A Treason of Thorns by Laura E. Weymouth

Author:Laura E. Weymouth
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2019-07-17T16:00:00+00:00

16

WYN IS WELL AND TRULY GONE.

I search the House from top to bottom. I scour the gardens, and the meadow, and the graveyard. I look in every outbuilding. At last, I have to leave for the Shilling, but going without having found Wyn tears me to pieces. The knowledge that either he left or came to some sort of harm sits inside me, cold and poisonous as mortar.

At the Shilling, there’s no sign of Esperanza and Alfred—presumably they’re in hiding, avoiding an encounter with Falmouth, who’s still in residence at the inn. But he’s sequestered in the gentlemen’s gaming room so I see nothing of him until late in the evening. Then a clatter sounds from the kitchen. At the end of the bar, Frey glances over her shoulder toward the corridor.

“Here, Vi.” She hands me a tray of glasses filled with strong, expensive whiskey. “You take this into the gaming room while I see what’s going on out back.”

I do as I’m bid. As I go, I repeat over and over to myself, You will not lose your temper you will not lose your temper you will not lose your temper.

But as I walk into the smoky, lamplit room, I can feel my shoulders tense and my stomach tie itself up into knots. Falmouth sits at the farthest table, intent on a hand of what looks to be whist. I weave through the tables, replacing empty whiskey glasses and ignoring the bawdier comments from traveling merchant men—the folk of the Halt who frequent the public room never pester me so. As I work, I watch Falmouth. I watch him win his hand and smile, as if he expects the world to hand him whatever he wishes for. I think of him forcing his way through Burleigh House’s wall, leaving a wound that even now hasn’t really healed. I recall my House’s rage at his presence. And I think of the fact that when I go home tonight, barring some miracle, there’ll be no Wyn faithfully keeping watch over my bedroom door. All because of Lord Falmouth.

“Well, here she is, the Caretaker turned barmaid,” Falmouth drawls as I freshen the table. “I was just telling these gentlemen that I’m off to Bath first thing in the morning, to recommend His Majesty torch your foul-tempered House. No one wants another Ripley Castle, now do they?”

I grit my teeth and silently replace his glass.

But the Duke of Falmouth keeps speaking, his voice low and his words insidious. “Did you know I was acquainted with Marianne Ingilby, too? Yes. The girl who brought down the Sixth House and ruined all of Yorkshire. We were thick as thieves back in the day, Marianne and your father and me. I rather think George fancied Marianne, until Ripley Castle finished her off and he had to settle for your mother.”

Everyone’s attention is fixed on us, and I keep my face a careful blank.

“You don’t like hearing about the Sixth House, do you?” Falmouth taunts. “It always struck a nerve with your father, too.

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