The Curse of Morton Abbey by Clarissa Harwood

Author:Clarissa Harwood
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Thornfield Press
Published: 2021-06-28T00:00:00+00:00

17

When I awoke the next morning, I was dismayed to hear a steady rain pelting the roof. It was nothing like the downpour in my dream, but when I went to the window, the sight of a soggy, drenched lawn confirmed my fears. There would be no picnic that day.

I went down to breakfast in a mood that rivalled any of Nick’s blackest ones. It was all I could do to be civil to Mrs. Wilson. Then I closeted myself in the library with the legal documents. The lien filed against the property had indeed been an error, as I’d suspected. It was meant for a neighbouring estate, and now that I had cleared up the mistake, there was no legal reason to delay the sale of Morton any longer.

I checked and double-checked my legal reference books against Morton’s documents to ensure I hadn’t made any mistakes. Then I tried to read a novel, but I couldn’t concentrate. I wandered aimlessly around the library for a while, then returned to the desk.

I must have fallen into a reverie, for the next thing I was aware of was a light touch on my shoulder and Nick’s voice saying my name. His voice sounded so much like the male voice in my dream the night before that I sprang to my feet like a startled cat, nearly upsetting my chair.

“It’s you!” I exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here.” He looked surprisingly bright and cheerful. “Not in the library, of course. I just wanted to remind you about our picnic. I’m sorry I startled you.”

“But it’s raining. Isn’t it?” I squinted at the grey mist visible through the long windows.

“I’ve talked to Joe and Mrs. Wilson, and we’re going to have the picnic in the drawing room,” he said. “It isn’t the rose garden, but we can make it pleasant. I’ll even open my grandfather’s ancient bottle of claret for the occasion. Will you meet us in the drawing room at seven this evening?”

“Yes.” I turned to leave the room.

“Wait,” he said. When I turned back to him, he handed me a little white box. “I have something for you.”

“What is it?” I asked.

“Just a small gift, to thank you for putting up with me all these months.”

Speechless, I looked down at the box in my hand.

“Open it,” he urged.

I raised the lid. At first all I saw was a fine gold chain, but as I lifted it out, I realized an amber pendant hung from it. The amber was transparent and set in an intricate gold filigree leaf pattern. I had never owned anything so lovely.

I looked at Nick, whose expression was inscrutable, and thought of what he’d said long ago about adornments around the neck of a worthless woman. What did he mean by such a gift?

“It’s nothing, really,” he said. “Amber isn’t valuable.”

“You needn’t remind me of that,” I said, feeling somehow as if he were commenting on my worth as well as that of the stone.

“I didn’t mean it that way,” he said.

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