“My own travels were before you were a light in your mother’s eye,” her grandmother said softly.
“Do you plan to see her while we’re here?” Sophia asked, instantly hating the way her voice quivered.
Grandmother’s face softened. “Do you?” she returned.
Tears pricked at the back of Sophia’s lashes. She tried to blink them away. She had no memory of her mother. Perhaps it was best that way.
“It’s all right if you want to go and see her,” Grandmother advised. “I can help you find her.”
“I’d rather not.” Sophia swiped a hand across her nose. Her mother probably wouldn’t even recognize her.
Her grandmother closed and locked the last trunk and turned to face Sophia. “That’s enough lamenting about the past.”
No one had ever told Sophia or her two siblings why their mother had to leave the land of the fae, never to return. Why she wasn’t a part of their lives. But in the quiet times at night, she’d heard whispers of her mother’s misdeeds from the other beings who occupied the land where she came from. Those fireflies were a blasted nuisance. And, despite their beauty, they liked to tell tall tales. Tall tales full of doom and gloom. And remorse.
Sophia shook the thoughts away. She’d long since given up her search for answers about her mother. This was certainly not the time to rekindle them. This was the time to work her fae magic for a little girl. And she might even get to help the dangerous Duke of Robinsworth in the process.
The man looked haunted behind those sky-blue eyes, and pain rolled from him in waves when she was in his company. She’d very nearly swooned from the power of it when he’d realized she knew about the stigma attached to his name. It wouldn’t do for her to go reeling into the bushes at the mere presence of the man. She’d have to work on her response to him. To his pain. To his daughter. To his past.
Unpardonable Error Number Two: Never let your dust fall into the hands of the untrained. She opened her reticule and glanced inside, wondering about the vials of dust she had stored in the small space. Each had a different purpose, most of which were benign. Yet the dust for truth, the newest one, made the hair stand up on the back of her neck. What if the truth was too burdensome to bear?
Four
Ashley stood in the shadows on the upper level and glanced down into the foyer from behind heavy drapes. His mother was in her glory, greeting her guests and introducing those who didn’t know one another. He watched closely as people filtered into the entryway, each one stopping to stare at the glamour that was the Hall.
He had to admit that the Hall was fairly stunning. It was his home after all, his refuge. It was his shelter from the storm that had been his life for so long. He’d rarely left it in the days following his wife’s death. It was much easier to hide.
He’d pampered his home with endless attention, mainly because it had never said terrible things to him. It had never accused him of misdeeds and had never once mentioned the word “murder.”
The only place he didn’t go was the west wing. No one was allowed to go there. Not after that fateful night.
Anne dragged him from his reverie when she tugged his sleeve. “That’s the lady from the park, Papa,” she said softly, her face glowing with happiness as she leaned over the railing to look down into the entryway. He jerked her back so quickly that she jumped and rubbed absently at her arm. “Ow,” she murmured, looking at him from below lowered lashes. She looked just like her mother when she did that.
“Apologies, Anne. You know how I feel about the railing. Please stay back.”
“Sorry, Papa.” Anne had no idea why he was so cautious when it came to high places. Hopefully, she never would. “But that’s the lady from the park.”
Ashley narrowed his eyes and looked down into the foyer. It was difficult to make out faces from that height, particularly when he really wanted to linger in the drapes and have no one notice he was there. But then she looked up at him and his heart lurched. Miss Sophia Thorne, the lady from the park, stood at the bottom of the stairway looking up at him like the innocent she was.
A grin tugged at his lips, despite the fact that it was a foreign feeling. She inclined her head at him in silent acknowledgment, and he raised a finger to his lips. He didn’t want the rest of the party to see him skulking in the drapes. They’d assume he was hiding. And, although he was, there was no need to draw attention to it.
She smiled broadly when he raised his finger to his lips, but she obviously understood his desire to have his presence remain a secret, because she turned to the older woman with her and devoted her attention to his mother.
“I want to be like her,” Anne whispered from her spot beside him where she clutched his hand. There were worse ladies she could emulate, like her mother.
He tipped her chin up so she’d look at him. “You be like you, and it’ll all turn out just fine,” he said. She grinned her toothless little grin at him. He leaned toward his daughter’s face. “When did you lose your front tooth?” he asked.
She poked a finger at the empty space. “It came out this morning.”
“Perhaps the tooth faerie will come tonight,” Ashley said.
Anne’s smile faltered. “She didn’t come the last time,” she said with a sigh.
“Why on earth not?” Certainly Wilkins hadn’t let the opportunity to coddle his daughter pass him by? Then Ashley shook his head. When had her care fallen to Wilkins? Ashley would have to do better.
“Wilkins said she must have been busy.” She shrugged.
Ashley drew his daughter against his side and hugged her. He needed to find a governess for his daughter. Someone who could be solely devoted to her care and well-being. Wilkins was a good substitute, and he made certain the staff took care of her, but she wasn’t his charge. She wasn’t his priority.