CHAPTER 14

I remained in my rooms for the rest of the day and evening. I couldn't face the others, even though I knew Lincoln wouldn't be among them. Either he'd gone out or he kept to his rooms. At every creak of the floorboards outside, every groan of the settling house, I lifted my head from my pillow and held my breath. But no one came to my door. Perhaps he wasn't going to throw me out, after all.

The longer I dwelled on it, the more I came to realize he wouldn't do that. He wasn't petty. Yet I knew we couldn't go on as we were. I'd crossed a line, and there was no going back. Nothing would be the same. He would never confide in me again, never take me with him to investigate a ministry matter, never simply sit in the library and read alongside me. He might even stop my training. He would treat me as a maid.

I could cope with the change between us. I must. Lichfield was my home, and I didn't want to leave it, or Seth, Gus and Cook. Or him.

I drifted off to sleep but awoke with a start sometime in the middle of the night. I'd had a dream about the pendant I'd found in his room with the blue eye inscribed on it. That eye had stared back at me in the dream, then winked.

I didn't fall back to sleep, yet I waited until the morning to look through the library books. I did my chores first, making sure the house was perfect, and ate breakfast with Seth, Gus and Cook. They were somber too, and seemed to know that something was amiss. They didn't ask me what had happened, and I didn't offer an explanation. Nor did I ask after Lincoln like I usually did.

I slipped into the library late morning. Lincoln hadn't come down at all, and it seemed that he'd gone out. Even if he walked in on me, it wouldn't matter. Our friendship was in tatters already.

My fingers brushed over the leather spines of the books as I read each one. They were organized by subject matter, with non-fiction occult books near the fireplace. I found one on symbols and flipped to the index. There were several entries for Gypsy, and I checked each page reference until I found the drawings of the blue eye similar to the one on the amulet in Lincoln's drawer.

According to the book, it was a charm to ward off the evil eye, a curse that several cultures believed in, not just gypsies. It was said that witches and evil spirits cursed good people with the evil eye, bringing them bad luck. The amulet with the blue eye defended the wearer from such curses when it was worn close to the body.

If I had any remaining doubts that Lincoln was part gypsy, they were banished. The amulet must have come from his mother.

I returned the book to the shelves and continued with my chores until the early afternoon. Lincoln still hadn't returned when two visitors arrived. Having strangers visit was unusual enough, but the fact that they were two ladies was even more curious. They arrived in a carriage with a footman standing sentinel at the back. He hopped down and opened the door for them. The older lady emerged first. Her gaze took in the house, the garden, and me, standing in the doorway. She wrinkled her nose.

The second lady was much younger, but clearly her relation. Both were beautiful, with high cheekbones, large gray eyes and smooth skin. The older lady wore a green turban that covered much of her hair, while the younger's fair locks were arranged beneath a large brimmed hat trimmed with green ribbon. Both wore striking outfits that hugged their slender frames, although the elder was a more sedate lavender than the girl's vibrant jade.

They looked past me, as if expecting to see a butler hovering nearby. It must seem rather odd to have a maid greet them.

"Is Mr. Fitzroy at home?" the elder woman asked without introducing herself.

"Not at present."

The young woman pouted. "I told you we should have sent a note ahead, Mama."

"When will he return?" the mother asked me.

"I don't know." I stepped aside. "Would you like to wait for him? I'll bring tea and cake into the parlor."

"Please, Mama," the girl begged. "I'd like to see him again."

The mother tilted her head in a nod. "Very well. We will wait. Where is the parlor?"

"Through there." I bobbed a curtsy as both filed past me. "Whom shall I say is calling upon him?"

"Mrs. and Miss Overton," the woman said without turning to me. "We'll stay half an hour, Hettie. No more."

I hurried into the kitchen. "He has guests," I announced to Cook and Seth. Gus wasn't there. "I need tea and cake."

Cook waved his bandaged hand at me. "Can't." He went back to the recipe book open in front of him on the table.

Seth sighed and got up. "Who is it? The general? Does he have an address for Jasper?"

"Not the general. It's Lady Overton and her daughter."

"Lottie and Hettie?" Seth brightened. "Well, that is an intriguing prospect."

"Which one?" Cook asked.

"Definitely the daughter." Seth touched the side of the kettle on the stove to test its heat, while I fetched cake from the pantry.

"You been servicing 'em?"

"Servicing?" I called out from the pantry. "Does that mean what I think it means?"

"Not the daughter," Seth said. "She's a sweet little thing, but completely ruled by her dragon of a mother, who is even more of a dragon in the bedroom."

"Seth!" I shook my head at him.

He shrugged. "There's domineering and then there's dictatorial. Only one of those is fun, and it's not the one that she is. What are they doing here?"

"They've come to see Mr. Fitzroy."

"About?"

"How should I know?" I lied. If Lady Harcourt had been correct, they were here to see if Lincoln was as interested in Hettie Overton today as he had been at the ball. I didn't think my heart could sink any further, but apparently it could. Hettie Overton was very pretty.

Seth prepared the teapot while I gathered plates and cups. "He'd be bored out of his mind with Hettie," he told me quietly as he placed the teapot on the tray. "The mother is a dragon, but the daughter is a simpering witless girl. And that's putting it kindly."

I shrugged. "There is a lot to be said for simpering witless girls. They tend to do exactly what they're told. Most men like that."

"Not Fitzroy."

I picked up the tray. "Don't be so sure."

I entered the parlor and set the tray down on the table. Mrs. Overton didn't break off their conversation, or so much as pause. Indeed, if she'd not accepted the cup of tea I poured for her, I would have thought she hadn't noticed me at all.

"The sofa will be the first to go," she said.

"Yes, Mama. I quite agree."

It wasn't until Hettie Overton inspected the sofa on which she sat that I realized they were discussing it, and not their own furniture.

"Everything is at least five years out of date." Mrs. Overton pointed her teacup at a painting of a Paris street scene. "That will be second."

"I wonder what the rest of the house is like," said the daughter.

"Nobody knows. Hardly anyone has been inside Lichfield Towers for years."

"What about Lady Harcourt? They're friends, aren't they?"

Mrs. Overton sniffed. "So I hear," she muttered into her cup.

The girl seemed oblivious to the mother's innuendo. She was too intent on checking out the room as if she were cataloguing its contents. "What do you think of the color scheme?"

"Too drab."

"That's what I thought. I don't mind those chairs, though."

"They don't go with the rest of the room at all."

"That's what I was thinking. They're much too…"

"Ugly."

"Quite, quite ugly." Hettie blinked those big eyes at her mother and sipped her tea.

Seth was right. The girl didn't have a mind of her own. Lincoln wouldn't be interested in her.

I was about to leave the parlor when he walked in. My face colored as his gaze skimmed over me. His thoughts on seeing me there were unclear however. His expression remained bland.

"Mrs. Overton," he said, walking past me and bowing over the mother's hand. "Miss Overton. This is an unexpected pleasure."

A pleasure? He was a fast learner.

"We didn't hear you arrive, Mr. Fitzroy," Mrs. Overton said, smiling.

"I came in via the back door. It's closer to the stables."

"How…interesting. Lichfield's standards are quite lax. We're unused to it." Her tinkling laugh was echoed by her daughter. "A maid greets us, there are no signs of footmen or butler, and now the master of the house tells us he uses the servants' entrance. What are we to think, Mr. Fitzroy?"

"That Lichfield needs a guiding hand to bring it up to standard. As does its master."

I held my breath and walked slowly to the door. This was an exchange I wanted to hear.

"A guiding hand?" Mrs. Overton's voice had softened since Lincoln's arrival. When she'd been talking to her daughter, it had been strong, inflexible. Now, it took on a girlishness that sat awkwardly on her. "Would that be a feminine hand, Mr. Fitzroy?"

"That remains to be seen, Mrs. Overton. Miss Overton, did you enjoy yourself at the ball?"

"Very much," she said in a breathy voice. "I do enjoy balls, don't you?"

"I rarely attend."

"So we've noticed," said Mrs. Overton. "Where did you run off to at the end? Hettie and I looked everywhere for you."

"Then I must apologize. I hope I can make it up to you."

Hettie beamed at him and blinked those big eyes. It made her look even lovelier, if somewhat childlike. Mrs. Overton's smile was less overt. "You can. Come to my dinner party this Friday night."

Lincoln didn't answer straight away. He seemed to be caught, and I wondered if he'd unintentionally backed himself into a corner. It would seem his instincts had failed him on this occasion. If we'd been on better terms, I would have teased him about it later.

He suddenly turned to me, as if he'd just realized I was still there. "That will be all," he said. "You may go."

I bobbed a curtsy and hurried out. I didn't hear his response to Mrs. Overton's invitation.

"Well?" Seth said when I returned to the kitchen. "What happened?"

"I think he plans on getting more servants." I frowned. "Or a wife. Perhaps both."

Cook snorted. "Don't know why he be wantin' more servants or a wife. Both be trouble."

"Agreed," Seth said. "Surely the four of us is enough."

"Every gentleman needs a wife," I said quietly.

"True."

"And a wife would want more servants."

"Also true." Seth sighed. "I believe we have our answer. But I can't believe he would be seriously considering Hettie Overton as a candidate. She's not to his taste at all."

"Perhaps we don't know his taste in women."

Cook snorted.

Seth narrowed his gaze at me. "I think we do."

My situation had felt precarious enough last night; now it felt like I had my toes poking over the edge of the cliff. It only remained to be seen whether Lincoln pushed me off or I jumped.

I busied myself in the scullery until the Overtons left. Lincoln didn't come into the kitchen afterward, and I got the impression he was avoiding me. My frayed nerves were stretched so thin that I could no longer bear it. I had to do something, and there was only one thing in my power to do.

With a heavy heart, that wouldn't cease its hammering, I went in search of him. I found him in his rooms, exercising. He opened the door with a towel in hand, wiping away the sweat at his brow. It was the first time I'd seen him sweat during all the times he'd trained, either with me or alone.

I lowered my gaze. "I'm sorry to interrupt." I cleared my throat but the ball of panic that had lodged there wouldn't go away. Part of me couldn't believe I was doing this, but I knew I had to. Our situation was impossible, the tension unbearable. I had to end it.

"Yes?"

I cleared my throat again. "I…I need to talk to you."

"About?"

Hell. He was still furious with me. I'd hoped he would be past it, but I knew in my heart he wouldn't be. He never could be. I'd betrayed him, and he felt it keenly. His reaction helped me realize I'd come to the right decision, but it was no easier to voice it.

"It seems that I can no longer work here," I said to our feet. "Things will never be right between us now, and I can't…" I closed my hands into fists and swallowed past the lump in my throat. "I have to go."

The long pause almost had me meeting his gaze, but then he finally spoke. "You can't," he said gruffly. "You have nowhere to go to." It was hardly a convincing argument to stay. It certainly didn't seem like he wanted me to stay.

Any hope I'd held that he would beg me not to go was dashed. It had been a foolish hope anyway. "I have some experience now and should be able to find work in another house as a maid."

"Don't be absurd."

"I'm quite good!" I said hotly.

He blew out a measured breath. "That's not what I meant, and you know it."

A bubble of laughter escaped my throat. It held no humor. "I know no such thing. I can't begin to fathom what you're thinking, Mr. Fitzroy." I stretched my fingers and willed my heart to stop its wild beating. "I will only get another position if you give me a good reference, however. Without it…"

"This is because of yesterday. Because I shouted at you."

"You didn't shout at me." Far from it. I wished he had. Shouting might have got the anger out of his system. "You have every right to feel betrayed, sir, and we both know that a gentleman cannot have his servants betraying him."

"You can't go," he said quietly.

"I have to," I murmured into my chest. "It's for the best, for both of us, and don't try to tell me otherwise. You can never forgive me for what I did."

"You don't know that."

I shook my head and swiped the tear that trickled down my cheek. "Perhaps not, but while I see you every day, I know I can never forgive myself." I swiped my other cheek. "Please place the reference under my door, if you can bring yourself to write a favorable one." I turned and walked quickly down the corridor to my room.

But the flat of his hand against the door prevented me from opening it. He was so close behind me I could hear his ragged breathing, feel the strength of his presence. I closed my eyes, but it didn't shut off the tears, or stop my heart from crashing into my ribs.

"You're right," he said in that maddeningly calm way of his. "We can't go on like this. And we won't. I promise you, all will be well again."

"It can't be. It's not just my summoning of Mr. Gurry…it's everything!" I dared to look at him, to see if he understood my meaning.

If he did, it wasn't clear. His face was closed, the muscles tense as he fought to keep the mask in place. "It's still daylight," he said. "Go outside and get some fresh air. You've been cooped up too long. You'll think more clearly after a walk."

"And if I don't change my mind? If I still want the reference…will you give it to me?"

He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "We'll talk later. Not now. I'm…not in the right frame of mind." He slowly removed his hand from the door.

I didn't enter my room. He was right; I needed to feel the cool air on my face. Perhaps it would blow away the fog that was clouding my head.

I hurried down the stairs and out the front door to avoid the others. The sun shimmered through the trees, but the air had already cooled considerably since I'd opened the door to the Overtons. My hot cheeks needed it.

I walked along the drive and out through the gate, where I could no longer be seen from any of the windows. I needed true privacy from the Lichfield residents, if not from the public.

As I often did when I was troubled, I found myself wandering into the cemetery to my adopted mother's grave. I almost detoured to Gordon's, but I needed the comfort of my mother. I sat on the mat of leaves and leaned back against the headstone.

The twittering of the birds overhead as they settled into their nests chased away any eeriness I often felt when alone in the cemetery. I tried to empty my head and just listen to them, but thoughts of Lincoln and what I would be leaving behind kept returning.

He hadn't seemed like he'd wanted me to leave. Or had he, and I'd just missed the signs? I had hardly looked at him, so it was possible. Yet he hadn't asked me to stay either; not in so many words. He hadn't refused me a reference, hadn't said that Lichfield was my home as much as it was his and that I belonged there.

And when he said we would talk later, how much later? As soon as I got back? Tonight? Tomorrow?

My thoughts went around in circles and did nothing to steady my erratically beating heart. He'd thought a walk would clear my head, but I felt more confused than ever. Earlier, I'd been determined to get a reference and leave Lichfield. Now, I wasn't sure if it was the right decision. It might be…or it could be the biggest mistake of my life.

When the headstone at my back became too cold, I headed out of the cemetery and along Swain's Lane, toward Hampstead Heath. I'd decided to demand he tell me his thoughts on the matter of my staying or going, and leave my decision until after our discussion. I saw no other way.

The sun had sunk behind the horizon by the time I reached the iron gates of Lichfield Towers. They loomed out of the darkness like giant skeletons, but I found them welcoming. I quickened my pace and put my head down into the breeze.

I didn't see the two figures jump out of the shadows until they were upon me. Acting on impulse, I jabbed my elbow into one man's stomach and smashed my foot into his knee. He cried out as he fell to the ground.

I swung round to attack the second man, but a fist smashed into the side of my face, sending me tumbling into the gate. My cheek burned, but then the pain mercifully faded away as I slipped into blackness.