Oh, marvelous! Anne clutched her purse tightly. Can you think of a place where Lord Kirton keeps his coin?
His desk in the library. Lady Kirton stood eagerly. I can fetch them in an instant. A moment, Mrs. Bailey. She hurried out the door to the parlor, leaving Anne alone.
Smiling to herself, Anne set down her dish of tea. She rose up from the settee and drifted around the parlor, idly examining the room. The portrait of the dog drew her attention; paintings were costly, and she wondered what sort of person immortalized an animal.
She realized that in the whole of Leos house, there were a
few paintings of landscapes, some hunting scenes, but not a single portrait. No grim ancestors staring out from the walls. Not even a picture of Leos father or mother. Her husband had no history. He created himself, whole and entire, as if he were both Zeus and Athena, springing forth fully formed from his own mind.
A demilune table was positioned directly beneath the portrait of the dog. Lit candles were arrayed atop the table, struggling against the overcast day. As Anne neared the picture, the candles guttered. When she halted her advance, the candles stopped flickering. The room was still and silent, the windows shut tight, and not a breeze or draft whistled.
Anne took another step forward. The candles flickered. She took one more step. The candles went out. Twists of smoke rose to the ceiling.
It was as though she were the breeze that extinguished the flames. Frowning, Anne crossed to the fire burning in a small hearth. As she drew closer, the blaze sputtered and popped, despite the screen arrayed in front of it. She walked quickly to the fire. It shuddered as if harried by a wind. Then it choked out, leaving only smoldering ashes.
Anne stared down at the ashes. Her dream assailed herthe windstorm conjured by the priestess, and the wind crashing into her own body, absorbing it.
It had been a dream. Nothing more. Yet Anne gazed at her hands as if she could not quite place them, as if they belonged to someone else, and were grafted on to her body.
This will be amusing. Lady Kirton sailed back into the parlor, her hands cupped around an assortment of coins. She held them out to Anne.
Anne blinked.
The substitution, prompted the countess. Some of Lord Kirtons coins for the same amount in different denominations.
Anne shook herself. There was a purpose in her coming here. Yes. Lets make the exchange.
Lady Kirton frowned at the now smoldering hearth. Those useless servants. Cannot make a decent fire.
Saying nothing, Anne took her seat. Lady Kirton did the same, and counted out twenty-seven pence worth of coins, which Anne traded for her two shillings and thruppence. Anne felt a visceral thrill when the countess placed her coins in her hand. The woman had no idea what she had willingly agreed to do, believing herself the instigator of an entertaining prank. But Anne had manipulated Lady Kirton to do precisely what she wanted.
If this was anything like the sort of excitement Leo felt when finessing a deal at Exchange Alley, no wonder he devoted himself to work. She could get quite addicted to the stimulation.
I cannot wait to see Lord Kirtons face when he discovers my cleverness. Lady Kirton gave a sly smile. He was in a fever to marry me, those many years ago. Not merely for my fortune. I had been known as quite a beauty. She patted her powdered curls. Perhaps this may reignite that tendre.
Anne rose, tucking her purse into her pocket. Do keep me informed, my lady. Though she rather hoped that she did not receive any excessively detailed descriptions. Now, I thank you for your affability in welcoming me into your home, but I have several more calls to pay.
The obligations of a new wife. Lady Kirton sighed. Enjoy these early days, child. You will soon discover that the man you thought you married is someone else entirely.
With a small shiver, Anne asked, Why would you say that?
The countess shrugged. We all of us pretend to be different people in order to make ourselves agreeable to our spouses. But the illusion soon drops away. Tis the nature of marriage. Then it becomes a matter of adjusting expectations.
I will take that under advisement. My lady. Anne dipped a curtsy and was led by a footman back downstairs.
Leo had taken a hackney that morning, leaving her use of their own carriage, and it now waited for her outside. As the footman held the carriage door open, something within caught her attention.
A letter, placed upon the seat.
Who put that there?
The footman shrugged. I didnt see anyone, madam. He turned to the driver. You see somebody put a letter in the carriage?
The coachman only shook his head.
Never mind. Anne gave the footman a vail, though she was careful to keep some of Lord Kirtons coins for Leo, then climbed into the carriage. As the door closed and the carriage drove away, she picked up the letter. The name Mrs. Bailey had been written across the front, but with no direction.
Someone had placed the letter in the carriage without being seensomeone of dark skill. She pressed back into the seat and drew the blinds, yet she could not rid herself of the sensation that she was being watched.