Chapter 1

Chapter One

" W hat on Earth was that?" Veronica Hartley murmured aloud to herself.

Looking wide-eyed into the darkness of her room, her eyes flicked to the window that overlooked the back gardens. She paused, listening out for any other sound.

There.

Another click. A gate.

Her heart raced at the thought of an intruder.

The staff will be aware , she thought to herself, trying to calm herself down. Mrs. Grimbsy will alert someone.

But what if the housekeeper was asleep and not awoken by the noise in another part of the grounds?

Veronica threw back her bed covers and padded over to the window. Shoulder pressed to the wall, she peered out, pushing the curtain back.

"There is somebody there," she whispered, shocked.

But it stunned her further to recognize the man's graying auburn hair and thick sideburns. When he turned around, as if sensing her there, Veronica ducked out of view, but there was no mistaking the face of the man who had seen her: Lord Barwicke, already disappearing through a gate in the gardens, the entrance for the cooks to pick up any deliveries.

If she moved now, she might still catch him in the outer part of the garden.

"Why would Lord Barwicke be leaving the house at such an hour?" she whispered to herself.

Next, she fled her room, and on silent feet so as not to disturb her mother, she ran down several flights of stairs to the furthest wing of Grantham House, but it was no use.

The lord was already gone, the gate clicked behind him, and Veronica was left stupefied with many questions.

The clock ticked into the hallways of the house, telling her she needed to go back to bed and forget about the strange occurrence, but it left her unsettled. For why would a lord be leaving their house? She had not even realized her mother had entertained a late-night guest.

And why had he snuck out so suspiciously?

There was not a soul around the house, and with no hope of catching Lord Barwicke, Veronica knew she needed to return to her chambers.

Her bare feet padding on the floor, she crept back up the main staircase, following it around to the next set of stairs which led to her bedroom.

But to her surprise, somebody was at the top of the set of stairs.

The Dowager Countess of Grantham, Judith Grey, stood poised, her hand on the polished handrail. Her chin was lifted, her mouth tight, and perhaps it was a flash of the moonlight outside the window in the hall, but Veronica swore there were tears in her mother's eyes.

"Mama?"

Judith jolted, the proud set of her shoulders faltering, as she looked down at Veronica. For a moment, it was as if she did not recognize her. It took another moment for Judith's gaze to be less vacant as Veronica made her way up the staircase.

"Mama?" she asked again. "Is everything all right?"

"Of course, darling," Judith said, her voice a pitch too high, and her cheeks slightly flushed.

The closer Veronica got, the more she did indeed see tears in her mother's eyes, and any moment they could fall.

"What are you doing out of your room at such an hour? You have a busy day tomorrow. It is time for you to return to bed, is it not, dear?"

"I know," she acknowledged. "But… I could have sworn I saw Lord Barwicke in our grounds. I was concerned, and I needed to see if I could catch him in the act. If he has stolen?—"

"Veronica, I would like you to return to your room."

Her mother's voice turned sharp with the command, and Veronica stiffened immediately.

"Are you not concerned?" she asked in disbelief. "At such an hour, Lord Barwicke has?—"

"I shall not ask again."

Her heart deflated. Grief had long buried itself in the prideful Dowager Countess, weighing in her bones, even as her determination to continue flared in her brown eyes. Eyes that Veronica herself shared. Losing the Earl of Grantham three years ago had carved something out of her mother that Veronica would never truly understand, but she had still lost her father.

And my brother , she thought.

But those thoughts were not right for the moment. Not yet.

Still, she did not understand why her mother was not concerned about an intruder. Although Lord Barwicke was no stranger, he was not welcome at any moment at their house, least of all, this hour. Even Veronica's own friends would be seen as strange for it.

"I did see His Lordship out there. He was at the back gate. He looked right at my window!"

"You must have been dreaming, Veronica." Judith's vacant face turned into something falsely bright as she gestured for Veronica to move along. "Come now, back to bed. You look exhausted. I shall not have you falling asleep during your busy day."

"You are avoiding my questions," Veronica pointed out, trying not to sound accusing, but still firm. "Is there a reason?"

"I believe I do not have to explain myself to you."

Her mother's sympathetic smile irked Veronica. She was not foolish. She did not believe herself to have dreamed up Lord Barwicke.

"Come. We shall both retire."

Veronica looked at her mother suspiciously. "Mama, what is it you are not telling me?"

"Nothing, dearest. Now, for the last time, I shall ask you to return to bed. If you are dreaming of men in our gardens, then perhaps it is a sign to find you a suitor. Even your dreams are encouraging your chances of an advantageous match!"

Again, that false cheer entered her mother's voice, not doing anything at all to settle Veronica's nerves or worries but inciting them further.

Her mother's hand on her shoulder ushering her towards her doorway only made Veronica push back.

Her mother was a slow-paced woman who often took her time with her meals, thoroughly appreciated something she experienced or tasted, and lingered in conversation, for it all prolonged her return to grief-induced loneliness. For her to wave this away so quickly could only mean something was deeply wrong.

"Mama, this is not the first time Lord Barwicke has entered our home," she said, pulling away from her mother's hand.

She turned to the Dowager Countess, eyes on the tears that refused to be shed. "He is often poking around. I have overheard you conversing with him. I understand he is no stranger, but I do not believe you consider him a friend, surely?"

"Of course, he is a friend."

"He does not attend properly," Veronica insisted. "He does not dine with us nor take tea in the parlor. He rarely acknowledges my existence at all. I have seen you go into my father's study with him. Is it to discuss father's unfinished affairs?"

"Darling, no more questions. I am quite tired."

"What could he have wanted to keep you up this late?"

"Veronica, please?—"

She did not hear the desperation in her mother's voice.

"And he does frequent ever so often, does he not? I did not believe you liked him so much to entertain these visits. Heavens, you enjoy Lady Hastings's company but even you do not see her half as much as Lord Barwicke is here," Veronica went on.

The Dowager Countess of Hastings was one of her mother's oldest friends who lived several houses away on their square in London, but she did not frequent Grantham House quite so often since Veronica's father had passed away, and her brother had gone missing.

"Veronica, I would beg you stop asking your questions now." She finally heard the crack in her mother's voice. "Dearest, I am fascinated by your curiosity and ability to notice things others do not seem to. You must have gotten that from your father, but that is quite enough ."

And those were the very words that caused her mother's chest to start heaving, a sharp inhale taken, right as those tears spilled over. The tears were not continuous things, not a long cry, but with her mother's weathered face and the droop in her proud shoulders, Veronica knew they were tears of exhaustion and defeat.

Veronica stood only several paces from her mother, but it may as well have been a cascading ravine in between them, for she could not go to her. Not as her mind turned over every card she could see—and tried to work out aloud the ones she could not.

"Lord Barwicke…" she whispered, her voice no more than an angry hiss, "Has he been providing us financial aid? Surely that has to be it, to explain what we have been fortunate to have recently. But then…"

Where did the pieces fall?

"You have been very secretive of late. Your demeanor has changed. You have become easily startled."

Her eyes were uneasily flickering around her as she turned over each card in her suit, trying to find what matched.

"And, of course, Lord Barwicke's appearance in our garden at such a late hour…"

All the cards faced upwards. And when she next met her mother's gaze, the older woman covered her mouth and turned her face away, as if ashamed.

Veronica shivered, unable to believe what she had come to conclude.

That Lord Barwicke had been taking advantage of her mother in exchange for his financial wealth. The meetings in the study, the late escapades, the reluctance to talk.

Devastation began in her stomach, a pit of dread spreading upwards until it choked her, and she let out a small, pained sound. Lord Barwicke's fortune was endless; her mother's wellbeing was not.

She finally crossed that ravine to gather her mother into her arms. The Dowager Countess cried harder, her sobs muffled into her daughter's nightdress. Veronica's arms held her mother tighter than ever before.

"It is quite terrible," her mother wept. "It is really quite terrible, and I am ashamed, but I do not know what else I can do."

"Mama," Veronica said again, helpless as she comforted her mother. "Do not fret. We shall find a way out of this. I shall help you find a way out of this."

But Judith was already shaking her head and pulling away, dabbing at her eyes. "There is no way out. He has me quite ensnared, and our finances require his help."

"Not at such a price!" Veronica hissed in disbelief. "I cannot allow this to continue."

Judith's gaze on her was that of sympathy, as if she pitied her for her thoughts. But then it turned sad as she looked towards the doorway of Veronica's brother.

"I do wish Robert would be found," she lamented. "It has been a year, and losing my husband was quite enough to grieve through. To lose my son as well…"

"He is not lost forever," Veronica said although sometimes she thought that herself. "He will return to us."

And both were rather lost but in very different ways. Both men were lost to them.

"Any moment, news will be sent of my brother's discovery," she added.

Silence settled—for they both knew that discovery could very well be a body and not a man who had simply adventured too far. The silence unnerved her. She did not want her mama distressing.

"I know it has been a year since his disappearance, and having no letter or sighting from him has been hard, but it shall be all right," Veronica promised her mother, nodding.

"I am sorry for questioning so much, Mama. I could only sense that something was amiss. Let us retire, for things shall work out in the end."

Now it was her turn to put on the false cheer as she walked her mother back to her bedroom.

The Dowager Countess lingered in the doorway, her hand reaching to cup Veronica's face. In the shadows of the night, with only the moonlight to highlight them, her mother suddenly looked much older.

"Goodnight, Veronica."

"Goodnight, Mama," she answered softly before retreating to her own bedroom once again.

Unable to help checking outside in case the horrid Lord Barwicke was lingering about—which he did not seem to be as the gardens were still with nary a shadow out of place—she finally climbed back in bed, her heart pounding.

"I will find a way," she whispered to herself, pulling her sheets higher up to wrap away the chill of doubt. "I will, for if Robert is dead, then I have no other choice."