuse him if she heard his confession.
Giles took a heavy breath. “She will be the one to decide.”
“Very well.” Prince Grenville smiled in relief over Giles’s answer, the tension loosening from his shoulders. Now that they had been granted a means to refuse, Giles could offer no further objections. “Gordon is in a spare room in this palace under guard.”
So, he wanted the meeting to take place that very night. Giles was not expecting that, but given the ample security and the presence of all the other people around them, it was opportune timing.
“Once the ball is over, you may go to him—”
An urgent knock at the door interrupted Prince Grenville and set them all on edge. There were guards posted at the door to keep anybody from disturbing them. A knock at the door could only mean unforeseen circumstances had arisen.
“I’ll answer.”
“Rick—”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be careful.”
Richard cautiously opened the door to reveal a flustered attendant of the crown prince and Jeremy, Fiona’s bodyguard. A purple-faced guard stood beside them. “I am terribly sorry to intrude,” the attendant said, “but this is an emergency.”
Caroline took Fiona away, and Gordon attacked his guards and escaped. The brief report was enough for Giles and Richard to understand everything.
“Oh no. Not Gordon,” Grenville muttered, nearly falling out of his chair in anguish.
Leaving him in the crown prince’s care, Giles and Richard flew out of the room. Jeremy took the lead, explaining as he went that Caroline had threatened Cecelia’s safety to coerce Fiona into coming with her.
Fiona did not dwell on the rumors about her, but she could not ignore any threat to her family, especially her frail little sister. Knowing the deep bond the two sisters shared, Giles understood why Fiona had given in to Caroline’s demands. She would do anything to protect her sister.
Jeremy went on to tearfully explain that Caroline had threatened his own little sister in addition to Fiona’s. He was racked with guilt, both for failing to perform his duty and for letting Fiona sacrifice herself for his sake. Giles and Richard continued to hurry after Jeremy, matching his desperate pace to the room where Caroline had taken Fiona. The only thing preventing them from outright sprinting there was the need to avoid causing a stir.
Suppressing his feral heart with everything in his being, Giles hurried down the hallway discreetly enough to leave the party guests who saw him none the wiser. I should have trusted my gut, he thought, his body flooding with impatience and guilt. I shouldn’t have left her side. He had no concrete evidence of Gordon’s connection to Caroline, but it was hard not to connect the two events that had coincided so closely.
Gordon did not steal his guards’ weapons when he slipped out of custody, but a lack of weapons was no cause for relief. Giles desperately needed to ensure Fiona’s safety as soon as possible.
Just when it began to seem that they would never arrive, they did. “This way, my lords,” Jeremy said, leading them to the closed door of a room. Giles sensed nothing amiss from the outside of the room, but this was a royal palace; the walls and doors were thick. Nobody could hear what was happening inside.
“Rick, you take the rear,” Giles said.
“Absolutely.”
Richard moved protectively behind him, and Giles carefully grabbed the doorknob. He forced it open and found Caroline reclining languidly on the bed.
“Oh my! Lord Giles!” Caroline looked briefly shocked by his unannounced entrance, but it wasn’t long before a satisfied smile filled her face. She rose to greet him. There was nobody else in the room.
She’s…not here?
Forcing himself to breathe steadily, Giles marched into the room without so much as a word to Caroline. He walked to the back of the bed and unceremoniously ripped the long curtains open.
The window behind it was at waist height and had no balcony. The only way in or out of the room was the door, and there was no furniture that could hide a person.
Squinting suspiciously, Giles turned to Caroline and growled, “Lady Burleigh, are you alone?”
“Why, yes.”
“Did Miss Clayburn return to the party?”
Caroline’s face twisted in disgust to hear him say Fiona’s name instead of her own. “I couldn’t care less,” she said—coyly, for some reason. She lifted a flirtatious eyebrow and then shrugged as if to say she never cared to hear that name again.
It was indisputable that Caroline had dragged Fiona away from the party, and Giles had a hard time believing that they’d just had a conversation and parted ways amicably. Were Caroline a man, Giles might have restrained her and demanded answers, but there would be consequences to face if he were even slightly rough with a young lady. Having a long history of noble ladies taking advantage of such social rules, Giles ground his teeth.
Don’t panic. Get the answers you need.
The crown prince had ordered his attendants to alert the guards at the front gate and send extra guards to all palace entrances, starting with the great hall. If Fiona returned there, they would know. Giles reminded himself of this and tried to remain calm, as he scanned the room for traces of her—until he noticed the necklace on the floor in the corner of the room.
“This necklace…” He picked it up and confirmed his suspicions: It was the necklace he gave Fiona. But its chain was broken and the flowers were warped.
“If it starts to fall off, you must tell me.”
Fiona, who had shown such adamant restraint regarding the gift, would never have treated it so roughly.
When Giles asked Caroline to explain, she shrugged carelessly. “She looked horrible in it, so I took it off for her.”
“You what?”
“Well, that necklace, the Bancroft earldom—she doesn’t deserve any of it. Am I wrong?”
The sheer cruelty of her words made Giles take a step forward and raise an arm. Richard grabbed it before he could strike.
“Gil, stay calm.”
“Rick!”
Richard silenced Giles with a look, then adopted his friendly smile and turned it on Caroline. “Lady Caroline, did Miss Clayburn leave this room on her own?”
“Lord Russel, have you gone mad as well?” Caroline demanded. “Why do you care about that stupid girl?”
“It’s only natural to worry when your friend is missing.”
“Honestly! That harlot is so good at seducing men.”
The muttered curse hit Giles’s ears, its poison sickening him. Fiona was not the woman Caroline said she was—Giles knew that better than anyone. Richard’s grip tightened on Giles’s arm, keeping him grounded.
This is all my fault, Giles thought. Three times, he had shot down the marriage proposal from Caroline’s family. He was exhausted by Caroline’s excessive lust for marriage, but if he hadn’t publicly changed his tune, Fiona’s existence would have been nothing more than a mild thorn in Caroline’s side.
Caroline’s contempt for Fiona stemmed from the belief that she, Caroline—the one who had pushed for marriage again and again—was more worthy of standing by Giles’s side. Giles had used Fiona as a shield to protect him from the barrage of women that he’d faced. Now, he wanted to punch himself for that.
But then something unbelievable passed Caroline’s lips. “Don’t you worry. She’s with her new partner now.”
“What?” Giles asked, staring at her.
Richard stepped in then, his immaculate smile still in place. “Huh? May I ask who the lucky guy is?”
“A common art dealer. He begged me earlier, practically on his knees, to arrange a meeting. She is much better suited to be with him than with you, Lord Giles.”
Gordon! Now the bad feeling in his chest had a name.
“She should thank me for introducing such a great match,” Caroline added. Giles was seething with an agonizing sense of urgency, but Caroline remained perfectly calm in her scorn. “Who ever heard of a noblewoman working?”
I have to go save her. Now.
Giles’s heart was on fire, but he knew that flying blindly out of the room would waste precious time. Suppressing his desperation, he asked, “Where are they?”
His voice sounded menacing even to his own ears, and Caroline finally seemed to notice the rage in him. She took a small step back. “Wh-why do you care? There’s no need for you to involve yourself, Lord Giles.”
“That’s for me to decide. This doesn’t concernyou.”
“It doesn’t concern me?! But I am going to marry you!”
“I rejected all of your family’s proposals.”
“But I’m the only one who’s suitable to be Countess to the Bancroft house! You know I’m right!”
Though Caroline’s was an extreme case, this line of thinking was not unusual among the nobility. In Caroline’s mind, her marrying Giles was proper and logical. She felt no shred of guilt or remorse over destroying the necklace, nor for tearing Fiona and Giles apart. In fact, she probably thought she deserved to be praised for it. Caroline valued bloodlines and house rank and believed this a very sensible aristocratic rule that should be held in high regard. Giles had rejected that rule and declined her marriage proposals again and again. To Caroline, that was unacceptable.
I should have rejected her advances directly, he thought. Thus far, he had sent a member of his family as a proxy to reject all of her proposals. As a result, Caroline was unconvinced of his sincerity.
“My lady, are your parents aware of what you’re doing here?” Richard asked.
“Oh, Lord Richard, those people are irrelevant. They’ve been so annoying lately, badgering me to just give up. They’re detached from reality.”
“Ah. Now I see.”
This didn’t stop Caroline. She failed to catch the disdain in Richard’s reply and, mistaking his words for sympathy, she regained her defiant stance. “Don’t worry,” she said to Giles. “The peerage will forget about the rumors of you and that baron’s daughter soon enough. Besides, I—”
“Peerage be damned,” Giles spat, glaring fiercely at Caroline. He abandoned any attempt to hide his disgust. “I will never forget her, and I will never let her go. If you don’t know where she is, then I have nothing more to say to you. House Burleigh will receive a formal sanction very soon.”
The title of Icy Scion did not do justice to Giles’s damning words. The color drained from Caroline’s face. “Wh-what did you say?!”
“I don’t ever want to see your putrid face again.” Giles turned on his heel to leave the room.
“W-wait!” Caroline cried, grabbing his coat sleeve. Giles glanced over his shoulder, not wanting to waste the time it would take to turn around. “If she’s good enough for you, then surely so am I. What’s so special about her?!”
What makes her special?
Everything. Every single thing about Fiona made her special.
“Get your damn hands off me.”
“Wh-why…are you…?”
She clung to him desperately, her hands trying to do what her faltering words couldn’t. He carelessly brushed her aside. Ignoring the sound of her collapsing to the floor behind him, he left, shut the door behind him, and ordered Jeremy to stand guard. “Don’t let Lady Burleigh out of this room. We can’t let her cause a scene.”
“Y-yes, my lord!”
Just then, one of the crown prince’s attendants ran up to them. “Lord Lowell! A guard one floor below us reported seeing a woman who looked ill being dragged off by a man with black hair.”
Giles turned to run, but Richard stopped him. “Gil, I’ll call for backup. Try to keep this all under wraps… Well, I suppose that’s easier said than done, so I’ll do what I can to give you cover.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t worry. She’s a strong girl. She’ll be okay.”
Giles hesitated, then said, “Yeah.”
Richard patted him on the shoulder and then ran down the stairs. Giles heaved a deep sigh, turned, and hurried in the opposite direction.
Chapter 9: The Final Confrontation
Chapter 9:
The Final Confrontation
ONCE AGAIN, Fiona was grabbed roughly by the arm and marched off to a secluded location. There weren’t many party guests in the long hallway, and the elegant dance music from the great hall was only faintly audible. There were two big differences from the last time this happened, though: This time, it was Gordon who grabbed her instead of Caroline, and he held a knife between them.
Caroline had brought the weapon to the ball, concealed in her clothes. The hilt of the small blade was adorned with precious gemstones. It was beautiful, like a work of art, but the tip was sharp and genuine. It would take the wielder only the tiniest bit of pressure to pierce skin. That’s how big of a threat I posed, I guess…
The queen’s royal ball attracted a large attendance of the highest-ranking nobles. Weapons were therefore prohibited, even those that were purely decorative, like a ceremonial sword. The guards were also instructed to keep their swords and guns concealed so as not to spoil the festive mood. Bringing a dangerous item to such a party was considered treasonous. If caught, not only would the weapon-bearer be punished, but their entire house could be prosecuted for it.
If Caroline’s obsession with claiming the title of countess counted as love, then she truly embodied the saying that “love makes fools of us all.”
Fiona met the gaze of another guard, but she couldn’t say a word with the knife pressed into her back. Gordon’s mask was impeccable. He perfectly played the part of a concerned dance partner taking care of a lady who’d taken ill. With her eyes turned forward, Fiona took a deep breath in and out and asked Gordon, “What exactly are you going to do with me?”
“Well,” Gordon said behind her, “I got sick of being under constant surveillance. So I’m going to use you as a hostage and flee this kingdom.”
“What? But aren’t they supposed to release you soon anyway?” Fiona asked. She turned around to look at him, shocked. Gordon had taken a plea bargain; he was under surveillance for now, but eventually, he would regain his freedom. With his counterfeiting scheme exposed, he could never be an art dealer in their kingdom again, but he would be free to return to the neighboring kingdom of his birth. A harsher sentence was not sought for him.
So why break his house arrest?
The corners of Gordon’s mouth turned up, and he chuckled. “You want me to wait for that? Don’t be ridiculous.”
“You’ll only receive a harsher sentence.”
“It doesn’t matter what I do. It’ll all be hushed up regardless.”
Fiona paused. “What are you talking about?” From his ridiculing tone, it sounded like Gordon believed he would be absolved of any crime and set free. Wait a minute, she thought. Does he have some grounds for this belief beyond the fact that he’s a con man?
Looking back, Gordon had always exhibited the height of arrogance.
“Move,” Gordon said, yanking mercilessly on her arm. Fiona gritted her teeth against the pain and hobbled on, cursing her own inability to escape. She desperately racked her brain, hoping to at least quell her rising suspicion.
Remember, Fiona. Remember everything he did, from the very beginning.
She thought about the counterfeit of her uncle’s work that started it all. His art gallery, full of suspicious paintings. The cryptic letters hidden in the painting frames. His connection to Minister Saquille. The sketchbook in the house where they were keeping Rudolph.
And the only genuine painting in the gallery full of fakes was a beautiful still life of flowers—
“Poiret?” Fiona mused aloud, thinking of the phantom lady artist, the former court painter.
Gordon stopped in his tracks.
If Gordon had ties to Poiret, then did he also have ties to the royal family? The person who was best positioned to have connected Gordon to Minister Saquille was…the king’s brother.
No…not him. He would never…
She thought of the man she met in the palace garden the day she received her royal commendation. Even now, his suntanned skin and the dejected look in his unassuming gaze stood out to her. They’d only spent a short few minutes together, but Fiona couldn’t imagine him as the sort of man who would aid and abet Saquille and Gordon.
But that rose…
The rose he gifted Fiona resembled the Poiret painting too closely to be coincidence.
“Impudent wench.” Gordon shoved Fiona against the wall, trapping her with his arms.
“Ow!”
His bright eyes bore down on her. They caught the light of the lanterns in the hallway, and for just a moment, their dark irises gleamed a deep purple. Fiona could have almost imagined it.
Violet eyes were unique to the royal family.
“Your eyes…their color…”
“Ah, yes. Much as it vexes me, their color changes slightly in artificial light.”
“Gordon…are you Justine Poiret and the king’s—”
“Don’t tie me to either of them!” Gordon’s grip on her tightened harshly. He stood so close that his breath hit her lips. She returned his stare, undaunted. “They disgust me. My mother, this kingdom… I wish it would all just burn to the ground!”
Fiona caught her breath at his anguished, guttural cry. Poiret was exiled from the kingdom on suspicion of espionage, and she received horrible treatment in her homeland once she returned. If the painful life she led resulted in the man standing before her right now…
“Gordon, are you—”
“Fiona!” a voice shouted from the distant end of the hall. Fiona looked sharply and saw Giles running toward her.
Giles!
Gordon cursed under his breath. He opened the closest door to him and shoved Fiona inside, where she tumbled to the floor. Then, he jumped in after her and locked the door barely a second before Giles grabbed the doorknob from the outside.
Giles pounded on the door, and the doorknob turned fiercely, but the door showed no signs of giving. Giles was yelling something too, but the walls and door were so thick, Fiona couldn’t make out what he was saying.
She tried to get up, but the impact from hitting the floor had hurt, and her muscles screamed in protest. She saw her shoes on the floor, far away from her, where they’d slid when she fell.
“That stupid bitch ate up way too much time talking,” Gordon grumbled. “I was going to steal a carriage, but I guess we’ll have to figure something else out.”
“But that’s pointless,” Fiona said. “Someone will come with a key.”
“Doesn’t matter. You want to know what’s pointless? Living. That’s pointless.” Gordon sneered down at Fiona. She finally managed to pull herself halfway off the ground, but then he thrust his knife against her throat while simultaneously loosening his necktie.
“Why did you help Minister Saquille? To get revenge against the crown?” Fiona asked.
“Doesn’t matter.” He sounded sincere, like nothing really mattered to him, and as he spoke, he slipped his tie around Fiona’s neck. Fiona braced herself to be strangled, but instead, Gordon’s face twisted in disgust. “How dare you look at me…with the same eyes as my mother…”
Fiona did not know how Justine Poiret looked, and she saw no similarity between herself and the man hovering over her. Perhaps her eye color and Poiret’s was the same.
“Your voices sound nothing alike, but whenever I see you… Why…”
The contempt and rage in Gordon’s voice turned Fiona’s blood to ice. Giles kept pounding on the door, but it did not budge. There was a knife at her throat and a tie wrapped around her neck.
Mom, Fiona thought helplessly. Even at a time like this, she thought of her mother. Her mother, whose voice she could not remember, smiling faintly at her.
“Your mother’s voice,” she said. “You still remember it?” This wasn’t some strategic move; she just envied Gordon for remembering something about his mother that she couldn’t remember of hers.
Gordon’s brows knit briefly together. He seemed startled by her words, but they did not improve his mood. “She was a fool. If only she’d abandoned me sooner, she wouldn’t have had such a horrible life.”
“She abandoned you?”
He ignored her. “She had a pretty face, if nothing else. If she’d gotten rid of me, there would have been plenty of men in line to marry her.”
“But…she turned them down?”
“And thanks to her, we almost starved to death many times. Painting was her only talent, but she couldn’t make a living from it. She couldn’t hold down a job, or a house.”
“She abandoned her paintings…but she wouldn’t abandon you.”
“Hah! Clever.”
If Fiona closed her eyes, she could still see, vividly, the brilliant flowers Poiret had painted. For an artist of her genius to give up painting… Fiona couldn’t imagine the torment in her soul.
No,her soul wasn’t tormented by the decision at all, she realized. Fiona’s own mother had wished for children at the cost of her own life, and she was certain that Justine Poiret would sooner have died than give up her son.
Gordon knew it too. But something was keeping him stuck. The flowers Fiona saw in that sketchbook of his spoke of love and hate…and rising resentment.
“Your mother… All she wanted was to live her life with you.”
“Shut up!” Gordon growled. “And get up, unless you want me to strangle you harder.”
He yanked the tie tighter, and Fiona wobbled to her bare feet. Gordon dragged her to the windowsill like a dog on a leash, and just as he yanked open the waist-high window, Fiona heard the key click in the doorknob. Then, she felt Gordon grabbing her chin, and her feet began to lift from the floor.
Her air supply was cut off. She had no idea what was happening. Her consciousness threatened to slip away…until Giles’s booming voice brought her back to the present.
“It’s over, Gordon!”
“No, it’s over for you.”
Fiona’s toes were on the floor, just barely, but Gordon had flung the upper half of her body backward out the window. Amid the flurry of wild, windswept hair, she saw the blade of his knife.
“Don’t move a muscle,” Gordon said. “Now, would you rather I push her out the window or slit her throat?”
Gordon’s arm pushed Fiona further still, bringing her feet completely off the ground. The windowsill dug painfully into her back. Her throat hurt, she couldn’t breathe, and her vision was blacking out in spots.
“Stop! Fiona!”
“Fetch me a carriage,” Gordon said. “I won’t tolerate the slightest resistance.”
Unstable and in pain, Fiona clawed desperately at Gordon’s hands around her neck.
I’m…falling? Fiona glanced down and saw that the lake was right beneath her. Moonlight reflected off the water’s peaceful surface, disturbed only by quiet ripples.
Fiona didn’t know where she was, because Caroline and Gordon had both chosen to take her through the more private parts of the palace. She seemed now to be in a guest room on the second floor, on the opposite wing of the palace from the great hall. She could see the dazzling light of the chandelier through the other wing’s window glass, and the wind carried faint strains of music to her ears.
“Ngh… Mm…” She could not breathe. Giles and Gordon were arguing, but the ringing in her ears drowned them out. Her vision was fading…but before it left her entirely, she saw somebody standing behind Giles, holding a gun.
The…crown prince?
There was a dull bang, and Gordon’s grip on Fiona’s neck loosened. She almost fell out the window, but her hands shot out and gripped the curtains tight. There was an ominous sound of ripping fabric, but Fiona managed to hold herself up outside the window just long enough for Giles to run over and catch her.
“Fiona!” Giles cried, pulling her to safety. They fell to the floor together. Over Giles’s shoulder, she saw Gordon leaning against the wall beneath the windowsill, crumpling himself up into a ball.
I’m saved? Fiona thought, dazed. Giles held her so tightly she almost couldn’t breathe, and she felt his arms and shoulders shaking. In the moments that followed, Fiona was finally able to take a deep breath in and out.
“Lord…Giles…” she managed, then admonished herself. No, Fiona, you’re supposed to call him Lord Gil.
“Fiona, I’m so sorry,” Giles whispered in her ear.
His words struck a dreadful ache into her heart. An inferno surged in there, and the swell of emotion sent tears spilling from her eyes. Suddenly, she was crying so hard it was difficult to speak. “It’s…okay…”
When Giles heard her hoarse, strangled voice, he hastily loosened his grip on her. She wiped her eyes, trying to show him that she was all right—until Gordon snatched the knife off the floor. His shoulders were drenched in blood, but he came out swinging.
“No!” Fiona shrieked. With the last of her strength, she pushed Giles away from the incoming blade. In the confusion, she was able to take the knife from Gordon’s hands.
But Gordon wasn’t after Giles, and he didn’t hesitate to pounce on this opportunity: He grabbed Fiona and stepped up onto the windowsill. Unless Fiona’s eyes were deceiving her, he also turned to face the king’s younger brother, who had just rushed into the room. Gordon’s mouth twisted into a mocking sneer.
“Gordon!” Prince Grenville shouted. “Let her go!”
“Fiona!” Giles cried.
Gordon jumped. Fiona felt suddenly, strangely weightless as they plummeted toward the lake’s surface together. Up above, Giles leaned out the window, and his horrified gaze met hers. He reached out to Fiona and braced against the window to jump out after her, but several sets of hands dragged him back into the room.
Oh, thank goodness Giles didn’t fall too.
That was Fiona’s final thought before she hit the water with a deafening splash.
As they hit the water, the impact was forceful enough that Gordon lost his grip on Fiona. Bubbles popped audibly all around her, and suddenly, it took everything she had to maintain consciousness. There was no room left in her mind to worry about what had become of Gordon. Fiona strained her eyes, but the lake was dark and deep, revealing nothing to her; only the faint glimmer of the moon told her which direction she needed to swim.
My dress… It’s too heavy, she thought. The bodice was not all that restrictive, but the thick skirt was tangled around her legs, meaning she couldn’t move very well. Aware that time was running out before she would need to breathe, Fiona slashed her dress with the knife in her hand, cutting the cord around her waist and releasing the pannier hoops inside. Kicking the fabric away and dropping the knife gave her a little more freedom of movement.
Stay calm, Fiona. You’ll make it out of this. You swam a lot as a child, remember? This is no different.
She was scared and suffocating. Her heartbeat clanged in her ears like a gong, but she knew that if she panicked, all would be lost. Desperately trying to calm herself, she kicked through the water, aiming for the lake surface. Just as she was reaching her limit, her fingers broke through the water’s surface. The relief that flooded her made her so euphoric, she didn’t know up from down anymore.
“Mmph! Hah!” Her face shot to the surface and she drank in a big gasp of air. However, with nothing to grab hold of, she couldn’t stay up there long, and she began to sink again. The shore wasn’t all that far away, but it looked like a distant island to her.
Breathe…just breathe.
Her ears sank back beneath the surface, and water entered her mouth, choking her. Suddenly, a dull crash in the distance shook the lake, then an enormous ring of fire burst in the sky.
Fireworks?
That was right—there were supposed to be fireworks to entertain the guests at the ball. More colorful fireworks exploded over the forest beyond the lake, and Fiona heard a chorus of gasped oohsand aahs around her.
Then, amid the clamor of attendees celebrating the party’s grand finale, Fiona’s ears picked out a familiar voice: “Fiona! Over here!”
She turned toward the voice and saw a boat, with Dennis and Reginald rowing. What are they doing here? she thought, but before she could wonder any further, Reginald dove into the lake, hoisted her onto the boat, and draped a dry tailcoat over her.
Oh, good… I’m saved… As Fiona sighed in relief, Giles popped into her mind. Just like the day she rushed after Rudolph in the alley, she could practically feel him hovering over her, his eyes filled with a primal rage. Oh dear, I’ve worried him again.
She was beyond exhausted. Every muscle in her body felt sluggish and heavy. She couldn’t even speak. Dennis’s voice, crying for joy, sounded so distant.
Resolving to apologize once she woke up, Fiona let her eyelids slide closed.
Chapter 10: After the Banquet
Chapter 10:
After the Banquet
BRIGHT LIGHT STREAMED IN through the open canopy and over Fiona. She was in a half-seated position, resting with her back against the pillows. Beside her, several days’ worth of newspapers and gossip magazines sat on the side table. She dismantled the pile and began to read a newspaper, scanning the articles one by one.
I don’t see it in this one either…
The season was approaching its end, and yet nothing about the incident with Gordon was in the headlines. The biggest space in the society pages was devoted to the royal ball at the White Palace, which was described in great detail, but there was nothing about the abduction and assault.
Even the fireworks were passed off as a problem with deer.
The one mishap at the royal ball, which occurred toward the end of the festivities, concerned the fireworks: They were meant to adorn the grand finale, but they’d gone off prematurely. According to the paper, a herd of deer had appeared out of nowhere while the fireworks were being set up, and the shocked technician dropped his live coals on top of the fuse.
Thanks to the queen’s gracious discretion, neither the technician nor the deer had been taken to task. A temporary fence was to be erected around the property the next year to keep wildlife away.
“Oh my,” Fiona murmured. “How incredible.”
The early fireworks had been Richard’s handiwork. They drew the curiosity and attention of the partygoers so that no one would notice the commotion on the second floor or Fiona falling into the lake. If that weren’t enough, the cleanup afterward was immaculate. Fiona was awed at how elegantly and efficiently everything was handled.
Fiona turned a page and found something interesting: the royal ball’s guest list. Prince Grenville’s name was not on it, and neither, of course, was Gordon’s. Once she’d scrutinized it to her satisfaction, Fiona folded up the paper—carefully, as she had a bandage wrapped around her hand—and set it beside her.
As she was clumsily opening up the next paper with her bandaged hand, there was a knock at the guest room door. A maid had just left a short while earlier after changing the water in the vase of flowers.
“Come in,” Fiona called. She looked up from her reading, assuming it was someone coming to ask her about lunch—and her eyes popped wide open as she saw who walked in the door. “Lord Gil?!”
He was supposed to be at work! Fiona sat up straight, surprised, and Giles gave her an assessing look, then smiled in relief. “Good, you’re awake. How do you feel?”
“I feel fine.”
“Really?” Giles marched right over to the bed and leaned in to press a hand to Fiona’s forehead. “Are you sure your fever hasn’t come back?”
I…I told him I was fine! Fiona thought, flustered by his close proximity. She couldn’t find it in her to repel him, though; he was the very picture of earnestness.
During her rescue, Fiona fell unconscious after she was pulled onto the boat, and she developed a high fever. The doctor on call at the White Palace treated her. Then, still asleep, she was carried—not to her own home, but here: the Heyward mansion.
Everyone who knew what had happened at the party was strictly prohibited from talking about it, so as not to create a scandal for the royal family. They were all sworn to secrecy, including the elderly doctor who tended to Fiona at the White Palace. That doctor was the master court physician, and he was a trustworthy person. But if word got out that a top court doctor had examined the lowly daughter of a baron, it wouldn’t take a genius to guess that there was more to the story. Between the need for secrecy and the fact that police and palace guards needed to visit her, Fiona had once again become a guest of the Heywards’.
“You do seem to be all right,” Giles said skeptically.
“You checked on me just this morning,” Fiona pointed out.
Giles took more time than necessary to take her temperature, but after that, he finally seemed satisfied. Some small part of Fiona wanted to admonish him for his excessive fussing, but she felt so guilty about making him worry that she couldn’t bring herself to complain.
Besides, Giles’s hand was warmer than her forehead. He was breathing quietly, but she suspected that he had run to her room, all the way up the stairs. The thought made her heart flutter, and she stared at his cravat, finding that she couldn’t look him in the eye.
“I’m fine,” she assured him. “I took my medicine too.”
“But if anything happened to you, I could never face your father again, nor Hans.”
“Well…”
Her father was one person who simply could not be kept in the dark. Hans and the Baron of Clayburn rushed to the Heyward march to see Fiona before she woke, and when they arrived, Giles explained everything to them. The baron looked liable to faint at any moment, but he couldn’t bring himself to chastise Giles, whom he saw was deeply remorseful and apologetic. He just pressed his handkerchief to his eyes, not his forehead, and tearfully repeated “Thank goodness she’s alive” again and again.
Unlike her sickly sister, Cecelia, Fiona was healthy and seldom caught so much as a cold. The one time in her life she had a fever, she’d slept for twenty-four hours straight. The baron assured Giles that this was probably why Fiona had not yet woken. This was likely a gesture of mercy toward Giles, who was too stricken with worry to hide how pale and haggard he looked. When Giles refused to eat or leave Fiona’s bedside, Hans stayed with him and offered many words of comfort until Fiona finally woke. Theirs were the two faces Fiona saw the moment she opened her eyes, and she remembered the moment well; Giles looked angry, but all he did was wrap her in a tight hug.
The baron returned to his home once he was certain that Fiona was all right, but Giles remained, staying in a guest room at the march. Just like the last time Fiona had stayed at the march, Hans acted as an intermediary for everyone, commuting between the houses.
“That’s why I’ve stayed in bed,” Fiona concluded. “See?”
“Good. Stay that way.” Giles’s hand finally left her forehead. Unfortunately, it slid down to her cheek instead so that he could study her face and check if her complexion was healthy. His grayish-blue eyes held her captive, and the newspaper fluttered out of her grasp.
Urk! Too close for comfort!
Being in her sickbed, she had little control over her appearance. Her face was washed but not made up, and her hair hung loose and messy. To be freshly awake and crusty, and have an ultra-gorgeous man study your face at close proximity… Words could not describe her embarrassment.
This is purely clinical!He’s just doctoring me! she thought frantically, trying to convince herself. But the sultry heat in Giles’s gaze was nothing like the elderly doctor’s critical eye. Ugh, I just got my fever down, and now it’s coming back with a vengeance!
“P-please,” Fiona said, “I’m fine!”
“Yes…I suppose you are.” Giles smiled, standing directly beside her bed, and the way his eyes and mouth crinkled made her heart pound against her ribs. She yanked the thin blanket all the way up to her neck and buried herself under it, in a desperate attempt to keep him from hearing what her heart was doing. His gaze shifted from her to the pile of newspapers strewn around her. “Aren’t your eyes tired?”
“I only just started reading, so no.”
Her answer didn’t entirely quell his worries, if his murmured “I see” was anything to go by.
Fiona would never have dreamed of ignoring her visitor to read, so she reached out to tidy up the papers—until Giles aimed a reprimanding stare at her bandaged hand. Obediently, she withdrew her hands and let Giles clean up the papers for her and set them on the side table. “Um, Lord Gil, your work—”
“I finished all my morning tasks. As for the afternoon…I’d rather not go, but I have a meeting.”
“The way you said ‘I’d rather not go,’ you sounded like Lord Russel.” Fiona giggled.
It was out of character for Giles, the diligent worker, to say anything reminiscent of what one would expect to hear from Richard. He was never this outspoken about his feelings before, and the change came as a surprise to Fiona. The familiarity of their relationship felt good, and she couldn’t hide her joy over it—but it also came with its fair share of danger.
“I often find things I must do a nuisance,” Giles lamented.
Fiona giggled again. “You certainly don’t show it.”
“Oh, yes, I’m careful to hide it.”
Fiona heard the implication buried in what he had said—that he only showed his true feelings to her—but she had no idea how to respond to it, so she skirted it entirely. “Yes, I suppose you are.”
They were interrupted then by a knock at the door—a welcome distraction. Oh, thank goodness!Fiona had woken up and was doing well, but Giles remained far too protective of her. He was probably being this handsy and attentive with her because she had fallen out the window right before his very eyes. The look of horror and despair on his face in that moment was still fresh in Fiona’s mind.
She knew it was only his subconscious wanting reassurance that she was all right, so she never resisted his touch. But it was hard on Fiona’s heart. Honestly, I could just die…
The servant who had interrupted them wheeled in a cart laden with lunch for two. At first, Fiona didn’t want it. While her fever had gone down, she was still not fully recovered, as Giles said; she had no appetite and had only had something to drink for breakfast. But when Giles made a show of enjoying the hot soup and fresh, juicy fruits, Fiona’s stomach finally seemed to remember that it was empty.
“Think you can eat?” he asked.
“Yes.”
The servant bowed out of the room. Fiona tried to slip out of bed, but Giles stopped her by pushing the tray of food over her blanket. Huh?
“Here,” Giles said.
“Uh…huh?”
Giles scooped up a spoonful of soup easily and elegantly and brought it to Fiona’s mouth. The warm, fragrant broth soothed her throat on its way down. But…what was Giles doing? She shrank backward and looked up at him. “I-I can feed myself, you know.”
“With those hands?”
Fiona looked down at her hands. They were both tightly bandaged, though in different places: her palm and thumb on her left, and the palm and every finger on her right. She had hurt her hands when she grabbed the knife from Gordon, and again when she cut her dress underwater. The deepest cut was on the palm of her right hand; the part of the wound that went from her thumb to her wrist had not yet closed, so it hurt when she moved it.
“I can hold my own spoon,” she insisted regardless.
“Stop arguing.”
Fiona had sustained her fair share of cuts and bruises from all the tumbling she did at the Clayburn barony as a child. These wounds were deeper, but they seemed no different to Fiona, who considered the bandages a bit much. But Giles and Miranda, who had assisted her at the White Palace, seemed to see things differently. Miranda was horrified that a young lady like Fiona had gotten so badly wounded. Thanks to her strict orders that Fiona not move until she was fully healed, Fiona was not allowed to do her hair or change her clothes by herself.
But…but this just won’t do, will it!Dressing and grooming the nobility was the servants’ job, so Fiona let them do it. But she couldn’t let the son of an earl spoon-feed her.
“Come on, you’ll spill it.”
“I-I can eat on my own—mm!”
If you’d just put the spoon back in the bowl, you wouldn’t spill, would you! Fiona thought, but before she could protest again, Giles slipped the spoon into her mouth. The soup was neither too hot nor too cold, and its rich, flavorful broth slid easily down her throat.
“Can you taste it?” Giles asked. He sounded so concerned, she couldn’t help but answer in earnest.
“Yes. It’s delicious.” She blushed and stared into the tray. Giles smiled softly in relief and took another spoonful of soup. “Lord Gil, what about you?”
“I’ll eat after you finish.” So eat your lunch first, his stern gaze added.
Fiona could tell that he wouldn’t be satisfied until he had fed her the entire lunch. She resigned herself to her fate and reluctantly opened her mouth, feeling like she’d just lost a battle.
Giles said he had never nursed anyone before, but one couldn’t tell, given the impeccable timing and grace with which he offered her the spoon. Time and time again, he brought the spoon or fork to her lips, and she ate until her plate was empty.
Last of all, he handed her a cup of medicine, which was to be added to her daily regimen today—on top of her antibiotic and fever reducer. It was a dark liquid resembling tea that had been over-brewed. It did not look the slightest bit appetizing. This medicine was supposed to aid in her recovery, so Fiona picked up the cup, but the characteristic smell wafting from it made her stop short of drinking it. Ugh…
“They’ve sweetened it for you,” Giles assured her.
“Y-yes, I’ll drink it now.”
She braced herself and gulped it down…and her mouth filled with a bittersweetness beyond anything she could have imagined. It was sweet, yes, but so overwhelmingly bitter! She gritted her teeth and swallowed hard, hugging the cup to her chest and lurching forward.
Giles offered a sympathetic chuckle, seeing her shoulders shake with the effort of swallowing it. “That medicine puts the least strain on the body, apparently.”
“Yes, the doctor assured me as much,” Fiona murmured. Because she rarely fell ill, she wasn’t accustomed to taking medicine. Powders and pills were all fine, but liquid medicine was brutal.
With tears in her eyes, she somehow managed to down the rest of it. Then Giles whisked the cup out of her hand and replaced it with a single hard candy. Fiona made a face. “…A reward for being a very good girl?”
“I suppose so.”
Giles was treating her like a child no matter how you looked at it. Fiona had an inkling that there was a tenderness informing his behavior, though, and it made her feel peculiar all over. She popped the yellow candy in her mouth and let the lemony flavor erase the remaining bitterness on her tongue. “My little sister often had to take this sort of medicine. I should have given her a candy reward like this.”
Only now was Fiona beginning to appreciate how strong her sickly sister was, to have taken such vile medicine all through her childhood without complaint. The admiration that swelled up inside her almost brought her to tears. She stared off into the distance, vowing to tell Cecelia she was a very strong girl the moment she got home.
Giles smiled, watching her. “Well, you were a good girl today, Fiona, so I commend you for that.”
“How’s this,” Fiona said. “In the future, if you drink that bitter medicine in one gulp, I’ll give you a candy too.”
Not like that will ever happen… Fiona’s relationship with Giles would end very soon. Talking about the future like this was stupid; she knew it was. She blamed the bright sunlight streaming into the room, which felt almost magical. Besides, I wouldn’t get these stupid ideas in my head if Giles didn’t smile so softly at me.
Fiona closed her eyes and rolled the candy around her mouth with her tongue, dwelling in the embarrassment of what she had just said.
“Yes,” Giles said after a long pause, sounding stilted. “I would love that.”
Fiona didn’t open her eyes. She lay there, indulging in the nonsensical thought that bittersweet lemon was the perfect flavor for fake lovers.
Giles quickly finished his own lunch. Once he was done, he made casual mention of what had happened at the White Palace. Fiona’s focus turned to the pile of newspapers beside her. “I assumed there would be a great ruckus about it, but the papers said nothing,” she marveled.
“Well, Rick did a good job distracting the party guests and reporters.”
As luck would have it, the rooms in which the crimes took place were located far from the great hall, and on a floor not used by many people. The area was quickly sealed off, and the crown prince put the staff under a swift gag order. Somebody might have heard strange noises and suspected foul play, but with the crown prince keeping his lips sealed on the matter, nobody would dare dig any deeper. Naturally, an internal investigation was being conducted—Fiona was one of the people who had been questioned—but none of that was made public.
“Did they find Gordon?” Fiona asked in a lower voice. She had been the only person pulled out of the lake that night.
Giles shook his head no. Dennis and Reginald confirmed that they did see two people falling from the window from their vantage point on the lake. After daybreak, the lake and its surrounding forest were searched, but neither Gordon nor his personal effects were found.
“Gordon was shot in the shoulder,” Giles reminded her. “It wasn’t a fatal wound, but it’s hard to believe he could have swum properly in his condition.” The lake wasn’t wide, but it was deep. If he sank to the bottom, there would be no way to recover his body. Of course, they couldn’t write off the possibility that Gordon had swum to the shore and escaped under cover of fireworks, but none of the guards or gatekeepers on duty spotted a man of his description, so there was no definitive proof one way or another.
When Giles told her that the search at the lake had been called off the previous day, Fiona sighed. In the end, Otto Gordon’s whereabouts remained unknown, and no one knew if he was alive or dead. Neither his name nor word of the crimes he committed would ever grace a person’s lips again.
Was this, perhaps, what Gordon wanted? Fiona wondered this, but she also vividly remembered the cynical scorn in his voice when he muttered, “It doesn’t matter what I do. It’ll all be hushed up regardless.” It was an unsatisfying end to the saga, but it seemed, somehow, to be an ending that Gordon had foreseen.
“As far as Gordon is concerned, I have nothing more to say. If we find anything new, I’ll tell you,” Giles said.
“I understand. So, um…”
I can ask him this, can’t I?
Fiona made eye contact with Giles where he sat in the chair beside her bed. She knew this was a touchy subject. “What will become of Lady Caroline?”
Giles’s face clouded over at the sound of her name.
“I’m sorry, I just have to know. The detectives won’t tell me anything.” Fiona did hear that there was a confrontation with Caroline while Giles and Richard were searching for her. She did not want to reopen a wound, but she wouldn’t feel right going about her life without knowing what had happened to her.
“She’s at the Burleigh mansion right now,” Giles said. “On house arrest.”
“I see…”
“They say it won’t be easy to indict her.”
Caroline had secret ties to Gordon, but there was no physical evidence linking them. It was a manifest fact that she had attacked Fiona, but she’d testified that she did not know Gordon’s true identity. She claimed that since he was at the royal ball, she assumed he belonged there and innocently arranged a meeting between him and Fiona. Without evidence, there was nothing to refute that testimony. The broken necklace was not seen as a big deal; the Burleigh household could cover that with financial compensation. The only thing she might be tried for and convicted of was bringing a concealed weapon to the White Palace. But—
“I hear you testified that you did not know to whom the knife belonged,” Giles remarked with a frown.
Fiona shrank in shame. “That’s right. I felt like I was about to lose my head.”
It was a special knife, adorned with precious gemstones. In theory, it could be used as evidence, but when the investigator asked Fiona whose knife it was, she said that she didn’t remember.
Caroline’s methods were immoral, but she did everything out of a fondness for Giles.
Fiona couldn’t help feeling some measure of responsibility for Caroline’s actions; if not for the charade with Giles, Caroline would never have resorted to such desperate measures. Perhaps it was egotistical of Fiona to feel that way, but even so…
Now Giles has severed ties with her, Fiona thought. That’s enough. Giles had even sent a formal document requesting that she have no communication or interactions with him, in high society or elsewhere. That was more than enough punishment for her.
“Are you sure you did the right thing?” Giles pressed her.
“Yes. I hear the Burleigh family paid my family compensation, so I’m more than satisfied.”
“Very true to form, Fiona.” Giles looked like he wanted to say more, but he held his tongue. Most noble houses would have taken this as an opportunity to chip away at the Burleigh family’s power and fortune for their own gain, but that would never feel right to Fiona. “She’s going to join a convent far away from here.”
“What?!”
“I’m not sure how long she’ll stay, but once she leaves, she will not reenter high society.”
“Oh…I see.”
“The Earl of Burleigh was very grateful for your generosity. He said he wanted to come here and thank you personally, but he was too ashamed to face you.”
Fiona had only once spoken to Caroline’s father, a brief conversation at a party, but he had seemed like a normal enough man. She couldn’t imagine how he could have foreseen his beloved, sheltered daughter’s rampage, nor its tragic consequences.
“I think she got off far too easy,” Giles said. “If the earl’s decision has caused you hardship in any way, we can put her on trial—”
“P-please, no! Not that,” Fiona gasped, white in the face.
Giles sighed quietly. “The head of the house makes the final decision. You were the victim, after all.”
“I know.” Fiona appreciated what Giles was trying to do, but in her view, there had been many victims—not just herself. She stared into her lap, overcome with emotion, and Giles gently pressed his hand atop her bandaged one.
“If anyone deserves to be punished, it’s me,” Giles added.
“Lord Gil?”
There was a painful-sounding coarseness to his voice. “I’m the reason you were put in harm’s way, a—”
“No, you aren’t,” Fiona cut in sharply. “We started this together. You aren’t allowed to take all the blame for yourself.”
“Fiona—”
“I think I told you this before, but my path would have crossed with Gordon’s eventually, one way or another, and the first time I met Lady Caroline was in that little garden at the prince’s party, before you and I even began our charade.”
“So you’re saying I’m not at all responsible?” Giles asked.
“No. You are responsible, and so am I. We carry the burden together. I feel lonely when you try to leave me out of it.”
Wait a minute, Fiona thought as she tried to gloss over her feelings with a joke. Why do I feel…so sleepy…?
Giles looked taken aback, though Fiona was finding it difficult to see his face, between the sun coming through the window to backlight him and the sudden assault of sleepiness. She pressed on, but her mind wasn’t working so well, and her vocal cords refused to cooperate. In the end, she just blurted out what was in her heart. “And yes, I was hurt, but it wasn’t very…serious… You got…hurt worse…than me…”
Giles did not chastise her for her impudence. Instead, he gently laid her on her side. “You’re tired. You should sleep.”
“But I’m not…finished…talking…” Fiona protested. You’re so kindhearted… I don’t want you blaming yourself for this.
Her consciousness slipped away from her faster and faster, and her thoughts refused to take coherent shape.
“Don’t worry,” Giles’s voice said. “We can talk later.”
A reassuring hand pressed over her eyes. She didn’t fight it and let her lids close.
I don’t even think…I’ll dream…
Floating on a warm cloud of comfort, Fiona sank into a sea of sleep.
***
Giles sighed in relief when he heard Fiona’s peaceful, even breathing. “That stuff really works.”
The medicine Fiona had just taken was mixed with an effective sleep aid. She had sustained severe injuries, whether she would acknowledge it or not. Worried servants had approached Giles and told him that her nights had been restless. He consulted with a doctor, who told him that Fiona had no resistance to medicine, so he gave her a weak dose. It was surprising how quickly it worked.
Giles removed his hand from her eyes and brushed his own hair off his forehead. He looked down and saw the thin red scar on the back of her neck. She got that scar when Caroline ripped the necklace off her. Fiona had laughed it off, saying it did not hurt in the slightest. Giles ran his fingers along it. It should have been me who was hurt. Not you.
A lock of hair was falling into her collar. He lifted it up, and her soft, familiar, light-golden hair shone bright in the afternoon sunlight. Back at the White Palace—and even just now—the woman he loved and would protect with his life had protected him instead. The devastation he felt when Fiona slipped through his outstretched fingers and fell into the lake had gutted him. He had never hated a man as strongly as he hated the crown prince and his attendant when they stopped him from jumping out the window after her.
But most haunting of all was the peaceful smile on Fiona’s face as she fell into the lake without him.
“I feel so wretched,” Giles muttered to himself. He cursed his helplessness so much it took his breath away. A light shone around Fiona, so bright that he could barely look at her.
May you finally get some rest, he told her silently. And while she rested, he would deal with the fallout and pull every aristocratic string that needed to be pulled. That way, when Fiona opened her eyes again, there would be nothing left for her to despair over.
He leaned over and softly kissed a lock of her hair. Then he pulled the canopy shut and left Fiona’s bedchamber.
Side Story: After the Ball
Side Story:
After the Ball
ONCE FIONA HAD BEEN TREATED after her fall into the lake, Miranda stepped out of the guest room and into the hallway—and immediately saw Giles sprinting up the stairs to meet her. He had been doing damage control with Richard and had just come to a stopping point.
Seeing it was Miranda in the hallway, Giles did not even attempt to regain his composure before he pounced. “Sister! Is Fiona—”
“Calm down, Gil. You losing your head won’t help anybody.” There was nobody else nearby, but they couldn’t lower their guards just yet. Miranda reminded him in a harsh whisper that he could very well get Fiona caught up in something dreadful if anybody overheard them. That got him to shut his mouth.
Miranda sighed quietly to herself as she watched her little brother—who was infamous for controlling his emotions—lose his cool. Good gracious, man, she thought. Though I suppose you can’t help yourself. If her own husband were seriously injured or knocked unconscious, she would certainly have lost her head. She had watched with interest as their courtship developed over the weeks, though it seemed her brother’s feelings for Fiona ran deeper than she initially thought.
“Her wounds have been treated,” she assured Giles. “She isn’t awake yet, but once we’ve kept an eye on her for a little while, we can move her.”
When he heard that Fiona was more or less all right, Giles finally released some of the tension in his face. “Is that so… Thank you. I’ll go see her now.”
He tried to quickly slip past her, but she stopped him and raised her right hand. “Wait, Gil. The wound in her right hand is very deep. The doctor said that if the blade went any deeper, she might have suffered blood vessel or tendon damage.”
Giles held his breath as his sister relayed the rest of the doctor’s report.
“They’ve stopped the bleeding, but you mustn’t let her use her hand until the wound has closed.”
“I understand,” Giles said. Clenching his fist tightly, he slipped past his sister and into Fiona’s room. Miranda watched him until he disappeared behind the door.
The Earl and Countess of Bancroft as well as the Marchioness and Marquess of Heyward had been apprised of all the details. They had returned home as if nothing were out of the ordinary, since the whole family remaining at the White Palace would have raised suspicion.
Fiona needed intensive care. Then, on top of that, there were the crimes to deal with. Miranda had heard that Fiona was planning to return to her barony within a few days, but she would need to stay in the royal capital for a while—and in the center of it, no less. Miranda had come to make the arrangements for Fiona to stay with the Heywards again, just like last time.
She found the Marchioness of Heyward. “Were you still awake, Godmother?”
“Of course I was, you silly girl. How could I sleep? So, Fiona is all right, I take it?”
“Yes. It was fortunate for us that Dr. Meyer happened to be in.” Miranda explained that Fiona’s emergency care at the White Palace had been provided by the court doctor. When the Marchioness of Heyward heard that the trustworthy head doctor was the one who had seen to Fiona, she was greatly relieved. “So, until her wounds heal, we’d like to keep her in your care for a while, Godmother.”
“Well, good! I insist! I’ve already prepared the same room she had last time,” the marchioness declared with her usual girlish smile, proudly puffing out her chest. Miranda’s eyes popped open in disbelief. “Giles is by Fiona’s side, isn’t he?”
“Yes. She hasn’t woken up yet.”
Miranda’s gaze fell as she remembered the look on Giles’s pale face when he saw Fiona wrapped in bandages. It had all happened when the crown prince summoned him, parting him from Fiona. His absence had been the trigger in Fiona’s kidnapping and assault. Giles hated himself for that more than he hated anyone else.
Her family will likely oppose their courtship after this, Miranda thought. Fiona’s family had always had their reservations about Fiona courting the son of an earl, who was so far above their social standing. Fiona having been hurt so badly at a royal ball Giles took her to would only worsen their worries. Is there anything we can do about this, I wonder? Surely there was something she could do as Giles’s older sister, but when she considered the fact that Fiona had been in genuine mortal danger, the whole situation became much more complicated.
“You know, I was having a difficult time choosing her nightwear,” the marchioness giggled. Miranda’s tired head shot up with a start. “Miranda, won’t you help me pick it out? Let’s choose her nightwear before Giles shows up! Something cute in a cheerful color would be nice, wouldn’t you say?”
A coy little wink from the marchioness struck Miranda dumb for a moment…and then she let out a giggle of her own. She’d almost forgotten what the marchioness was like. “Hee hee! Oh, Godmother, you scamp!”
Miranda’s task right then was not to worry herself but to build a relaxing environment—that was the subtext of her godmother’s words. We’ll get Fiona’s wounds healed now and deal with the rest later.
What mattered most of all was what Fiona and Giles wanted. Miranda would find that out first, then make her move.
“You’re right,” Miranda told the marchioness. “We need to dress her cheerfully, if nothing else.”
“Exactly. They say laughter is the best medicine.”
“Um, Godmother, I don’t think that’s what they mean…”
Deep into the night, the women poured over dress catalogues, choosing colorful dresses for Fiona’s convalescence.