Page 24 of The Pureblood Daughter
“Seasonal allergies, perhaps. I’m sure they’ll pass soon enough.” Adelina trails her fingers across her desk and casts her gaze out the window, trying to appear disinterested as she voices her next question. “What’s in my tonic, Mama? I’ve asked Rose, but she’s been unable to tell me.”
Lady Gray waves a hand. “Herbs of some sort. Dr. Parsons tells me he uses them for all sorts of ailments. Why? Has is ceased working?”
“I don’t believe it ever truly worked in the first place,” Adelina mumbles, remembering clearly her fainting spell at the Rosetti soiree. The memory still causes her cheeks to burn with embarrassment. “Do you know—” The question on her tongue could very well be found disagreeable, but she can’t help wondering. “Do you know... anything of my birth family? Were they ill? Perhaps it’s inherited.”
Lady Gray’s lips twist, and she reaches for the necklace about her throat. “I would tell you if I knew, dearest, but I don’t. Your father brought you home one night, said there’d been a terrible accident. We’d been trying for years to have a child, and then he walks through the door with you, a dark-haired beauty with these big blue eyes.” She looks up at Adelina, tears brimming along her bottom lashes. “I know I should’ve asked questions, but my prayers had been answered, and I was terrified someone was going to knock on the door one day and take you away.”
“No one’s taking me anywhere, Mama.” Adelina presses a kiss to the top of her mother’s head. Lady Gray sniffles, then laughs and wipes her cheeks.
“I’m sorry. All these years later, and I still get emotional when I think of it.”
“Do you think Papa would know?”
“About your birth parents?” Lady Gray shakes her head. “I don’t believe he knows any more than I do, or he would’ve told me. Dr. Parsons was there that night as well, called out to the scene when it was said an infant had survived. Dreadful business.” Her lips pucker into a sour expression.
“Of course. I must ask the doctor, then.”
“If he knew the origins of your illness, he would certainly treat you for it.” Lady Gray stands and reaches for Adelina’s hand. “Where is this coming from? Has something upset you?”
“It’s maddening, Mama. Of course I’m upset. I’ve been sickly my whole life, yet no one seems keen to discover what ails me. Our doctor should know something by now, don’t you agree?” Adelina pulls her hand away and heads toward the door. “I’m going to ask Papa. Is he in his office?”
“Don’t upset him,” Lady Gray calls after her, one hand perched on her hip. “He’s been... ill-tempered as of late.”
Adelina pulls the door open and sweeps into the upstairs hallway, her eyes set on the door to her father’s study. Afternoon light streams through the windows, turning everything a shade of gold. The picture frames along the walls shine, and dust motes float in the balmy air.
Skirt trailing behind her, Adelina pads down the hall, her footsteps softened by the runner underfoot.
“Papa?” She raps her knuckles on the hardwood and glances back over her shoulder as her mother starts descending the stairs, one golden brow arched in warning. After a few seconds without answer, Adelina knocks again. “Papa, are you in there?”
The doorknob shines in the light streaming through the window at the end of the hall; it’s no doubt been polished already today. Adelina reaches for it, and it twists smoothly in her hand.
“It’s me,” she says as she pushes the door open, but she finds the room empty. The curtains have been pulled back, and the room is awash in warm yellow light. The bookcases on either side of the study are filled with tomes, and Adelina briefly remembers perusing the shelves as a child, asking her father to lift her to retrieve books too high for her short arms to reach. He’d settle her on his lap, and they’d snuggle up together in his plush armchair, reading by candlelight until Lady Gray came to fetch them for bed.
The thought brings Adelina a smile as she turns to close the door softly behind her. Alone in the room, she casts her gaze about and feels a flutter of excitement. She shouldn’t be in here—not without her father’s permission. He’s always been tender with her, but even his patience knows its limits. And besides, he has been a curmudgeon lately. Adelina still hasn’t asked him about his behavior toward the viscount at the Oakley ball; she’s afraid bringing it up would only encourage him to further shelter her, and she can’t have that.
Her gaze goes to his large mahogany desk, and she crosses the room on quiet feet. Outside one window, the cobblestone street bustles with activity. Carriages roll down the wide road, and people stroll the sidewalks arm in arm, enjoying the balmy summer day. Across the road, other beautiful homes stand tall against the cloudless blue sky, and Adelina wonders what their tenants are doing. Out at the modiste or the café for an afternoon treat? Taking tea or callers in the drawing room?
And what of the viscount? What does he do when not penning letters or dancing with golden beauties at lavish balls? His visage comes to mind, his green eyes vibrant beneath a head of dark hair. She trails her fingertips through her hair and down her neck, wondering what it would feel like if they were his fingers. The fantasy sends goose bumps skittering across her skin.
Footsteps in the hall cause her to spin, and she searches her father’s study for a hiding place before remembering she’s a grown woman; it would be improper and humiliating to attempt to hide now. Better to face being found out head-on.
Heart thundering in her chest, she draws herself up beside the window. Out in the hall, the footsteps pause briefly, and she prepares for the door to open. After a moment of silence, the footsteps resume and continue to the stairs. Adelina lets out a breath and shakes her head.
This is mad.She makes for the door but stops when her gaze lands on her father’s desk. One drawer is slightly ajar, and something inside glints in the afternoon light.
She bends and pulls the drawer quietly open, her brow furrowing.
Inside lies a flintlock pistol. The handle curves smoothly, and the steel barrel shines into her eyes when the sun hits it.Lying beside the pistol is a small leather pouch, the drawstrings pulled tight. Adelina glances up at the closed door and listens a moment before reaching for the pouch. The strings come loose easily, and the mouth of the bag falls open to reveal a collection of small silver bullets. She pours them into her hand and holds them up in the light so they gleam.
What use has Papa of these?
Her father is not an avid hunter, though he does participate when decorum dictates. This pistol, however, is not what he’d take on a hunt, and she can’t remember ever having seen him with it.
A door closes in the hallway, and Adelina starts. A few bullets hit the floor, the sharp sound of metal on wood making her wince. She hurriedly stoops and sweeps them back into the bag. Only after putting the pouch away and closing the drawer does she spot a single bullet lying half obscured by the floor-length draperies.
She grabs it and moves quickly from the window. After crossing the room, she pauses at the door and turns back to observe the study. It looks the same as when she stepped in; her father won’t know she’s been here—except for the bullet, which she clasps in her fist as she opens the door and slips quietly out.
Adelina’s brow furrows in concentrationas she leans over the pianoforte, her fingers dancing elegantly across the keys. Across the sitting room, the open window allows a cool summer breeze in, and the fresh air tickles the hair at Adelina’s temple. The black music notes on the sheet before her start to swim in her vision, and she misses two bars, ruining the Beethoven piece she’s been so diligently trying to learn.
