Page 52 of The Lady Glass
Mr. Stewart tilted his head, his eyes equally intrigued, though his voice remained casual. “I’m merely repeating the stories told during my Eton days. My study of law leaves little time for treasure hunting.”
“This is the first I’ve heard of any code,” Lord Vernon said, “but the glassblowers are legendary for being the most tight-lipped about their trade secrets. They are almost cultlike in their circles.”
“I must know more,” Lady Cadogen said. “I confess I have a deep interest in gothic tales, and this sounds like a riveting mystery.”
“Better fit for a book than conversation,” Lord Vernon said with a huff. “I pity the man who believes a shred of any nonsense about treasure.”
Rolland’s eyes darted around the small circle, analyzing each guest. There was something deeper beneath the surface of this conversation, and he had a feeling it related to Theresia’s vase. Mr. Hawke was the only one who seemed disinterested by the conversation, even bored. He picked at his nail like the dirt beneath it was more tolerable.
Odd. Especially for someone solely motivated by money.
When Rolland’s gaze reached Theresia again, his attention snagged on her pale face.
Mr. Stewart threw a grape up and caught it in his mouth.“I’ve never believed it myself, mind you. If anyone had so much wealth, they might save a portion for the next generation, but they’d spend a large share of it too. If a treasure ever existed, it would be long gone by now.”
Lewis rocked back on his heels, and Rolland saw the wheels turning behind his eyes. He knew Lewis was generally intrigued by any puzzle, but he hoped his friend would not press for more. Thankfully, no one said anything in agreement or otherwise, and the conversation ended. Rolland pushed aside an empty plate, determined to take Theresia for a walk to refresh her.
Movement across from him drew his attention. Lewis was whispering something to Theresia. She nodded to him and stood, taking his arm. His dratted friend had done what Rolland should’ve done sooner. To his utter annoyance, Lewis pulled Theresia away from the others toward the tree line, leading her farther from the house.
Rolland jumped to his feet without thinking. The others turned to him expectantly, but he was too flustered to do anything but mumble an excuse for leaving. He forced himself to go a different direction, pushing back toward the house. His pace was closer to a footrace than a leisurely walk, and he found himself grumbling under his breath about blasted picnics and ignorant friends.
There was nothing wrong with Evan Lewis taking a casual walk with Theresia. Nothing wrong unless his intentions were romantic, and Rolland found plenty to be wrong about that.
“Enough,” he whispered to himself. He had heard the voice of the spy last night and possibly observed several clues over the picnic conversation. He had to keep his mind clear. Losing so many fellow soldiers had torn out his insides, scarring his sensibilities. He’d promised to give his life to his country so there would be no reason to think too hard. No reason to feel.
Theresia was every bit wrong for him. He knew it.
He growled and pulled at the short hair falling by his brow.
His head knew it, all right.
But his heart didn’t.
***
Theresia tucked her hand around Mr. Lewis’s arm, and he steered her around a particular muddy section of ground alongside the stream.
“I hope I wasn’t too presumptuous back there,” he said. “You looked like you would prefer exercise to more conversation.”
“You guessed well,” Theresia replied. She wished Rolland had been the one to notice her unease. It was hard to always pretend to be something she wasn’t. Oh, it was easy enough to sit straight and speak politely, but to assume an entirely different identity—one which required her to be a wealthy widow, of all things—was beginning to take its toll. But the mention of glassblowers, a topic she was normally passionate about, had left her quite flustered. She’d heard the glassblowers’ origin stories a thousand times, and while they did reference hidden treasure, it was figurative. The way these people had spoken of it had made her ancestors sound greedy and selfish.
Mr. Lewis cleared his throat. “I thought that since you were from Vienna, you would know more about the glassblowers. The Bohemians are not far from you, and their crystal decorates all the houses of the rich. But perhaps the reminder makes you homesick.”
“I suppose.” She looked away, hoping he would take the hint.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Will you be disappointed if I say no?”
“Disappointed that you don’t want me for your confidant? I am not a fair-weather friend.” He snapped his fingers. “I have a better idea. I will speak of only trivial things, and you will not be required to answer at all.”
“Sounds dreadfully boring,” Theresia said with a laugh.
He laughed too. “Would you prefer delightful gossip instead? Because I am certain I could entertain the charming Lady Glass with an anecdote or two.”
She shook her head. “I have been the brunt of too much gossip in my life to desire to share in it myself.”
“What if it wasn’t the bad sort of gossip but the kind a lady like yourself would beg to hear?”
