Chapter 38

Theresia sat at a dining table in a crowded inn, trying to gather her whirling thoughts. The soup in front of her lay untouched. She'd completely lost her appetite. She hadn't realized traveling took so much preparation. There were letters to be written to arrange inns and carriages, the ship passage to book, and shopping for a winter wardrobe to complete. They'd made it to Lancaster, a full day's carriage ride away from Ashbury Court, and planned to sail out from Liverpool the next day.

She hadn't meant to change her mind.

She was mortified to tell Mr. Plasil.

He sat down beside her with a rolled-up newspaper. "It shouldn't have been so hard to track down a paper in this big city," he complained, tapping it against the table.

"Mr. Plasil," she hedged, pushing away her soup bowl.

He unfolded his paper without looking up at her. "Yes?"

"I know who took my father's vase."

"What? Who? When did this happen?" He set the newspaper down and leaned over his elbows.

She wanted to laugh at his anxious expression, but she couldn't even manage a smile. When she'd told him about the vase's disappearance, she'd seen him angry for the first time. He'd known about the vase, witnessed its beauty, and understood it to be her dowry too. Although she had taken slight pleasure in the way he'd disparaged Lady Caspar's name, she'd not wanted to take the matter to court. The vase was gone.

Or so she'd thought.

Broaching the topic a second time would certainly make emotions hot again. But there was nothing else but to say it and be done with it. "You'll never believe me. I sat down just here, and like a bolt of lightning, I was struck with the knowledge of what I couldn't see before. It is so perfectly clear; I don't know why none of us could see it before."

"Are you certain? If so, this isn't something you should simply walk away from. The vase is your heritage! You deserve this one last gift from your father."

Her stomach balled with dread. "There's only one way to find out." She quickly listed the clues that had led to her sudden revelation and the identity of the murderer and thief.

Mr. Plasil rubbed his chin, his wrestle written all over his face. But at least he was acting thoughtful instead of completely frustrated with her. He pointed at her. "If we leave now, you can make it for the ball."

"This has nothing to do with the ball." He'd been trying to convince her to wait to leave until after the country dance, but it would only serve to remind her of what she couldn't have. "I'd be returning only for the vase and to reveal to the duke whom to protect everyone from. I don't want to face Captain Reese again. It would hurt too much to say goodbye a second time." She stared at her soup, wishing there were any other way. "It would be sweet torture even to see him." She spit the words out, disgusted by the deep-seated obsession she had with the man. It had easily been the longest week of her life, despite the comfort Mr. Plasil had offered, and she missed Rolland more than words could describe.

No, she more than missed him. She longed for him.

Like fire molding glass, love had changed the shape of her thoughts, her goals, and her very heart. She'd thrown herself into its flames and would never be the same. It had melted away her hate for the English, but now it pained her with fresh insecurities. Her heart was now as fragile as crystal, cut deeply too many times, and she would not be burned again.

Mr. Plasil tapped the table in front of her to get her attention, breaking her morose stream of thoughts. "How else will you manage? If you return to Ashbury Court, your captain will know."

She had no good answer. "I cannot simply write a note. There are too many eyes who will see it first."

"Then, the ball is the only answer. It will provide the perfect distraction with so many other guests about. Your presence will cause a stir for those of the house party who see you, but there will be many others in attendance who won't recognize you. The new duke is popular among the ton ."

"You're right," she grumbled. Mr. Plasil was finally going to get his way, but only because of the diversion the ball will provide.

"And you must see Captain Reese as soon as you arrive. He has to be the one to retrieve the vase. Anything else is too dangerous."

Danger or not, she would be the one retrieving the vase. However, Mr. Plasil didn't need to know that. A proper plan—a strategy worthy of the captain—would solve everything. "I'll attend the ball, but don't expect any dancing."

Mr. Plasil grinned, his face looking years younger. "Perfect, because I have one more enchanting surprise for you."

She shook her head. "You've done too much already."

"Nonsense," he said, ignoring her. "Any glassblower would go to great lengths to help another in need, and we are family friends besides. This vase belongs in our community, with one of our own." He rolled up his paper again. "Now, eat your soup. Apparently you did not get enough of the long carriage ride. You are ready to do it all over again."

She was already shaking her head when Mr. Plasil stood. She couldn't believe they were going back. No matter what, Rolland couldn't catch her this time.

***

No matter the underlying tension, there was something so romantic about a country dance that the appeal was contagious. The thrill of the ball sent a fervor of excitement through all of Ashbury Court—except Rolland. He wanted nothing more than to ride to the coast and catch the first passage to anywhere else.

His father entered his bedchamber as Granger finished tying Rolland's cravat. Rolland ground his teeth together, not ready to face him just yet.

"Have you made up your mind, son?"

Rolland didn't answer, tweaking his cravat in the mirror.

"She's gone, Rolland."

Gone. What an empty word that was. "I know."

"I hate myself for rushing you, but Lord Caspar is pushing to make the announcement tonight." Father sighed and crossed his arms. "Despite what your mother says, I'm only doing what I think is best for you."

"You mean for England." The words came out too harsh, but Rolland couldn't unsay them now.

"For England, yes, but for you too. It wasn't just your mother who noticed how happy you were with Lady Glass. It's a shame she was not who she was pretending to be." His father sighed. "But this isn't about Lady Glass. You were broken when you returned to us. Seeing you happy again was good for us all. It could be the same with Miss Shields. She's a sweet woman who, thankfully, did not inherit her mother's sharp tongue. In time, she'll help you smile again too."

Rolland dropped his hands, his willpower waning. "It's possible, I suppose." If his heart had healed once, couldn't it do so again? And Miss Shields seemed impossible to hate. He'd tried. But his father was wrong about one thing. His feelings for Theresia were not so fleeting.

His father stepped closer. "Should we go forward as planned?"

Was it time to surrender and admit defeat? Rolland's heart had sunk like a ship in the merciless depths of the ocean. There was no way he could see to resurrect it.

His father set his hand on his injured shoulder, and Rolland resisted the urge to wince. It was healing well, but the pressure was uncomfortable. Only Theresia knew to ask about it, so he couldn't blame his father. If Rolland was determined to hide everything, he couldn't blame others for not understanding. Not his shoulder nor the ache in his chest.

"I'll tell Lord Caspar to make the announcement just after the supper dance. I know it's hard now," his father said. "But you won't regret this."