“Pardon us, ma’am,” Sam said. “But we’re looking for Mr. Craddock. We were told that he lives here.”
The woman gasped softly and Sam tensed.
“He did live here,” she said. “But not anymore. He’s dead. He hung himself a month ago.”
Chapter Eleven
Six years went by in wedded happiness—for what man wouldn’t be happy to be rich and married to a beautiful woman who loved him? In the sixth year, Iron Heart’s happiness reached a new peak, for the princess found she was expecting their child. What rejoicing there was in the Shining City! The people danced in the streets, and the king showered the populace with gold coins the night the princess gave birth to a son. This small baby was the heir to the throne and one day would wear a king’s crown on his head. On that night, Iron Heart smiled down on his son and his wife and knew that soon he would be able to speak aloud their names. For this was the third day before the end of his seven years of silence....
—from Iron Heart
“Capers,” Lady Hasselthorpe said.
o;Have you seen Mr. Hartley?” Emeline asked before her hostess could flit away.
“Yes. His sister is quite pretty and a good dancer. I always think that helps, don’t you?” And Lady Hasselthorpe was off, singing about turtle soup to a startled-looking matron.
Emeline blew out a frustrated breath. She could see Rebecca now, pacing gently with the other dancers, but where was Samuel? Emeline began to skirt the dancers, working her way to the far end of the ballroom. She passed Jasper, who was whispering something in a girl’s ear that made the child blush, and then Emeline was blocked by a phalanx of elderly men, their backs toward her as they gossiped.
“I saw the book of fairy tales you left in my room,” Melisande said from behind her.
Emeline turned. Her friend was wearing a shade of gray-brown that made her look like a dusty crow. Emeline raised her eyebrows but didn’t comment. They’d had this discussion before, and it hadn’t changed her friend’s attire a wit. “Can you translate it?”
“I think so.” Melisande opened her fan and waved it slowly. “I only looked at a page or two, but I could decipher some of the words.”
“Oh, good.”
But her voice must’ve been distracted. Melisande looked at her sharply. “Have you seen him?”
Sadly, there was no need to explain who him was. “No.”
“I thought I saw him go out onto the terrace.”
Emeline glanced to where glass doors had been opened to let in the night breeze. She touched her friend’s arm. “Thank you.”
“Humph.” Melisande snapped her fan shut. “Be careful.”
“I shall.” Emeline was already turning away, moving through the crush.
A few steps farther and she was at the doors leading to the garden. She slipped through. Only to meet disappointment. There were several couples outside, strolling the stone terrace, but she didn’t see Samuel’s distinctive silhouette. She glanced around as she advanced, and then she felt him.
“You look lovely this evening.” His breath brushed her bare shoulder, raising goose bumps on her skin.
“Thank you,” she murmured. She tried to look in his face, but he’d caught her hand and tucked it in his elbow.
“Shall we stroll?”
The question was rhetorical, but she nodded anyway. The night air was a relief from the hot ballroom. The chatter of the guests faded as they crossed to wide steps leading into a gravel path. Tiny lanterns hung from the branches of fruit trees in the garden, and they sparkled like fireflies in the autumn dusk.
Emeline shivered.
His hand tightened on hers. “If you’re cold, we can go back in.”
“No, I’m fine.” She glanced at his shadowed profile. “Are you?”
He gave a soft snort. “More or less. You must think me an idiot.”
“No.”