Page 72 of Meet Me Under the Mistletoe
“Guy doesn’t do gutter press!”Dear god, I’m defending Guy!“I mean, he’s done some controversial exposés in his time, but they generally had it coming. Heba was the victim of exploitation. And Guy is bloody-minded enough and has enough of his own personal privilege not to be frightened by the De-Veers’ legal team.”
Isaac gave a long sigh as he looked out of the window at the starless night. “Look, I know you mean well. And thank you for caring and being outraged on Heba’s behalf. But my family decided a long time ago that the most respectful thing would be to guard her secret and cherish her work privately.”
“But people should know! Heba should be posthumously credited for her work. Your family should own the rights to it.”
“It’s too risky. This is all we have, Nory. These sketchbooks are more than money; they are my great-great-grandmother’s honor. She already lost her art to the De-Veers. I will not have her name dragged through the mud in the papers when the De-Veers fight back—which they will. And what if it doesn’t go in our favor? Heba signed away her rights to her work...”
“Yes, but under false pretenses. That’s a crime!”
“And how will your friend Guy prove it? Heba’s not here to defend herself. I can’t take the risk of losing her art or having her sketchbooks impounded as evidence or something. All thewhile the De-Veers don’t know about them, they’re safe. If I go to the press, they won’t be anymore. I am not about to hand over the rest of Heba’s legacy because a hundred and fifty years ago a corrupt countess lawfully cheated my relative. The De-Veers have everything to gain by me going public, and I have everything to lose.”
“Not if you win!”
“I don’t want to fight with you, Nory. But if you’re looking for a crusade, I’m not it.”
“Then why did you show me?”
“Because I like you. And because you clearly love my great-great-grandmother’s paintings. I wanted you to know who really filled the pages of the books you cherish so much. I’m trusting you with a great family secret.” He looked at her intently. “Am I right to trust you?”
“It just seems so wrong to put them back in the trunk. The world should see—”
He cut her off before she could muster another argument.
“Can I trust you?” he asked again.
She sighed. What could she do? “Yes,” she said at last. “Yes. You can trust me.”
He smiled then. “Thank you.”
Heba’s sketchbooks were placed back in the trunk with loving care and the lid locked. But even though they were out of sight, they were definitely not out of Nory’s mind, and she felt sure they were still on Isaac’s mind too. Because despite the subject being changed for more lighthearted topics, the air was still heavy with the secret in the locked box.
Nory wanted to talk more about it. She had so deeply admired Serena’s talent, but Serena De-Veer was a sham, a common crook. There was a hole in the provenance of her booksthat needed filling. She wanted to know about Heba: Who taught her to paint? What drove her passion? What was her life like, working in service for a wealthy family, the kind of family who could promise you a new life, only to betray you horribly and leave you powerless? But she could tell that Isaac didn’t want to talk more about it. Not right now at least.
The moon and stars were covered over with cloud as Isaac walked her back to the castle. The sky and landscape one dark mass, as if someone had scribbled out the world with a black marker.
“Will you be helping out on the hack tomorrow? You seem to get roped into all sorts of non-gardening events.”
“I’ll be there to help get you all saddled up and then I’ll go back to my actual job. I don’t normally have to get involved in castle matters, but we’re short-staffed and the marquis wants to make a good impression on your party. We get plenty of weekend parties throughout the summer, and weddings, of course. But not normally a weeklong house party plus wedding. Three or four gigs like yours a year would bring in some much-needed cash.”
“The castle does all right, doesn’t it?”
“The castle is a money pit. The maintenance alone would make your eyes water, and that’s before any improvements are made. So, it’s all hands on deck to impress the toffs in the hopes that they’ll tell their toff friends, and then maybe I’ll finally get a budget for the lost garden.”
Nory tried not to be offended on her friends’ behalf by the way he kept sayingtoffsand instead inquired: “The lost garden?”
“There’s an old walled garden—one of several, actually—justbefore you reach the dower house. It’s been a dumping ground for as long as I’ve lived here. The Dower House is central operations for the castle office staff. I’ve been saying to the marquis for years that he should build the staff their own place; out past the east wing where it would be out of sight but close enough to be practical. Then turn the old Dower House into a holiday rental and let me work my magic on the old garden.”
“It sounds like you’ve got it all worked out.”
“I have a lot of time to think when I’m working.”
“And what does the marquis think of your grand ideas?”
“He agrees with me. All he needs is a spare half a million to get things started.”
“Yikes! No wonder he wants this week to go well. Can you take me there? To the lost garden, I mean?”
“Come find me when you get back from your ride tomorrow afternoon, and if it’s not too dark, I’ll take you on my tea break.”
