Chapter 17

After an awkward first night as Lady Glass, with far more male attention than Theresia had ever had in her life, she woke feeling apprehensive about playing the part again. Today an outing to town had been planned. She blamed Rolland for the minimal information she'd been given about the guests before being thrown to the wolves. But there was nothing for it; she would have to soldier on.

Leaving behind her stately bedchamber decorated in eggplant purple with its cloudlike bed behind, she reluctantly pushed her way down the corridor toward the staircase in search of the breakfast room. At least her gowns lent her confidence. Whether by miracle or magic, they fit as if tailored to her body. How had Rolland guessed correctly? Had he taken her measure after all their run-ins? Her eyes widened, but she blinked away the nonsensical thought.

She had never been to a dressmaker before, but the seminary had had a seamstress come by on occasion who had taken her measurements. The products then had been serviceable dresses of cheap material and the cut almost shapeless. Her stepmother had refused to pay for anything but the most basic of gowns, leaving Theresia to wonder whether there was a problem with their finances. After seeing Helena's closet, she knew now that money had never been the problem. Her eyes lowered to her current skirt. Its fine material, ruffled on the end, billowed with each step down the corridor. Being a lady had its definite advantages.

"Lady Glass."

Inwardly, she groaned. She hadn't been paying attention. Who would she have to put on an act for now? She turned and relief filled her. "Mr. Lewis, good morning."

"Good morning to you too. Did you sleep well?" Mr. Evan Lewis came up beside her, sliding his thumbs into his waistcoat pockets in a carefree way and giving her a ready smile.

"My room exceeded my expectations." Her words were an understatement. She had never slept in a softer bed. Thinking of her lavender-scented pillow and silky bedding made her want to sigh with pleasure. It topped her list of luxurious items that she had been showered with since agreeing to attend the house party.

"Excellent," Mr. Lewis responded. "Ashbury Court is an old house, but I dare anyone to find a finer or more comfortable place. To me, nothing compares."

"Oh? What sort of life have you had that you can compare so many fine houses to each other?" They turned at the top of the stairs and began descending, her eyes catching on the vaulted ceiling, grand seal above the door, and orange trees flanking it. She'd not truly appreciated the house's splendor on her previous visits. Her mind had been so singly engaged on her vase.

Mr. Lewis shrugged. "I grew up outside of London. Father was a landed gentleman, and my future was set before I ever learned to walk. My mother's affinity for travel kept us abroad off and on. I can only say my childhood was as idyllic as any, which is how I can explain being in more homes than I can count. Sadly, that changed when my mother passed away and I was sent off to school. But after a week visiting here, I knew there was nothing I liked better than Ashbury Court."

Theresia paused on the bottom step. Mr. Lewis was so forthcoming and easy to talk to that she could not help but like him. In the space of a single evening together in the same room, she'd learned he was a bit of a flirt. Harmless, of course, and no doubt lonely. "Thank you for telling me your story, Mr. Lewis. I appreciate your ability to see your life with such a grateful eye."

He grinned. "How could I not? The difficulty in life is at the tip of our nose, so why waste our time seeking it out? I would rather chase after the happy moments and consume my thoughts with them."

She laughed. "How very well said. I feel I know you completely, and we have only conversed twice altogether."

"Not all men are as hard to read or as difficult to pry information from as our dear Captain Reese."

"Should I take offense to that?"

Theresia whipped her head around to see Rolland jogging down the stairs, his hair neatly combed back, accentuating the sharp lines of his jaw and forehead, and his jacket was perfectly pressed. But no amount of tidiness could hide the ruggedness of his appearance: the tanned skin, the bulging muscles beneath his coat, or the knowledge that he could bowl a person over without hesitation.

She smiled at that last thought.

"You're as quiet-footed as Cadogen, Reese." Mr. Lewis chuckled. "Now, there is a man who can sneak up on a person."

"Are you taking breakfast on the stairs, Lewis?" Rolland asked. "Or are you planning on showing our guest to the breakfast room?"

Mr. Lewis's eyes went to the muralled ceiling of dancing cherubs. "All business and little pleasure makes a boy very, very dull, my friend."

"My favorite quality." Rolland lifted his arm to Theresia. "Come, Lady Glass. You must be famished after letting Lewis talk your ear off."

She accepted his arm and gave another laugh. "Mr. Lewis did no such thing. In fact, I rather enjoyed his company. But since I am famished, I will gladly accept your lead." In truth, she was more comfortable with Rolland and was pleased he had found her so quickly. If she trusted anyone in this house, it was him. Just being near him set her at ease.

They stepped off the landing, curled around the stair, and crossed the large entryway. "How about a tour after breakfast?" Rolland asked. "It's early yet, and we have some time before our ride into town."

Lewis interrupted from behind them. "Thank you for the invitation, but uneven numbers in a party can be devastating. I would hate to leave Captain Reese out."

"Very selfless of you to stay behind, Lewis." Rolland steered her farther down the corridor. "I'm certain Her Grace would accompany us."

Theresia glanced up and caught the captain's soft gaze. "I would love a tour." He was looking at her differently today. Had she passed the line from nuisance to friend?

The breakfast room was crowded already. It wasn't as pleasant as it could have been if either of her two new friends, Lady Cadogen or the duchess, were present. She could use all the allies available in the house. She turned her attention to the guests present, observing them carefully.

Her gaze met that of Lord Vernon, whose shrewd eyes were intent on her own. Did he suspect her as an imposter? She drew her best cheerful smile, but Lord Vernon did not reciprocate. Instead his brows lowered with suspicion. A shiver ran down her back, and she forced her attention to the others, reminding herself that his possessing a calculating stare did not mean anything. Her identity was safe, and there was no reason to think Lord Vernon was murdering her in his thoughts. He had every right to be curious about a new house guest he'd never heard of before.

Mr. Stewart was an easier man to study. He had a pleasant face, and his long yellow side-whiskers bounced as he spoke endlessly about politics to Mr. Haversham. Mr. Haversham's high voice agreed with everything Mr. Stewart said. He did the same with his wife too. Mrs. Haversham, on the other hand, had strong opinions, and she shared them without invitation. Mrs. Stone would've had an apoplexy hearing a woman interrupt a conversation so frequently, only to remark about eggs, the weather, the state of Mr. Haversham's napkin, and her aching back. Their daughter was quiet and seemed to take after her father in temperament, although her looks were more similar to her mother.

Thankfully, Theresia had little need to talk at breakfast. She did not think she would have managed under Lord Vernon's watchful eye. She promised herself she would be braver next time and set her napkin on the table when she finished, eager to quit the room.

"How about that tour, Lady Glass?" Rolland's head bent toward her, his low voice sending warmth through every inch of her. "Since Her Grace is not here, we can stick to the common rooms." How easily he captured her focused attention and set her at ease.

She nodded and pushed back in her seat.

Once they were outside the breakfast room, Rolland pointed back toward the entrance hall. "Let's start with the library since it is at the front of the house, and then we can move toward the portrait gallery."

The mention of the library made her forget her unease at breakfast. "I like libraries."

He looked at her and gave her a half smile followed by a chuckle. "Is that so?"

Maybe not conversing all through breakfast had made her tongue loose, or maybe it was the preview of his smile, but she wanted to tell Rolland something she hadn't told anyone before. "I was different from the other girls at the seminary. When I arrived, I had a thick accent like Mrs. Bedrich's and did not understand many of the strict rules of English culture. It turns out people do not always like those who are different. The library became my solace."

"Is that where you studied languages?" They paused outside the library door.

She slowed. "How did you know?"

"It seems you know English, German, and French, at least. One would have to practice diligently to learn so many."

He did not miss a thing. "After I mastered English, I wanted to feel comfortable no matter where I went. I know some Italian as well, though I likely read it better than I speak it."

"A difficult situation often turns into an opportunity to grow. You should feel proud you did not shirk a challenge."

Parts of her had blossomed, but other parts had turned bitter. She wasn't ready to divulge all of her story yet, so she deflected. "Hiding in a library is no challenge; it's a literary paradise."

With that, Rolland pushed open the door, and Theresia got her first look at Ashbury Court's library. The fireplace held a small glow of a morning fire that would soon need to be put out when the day warmed, illuminating the wide hearth and the many bricks encasing it. Above it was a ducal portrait standing guard over the rows of books, with his majestic gaze. A large window had the drapes pulled back, casting a soft honey glow over a desk in the corner. Several wooden chairs with cushioned seats crowded near it.

Rolland motioned to the desk. "This library also acts as a second study for the duke."

"I see. Will he mind that we are here?"

"He is likely overseeing the plans for the outing this morning with Her Grace. It's all yours for the time being."

The smell of paper and wood polish filled her senses, while her eyes roved over title after title—some familiar, others new. Books were comforting things, challenging her mind, unwinding her thoughts, and sending her emotions in every direction under the sun. She hadn't felt any sense of home in a long time, but for a moment in this library, the books made space for her.

"Thank you for bringing me here. It isn't a house sweep for my vase, but I appreciate it." She almost asked if they could turn it into one, but when she looked up, she found Rolland staring at her, and she found she could not voice her request. With his back to the window, the dark flecks in his eyes deepened their brown shade, making his gaze appear all the more intent upon her.

He took a step closer. "You're welcome. We can finish the tour later. Take a book, if you'd like."

"There is nothing I would like more, but should I not be using this time to"—her eyes went to the open door—"you know."

"I don't want to overwhelm you, but I confess I'd hoped you'd learned something useful last night and could tell me on our tour or, at the very least, you could ask me any questions you have."

She lowered her voice. "I was so busy trying to remember who was who and following the conversation should I be called upon to speak that I couldn't simply observe. I can tell you this much: their English accents do no more than tell me what part of the country they are from. On first assessment, I would say they are all native speakers." She hated to disappoint him, but she had to be honest. "I need more time conversing with each of them."

"We did not invite you for dinner alone for this exact reason. You will be in the same carriage as Miss Yearsley, Mr. Hawke, and myself on our outing to town. We have strategically come up with ways for you to interact with each guest for the next several days."

That meant she still had time to prepare to speak with Lord Vernon, and she would be ready when the opportunity came.

"Do let me know if it becomes too much," Rolland added.

Under his initial gruffness, this man was terribly thoughtful. "I don't shrink easily, Captain. I might be uncomfortable or say the wrong thing, but you can depend on my fortitude." She fingered the spine of a farmer's almanac. "There is one thing you can do for me. I would like to know more about the guests before I interact with them. If I can spend less time coming up with conversation and more time listening, I shall have a greater chance at being useful to you."

Rolland leaned his good shoulder against the shelf so his body faced hers. If anyone walked by, they might think Rolland's posture one of a man trying to woo a lady. She knew differently. He'd made it all too clear where his plans lay, that he intended to marry whomever his father selected. But that knowledge didn't keep her heart from racing or her ears from temporarily thrumming from the sound of it.

"I shall do all in my power to help you." He glanced up at the door, but even though he knew as well she did that anyone could walk by and assume whatever they liked about them, he did not move away. In fact, he leaned all the closer. He studied her for a mere second before whispering, "Miss Yearsley is an heiress and outwardly the catch of the Season, but she has a sordid history. Her fiancé, a powerful politician, was killed the night before their wedding, and she was the primary suspect. She had no alibi, but no one could prove her guilty either."

When Theresia felt his breath on her forehead, she had to put her hand around her middle to still the fluttering there. "The vase thief I heard was decidedly male."

"We have no reason to think our traitor has accomplices, but we cannot rule out the possibility. Miss Yearsley was within a few miles of this recent murder, the same as all our suspects."

Did all captains have such a strong presence in a room? It was hard to pay attention with Rolland just a handspan away. She had to lower her gaze in order to respond. "What of Mr. Hawke? He's the one with the small nose and thin mouth?"

"Yes, his name does not quite fit his likeness. Fair warning, his manners leave little to be desired. He has obsessive tendencies, too, but they involve money. Like Mr. Haversham's, his money trails are questionable. We suspect illegal activity, maybe even involving bribery."

"Is that enough to qualify as your traitor?"

Rolland shook his head. "It could be enough to get him arrested, but we must have proof. We've traced funds as far as Prussia but to no known dignitaries. What we really need is a link from one of our guests to the delegates heading to Vienna. Someone with loyalty outside of England. We need a motive to kill."

"And you expect them to be forthcoming with this sort of information?" Theresia made the mistake of looking up at his captivating eyes again. At least he wasn't smiling. She had seen such a picture only once, when he had tried to assure her after her arrival, but it was a devastating sight.

"That would be all too easy. No, we expect nothing. We can only hope to catch one word, one clue, one slip that will give them away. The men I work with will not stop until this case is solved."

Is that what she was doing? Suddenly hoping for one word, one clue, one slip from Rolland to justify her attraction to him? She had one goal, and there was no room for hoping for anything else. She would secure her vase and leave, regardless of whether the traitor was still undiscovered by then. In fact, the idea that her thief and the murderer were connected was seeming more farfetched by the second.

Voices sounded in the entrance hall, but Rolland was slow to pull back. "They're already gathering for the trip to town. Are you ready for your public debut as Lady Glass? It might not be a London Season, but I hear a summer courtship is all the rage."

"Courtship? Who said anything about courtship?" Her eyes darted to meet his. She was afraid of what he would say. She hadn't really believed he liked her, but had her secret wishes betrayed her?

Rolland rotated his injured shoulder and straightened to his full height. "Isn't that what house parties are about?" He held out his arm to her, his gaze teasing. "Forget the specifics about the guests and jump into your role. We cannot risk our suspicions giving us away."

"Are you telling me to flirt with some of the guests?" That had not been part of their deal. For starters, she hadn't the first notion about courting, as was apparent by her overreaction to Rolland's nearness.

"What? No!" His gruffness was back. "I merely meant to try to enjoy yourself and let the clues fall naturally into your lap."

She couldn't decide whether she was disappointed or relieved that he was reminding her to step back into her Lady Glass persona. Apparently she was the only one imagining the sparks between them every time their eyes connected. When he offered his arm, she accepted it, but it was with some hesitation. She had to remind herself that she had no interest in Englishmen, not even this one.

And she had no intention of flirting with a murderer.