Page 72 of Companion to the Count
Saffron felt her cheeks flushing. “I did not come here to be toyed with, my lady.”
“Why did you come, then?” The dowager picked up a small cake and nibbled on it. “You might as well get out with it. I’m not getting any younger.”
Saffron bit the inside of her cheek. How could she ask the woman about her brother, when the dowager had already lost so much? Although part of her hoped that the dowager would have answers, another part of her feared those answers would be ones she did not want.
“I have…hada brother,” Saffron started.
“Yes, I heard about the incident.”
Saffron’s stomach twisted in knots. “The incident?”
The dowager raised her eyebrows. “The dissolution of your family.”
She flushed. “Yes. Well, then I saw my brother’s face in one of Miss Mayweather’s paintings. I asked Lord Briarwood, but he does not know when she painted it.” She pulled the portrait of her brother from her pocket and handed it to the dowager. “That is why I am here to ask you if you know when your daughter could have painted him.”
“I remember him,” the dowager said slowly. “Sabrina said there was something about his face that inspired her. She painted him the night before she died.” The dowager’s face filled with pity. “I’m sorry, my dear, but your brother is dead.”
Her hands twisted the fabric of her gown in her lap. “How can you be sure?”
The dowager sighed. “Because I was there when they boarded that ship together. Sabrina could not wake Leopold, so I took her instead. But I’ve never been able to abide boats, so I sent one of my maids with her. It is a decision I will regret as long as I live. They both died that day when the ship crashed on the Thames. Your brother died the same day as my daughter.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Where the devilis she?
By the time Leo completed his third rotation of the estate, he was certain something was wrong. Saffron had worked so hard to arrange the event. It was unlike her not to be bustling about. He’d even had to unsnarl two minor emergencies on his own, which further spiked his concerns.
Finally, he set out for her room again, taking the steps two at a time. When he arrived, the door was open, and Mrs. Banting was inside, talking to a fiery-haired maid.
“Where is she?” he barked, storming into the room.
“We aren’t sure,” Mrs. Banting replied. “I was just speaking to the maid assigned to assist her. Lily—”
“She would’nae let me see the note!” Lily cried. “I tried to tell her it was a bad idea, but she—” She broke off, lower lip trembling. Mrs. Banting patted her on the shoulder. “It is not your fault. A more stubborn girl I’ve never met. I doubt even I—”
Leo held up a hand. “Stop. Fill me in from the beginning. What note?”
The story tumbled out of the maid in pieces, with Mrs. Banting filling in when Lily broke into sobs.
“The footman came early, and then she called me. I tried to convince her, but she wouldn’t budge.”
Mrs. Banting squeezed the girl’s shoulder. “Lily outfitted her with riding gear and a cloak, then came straight to me when shefinished. I spoke to the footman, but he’d never seen the person who delivered it before. She took a gray mare and headed out. That’s all we know.”
Leo restrained himself from throttling the woman. It wasn’t her fault that the situation was eerily familiar to the morning he’d woken up to learn Sabrina had gone on the cursed boat without him.
Not this time. I won’t fail her the way I failed Sabrina.
He’d grown, changed. He wouldn’t rush out on a horse, thick in denial, determined to solve the problem on his own. There were other people who cared about Saffron, and he would leverage every single one of them.
“Find Miss Summersby’s sister and aunt,” he said to Lily. “Maybe she told one of them where she was going.” Then he faced Mrs. Banting. “Assemble as many servants as you can to climb to the top floor and look out the windows. If she’s within eyesight, someone might see her.”
*
Saffron walked alongthe shore, arms limp at her sides. She thought about going through the garden, trailing her fingers over the delicate buds. Instead, she made for the river where the small boats floated, the soft swish of water hitting their halls, the chains and bells jangling.
Thoughts flickered through her mind, too fast for her to track. Everything she’d feared had come true. Basil was dead. Angelica would marry the duke. Rosemary was content to rent a small room, supported by the small pension left by her late husband.
Where does that leave me?
