5. Chapter 5

Chapter five

James

M y face pinched as I stared out the window at the deluge. I would not be spending time out of doors today.

It was with great effort that I had stayed at Fallborn over the last four days. Avoiding Sabrina was more of a challenge than I had imagined. She went to great lengths to obtain my attention, and as a result, I spent a great deal of the early hours in the gardens, keeping out of sight of any windows to the best of my ability, and the afternoons on long rides or fishing with Gregory.

Arriving late for dinner had become my new standard, a testament to my dedication as I valued punctuality. Gregory, who knew this about me, often met my entrance into the drawing room with a smirk. He could guess at my reasoning, I was sure, and not once had he verbally teased me on the matter.

Nor had I questioned his frequent disappearances and the shadows beneath his eyes. His debt weighed heavily on him, but I suspected the cause may lie in breaking his promise to me. Addictions were rarely cured overnight. Gambling was no different.

I heaved a sigh and turned away from the window. I refused to stay in this room the entire day, but what could I do to avoid the chance of encountering Sabrina? I'd come to appreciate the solitude that walking the gardens provided. It gave me time to clear my head, to think and ponder about things I normally had no time to consider .

A large portion of those thoughts the last few days had centered around Miss Scott. I had yet to gain answers to my questions, and observing her only left me with more.

Answers or no, I had learned a great deal about her. For instance, she had a smile that could illuminate a room, though it was rarely bestowed. Her figure was not traditionally slender, instead boasting curves, but she had learned how to properly flatter them with a combination of colors and ribbons tied about her waist. Her eyes constantly roamed to her sister, always full of concern in that protective sibling way. Miss Grace—whom I was introduced to a second time that first night before dinner since I had, unintentionally, missed her initial presentation—seemed to suffer from an injury to her leg, always walking with a pronounced limp. This physical malady was of constant concern to Miss Scott, who often fretted over her sister and pleaded with her to rest.

Miss Grace, I had also learned, was not particularly fond of resting.

But what impressed me most was Miss Scott's kindness. I frequently noticed her conversing with the servants or simply thanking them, neither of which I could recollect Sabrina having ever done. The women were opposite in so many ways that I struggled to make sense of their friendship.

Whenever she believed people were watching, Miss Scott acted as though she and Sabrina truly were close friends. She participated in conversation, though rarely spoke unless Sabrina prompted her. I had always believed Miss Scott a shy woman, but observing from afar, I began to reconsider this assumption.

Would she be as shy in Sabrina's absence?

This answer I had, to some degree, already discovered that first night in the drawing room. Miss Scott and I had conversed pleasantly, and it had been she who prompted much of our conversation.

I tugged on my coat and slipped quietly from my room. The rain prevented me from enjoying a day out of doors, but a book could often prove just as adventurous. Sabrina was not fond of reading, and there was a chance that I could hide in the library the entire day without her finding me.

Rounding the corner to take the stairs, I collided with something solid, though not so solid that it withstood the impact. A light squeal fell from Miss Scott's lips, and she teetered precariously. Fearing that she might tip down the stairs, I wrapped my arm around her waist and tugged her toward me. Something hard smacked against my chest, but I was too caught up with the sweet scent infiltrating my nose to determine what.

Miss Scott smelled of fresh spring flowers.

She looked up at me, and her cheeks turned a shade of soft red that highlighted her freckles. How I had never noticed them in London was a mystery to me. They caught my attention anytime I drew near her, but especially so at this proximity.

"Forgive me," she said breathlessly and shifted in my hold.

I was meant to release her. In fact, I instructed myself to do so, but my arms seemed determined to hold her more securely instead. The curve of her hips made it frustratingly easy. Sabrina had not felt this way in my arms.

Or arm, rather. How different would holding Miss Scott feel should I utilize both of them?

My pulse pounded at the thought, and I cleared my throat, forcing my arm to release her. "It is I who requires forgiveness. I must be more careful in my haste."

There was truth to those words. Imagine if I had run into Sabrina this way?

A shudder rippled through me. That was a nightmare I did not wish to dwell on.

"Let us agree to forgive each other then." She smiled sweetly, and my stomach tossed as though I were a ship hit with a stormy wave. The sensation was odd and disconcerting. Was I becoming ill? It would not surprise me if being within the same walls as Sabrina drove me to sickness.

"Agreed." My gaze dropped to the book she held. Ah. So that is what she had hit me with. I tilted my head to read the cover. " Waverley ? Have you read it?"

Her smile grew. "Yes, I enjoyed it very much. Enough so to purchase my own copy." She held up the book. "I find the author's view on the commoners refreshing and the history fascinating."

"As do I. Have you read the next one?"

She nodded. "I am hopeful there will be more. That is why I brought both of them—to read again. "

"That is an excellent idea. Perhaps I will see if Mr. Davis has copies of both and do the same." I paused. It was not often I was given the opportunity to discuss novels, and I found myself hesitant to veer away from the subject. "I find, oftentimes, that a novel can be even more enjoyable if it is discussed with another reader when both have finished. Would you—"

"Amelia?"

My stomach dove into what felt like the deepest part of the sea. I knew that voice. I could not let Sabrina catch me out of my room. My panic seemed reflected in Miss Scott's expression, and she grabbed my wrist so suddenly, dragging me away from the stairs, that my stumbling feet thudded against the floor.

"Amelia?" The stairs creaked with Sabrina's ascension.

"I'm here!" Miss Scott called back.

I attempted to wrench myself free of her grasp, but she held firm. Her actions were contradictory, and I could not make out her intention—dragging me away while also announcing our position.

My fears were somewhat laid to rest when she tore open the door to a tiny closet and shoved me inside.

I was an earl. I did not get shoved into closets, and my indignation must have shown for Miss Scott scowled at me as she whispered, "Keep quiet."

The door closed before I could offer any protest, and my hand instinctively reached for the doorknob. It stopped midway at the sound of Sabrina's voice and hovered in the tiny space between my body and the door.

"There you are. Why were you not at breakfast?"

There was nothing friendly about the way Sabrina spoke. In company, her conversation with Miss Scott was cordial and sweet, but I had been observing the two of them when neither suspected anyone was watching. The difference was quite pronounced and left me with more questions.

More suspicions.

"I ate earlier," said Miss Scott. "I have just finished reading in the library."

I could imagine the wrinkle of Sabrina's nose at the word reading .

The duchess scoffed. "Well, you will be returning to the library. I am determined to formulate a plan. I have not seen James outside of dinner in two days. I must draw him out, and you are going to help me." There was a pause. "Have you seen him today? Perhaps he also eats breakfast early."

My heart pounded. I had no reason to think Miss Scott would not betray me—no reason, except that she had hidden me in the closet. But was this an opportunity to let Sabrina ensnare me or an effort to save me?

I hopped for the latter, but either way, I was trapped in this dark closet with only the tiniest light passing beneath the door. Were there mice in here? I did not care for mice.

"I'm afraid I did not see him at breakfast," said Miss Scott. "Perhaps he will also come to the library. I do remember he enjoys reading."

An easy thing to remember given we had just discussed a book. I breathed out a slow exhale, allowing relief to fill me. It seemed Miss Scott intended to keep me away from Sabrina's claws. Her actions stimulated my questions, however. Why would she protect me from the woman she claimed as her dearest friend?

Sabrina hummed, as though she hadn't considered my preference for reading before. "That is true. Maybe his love for reading is the way through his walls. We could reconnect over the shared pastime."

"But you cannot stand to read. You have said that you would rather poke your eyes with embroidery needles."

A laugh boiled inside me, and I barely managed to turn away from the door, pressing my mouth against my shoulder to keep any sound from coming out. The movement teased a wooden handle—a broom, perhaps? It was impossible to tell in the dark—which in turn brushed several of what I assumed were rags hung by nails on the wall. Dust stirred, and my desire to laugh was quickly replaced by a violent need to sneeze.

A violent need I failed to ignore.

"What was that?" Sabrina asked, her voice carrying more fear than curiosity. The sneeze had sounded more snort-like in my attempt to prevent it.

My body went rigid as I waited for someone to open the door to see what had made that inhumane noise.

"Likely a rodent in the walls," said Miss Scott with impressive impassivity.

"That did not sound like a rodent. It sounded…like a pig. "

"A pig? In the house?" Miss Scott's tone was laced with faux shock. "I cannot think Mr. Davis would keep swine inside. At least not intentionally. Though, it must be a rather unintelligent pig to snort so loudly if it does not wish to be discovered."

I pinched my lips together, the desire to laugh bubbling in my chest again. I was not a pig, nor unintelligent, and I could not even defend myself.

"I suppose," Sabrina said slowly. She paused before continuing, "I will take the matter up with Mr. Davis, but for now, we will go to the library and make a plan. If we could discover what Lord Emerson enjoys reading, then perhaps—"

"Wordsworth."

Miss Scott's quiet voice barely reached my ears, and I found myself leaning closer to the door, all humor gone. I must have misheard, surely.

Miss Scott continued, "Lord Emerson enjoys novels, but he prefers poetry, specifically Wordsworth. He mentioned once that his mother used to read poems to him. She liked Wordsworth's way of bringing nature into his works. Reading those poems reminds Lord Emerson of his mother."

My jaw hung loose. Miss Scott was correct. I did prefer Wordsworth and for the exact reason she had mentioned. I had shared that vulnerable piece of myself with Sabrina during one of our many visits to Hyde. She had smiled and fluttered her long lashes before revealing her distaste for literature. I had dismissed the topic from our conversations after that, steering away from anything that might turn her attention to another suitor.

Little good it had done.

It came as no surprise to me, for a multitude of reasons, that Sabrina would not recall that short conversation. The details I had shared about myself meant nothing to her—they still meant nothing to her.

But Miss Scott remembered.

She had accompanied us on most of those excursions through Hyde and likely overheard many of our conversations. The information should have been insignificant to her, certainly unimportant enough to toss from memory .

That she had not done so, that she knew, and with great detail, something so personal about me, stirred an odd sensation in my chest. It hummed as though pleased.

And I was pleased, for reasons I had yet to understand.

"Wordsworth?" asked Sabrina. "Hmm, well, I am not familiar with him, but as you never seem to stop reading, I assume you are."

"Yes," Miss Scott replied, her voice faint.

"Good. Then let us go. I will sacrifice the afternoon to familiarize myself with the man's works. You will make me passably informed on them—no, not passably informed. I must be impressive. Proficient."

I rolled my eyes. Sabrina would never be proficient in anything in regards to literature. Anyone could study, but passion—or in Sabrina's case, the lack thereof—is what separated the well-informed from the devoted.

"I will do my best," said Miss Scott. "Shall I meet you there? I wish to return my book to my bedchamber first."

"Yes, yes, but be quick about it." Sabrina's dismissive tone prodded at my irritation. She had not bothered to request Miss Scott's company. She had not bothered to inquire whether her friend had plans for another activity. No, Sabrina was the most selfish creature of my acquaintance, and I only wished I had seen through her act before she had broken me.

Footsteps tapped lightly against the creaking floor, heading in the direction of the stairs. I could assume they belonged to Sabrina, but did I dare open the door? I could no longer use the library today as a place of escape, and with the rain, the only sanctuary was my bedchamber. I nearly groaned at the thought of sitting there all day with nothing to do.

Why had I not thought to bring a book or two as Miss Scott had?

A soft thud sounded on the floor near the door. I held my breath. What if Sabrina discovered me here? Fleeing down the corridor like a coward would dent my pride, but I was not above it in this instance.

Two faint taps sounded on the door, followed by a quiet voice I was coming to know well. "She is gone, my lord. Best stay away from the library today, but I hope you will still enjoy an adventure."

I wanted to thank her, but fear stopped me from opening the door. Trusting Miss Scott was something I simply could not do until I riddled out her intentions and relationship with Sabrina. My doubts would not subside before then. Instead, I listened to her footsteps, each one taking her farther away.

I waited several minutes before gently opening the door and peering through the crack. The corridor was empty, but when I widened the gap, the door tapped against something on the floor. I bent over, retrieving the leather-bound book resting there.

Waverly . Miss Scott had left her copy for me.