Page 14
A tall, cloaked figure was bearing down on him, dark against the gray morning.
Thunking back against the heavy door in surprise, Julius raised his cane in defense just as a glinting knife flashed through the wet air, slashing toward his heart.
Audrey sat perched on her trunk in the lavish entry hall, the cold edge of the brass fittings biting lightly through her gown’s fabric. All around her were bronze sculptures—Roman warriors, hunting dogs, serene goddesses—gleaming in the shifting gray light from tall, rain-blurred windows. Antique swords and daggers hung in elaborate displays on velvet-backed panels, their intricate hilts catching the dim glow of the polished wall sconces.
Gray-green walls with crisp white trim created an air of muted elegance, while burnished wood banisters gleamed like rich mahogany, reflecting candlelight even in this dreary morning. Delicately painted frescos adorned panels on the ceiling, pastoral scenes of rolling fields and ancient ruins that made the vast space feel even grander, though no less cold to her homesick eye.
Audrey pressed her gloved hands into her lap, fighting a queasy twist in her belly. Lord Stirling had left in his carriage at first light. She knew this because she had watched from the window of her small bedchamber, chin propped on the sill, rain sluicing down the panes in steady rivers.
Sleep had eluded her for most of the night. Every hour had seemed to stretch endlessly as she turned over her worries, twisting the ties of her night rail in restless fingers. Soon, she would be collected by Lady Astley, a woman whose very name made Audrey’s spine straighten with defensive dread. The peeress embodied everything she found tiresome, suffocating, and needlessly cruel about London society.
How she longed instead for long rambles along Stirling’s country lanes, where oaks and maples tossed their branches in gentle breezes and birds trilled unseen in green canopies. For idle chitchat at the village shop counters, where gossip was warm and familiar, and the air smelled of flour and fresh-baked bread wafting temptingly from Mr. Rogers’s ovens.
Not for stiff-backed conversation about etiquette and lineage, or ladylike pursuits meant to improve nothing except her future marketability under the disapproving gaze of an embittered biddy of the upper classes.
When she had worked side by side with her father, she had never let herself imagine the future without him. His presence had filled every room with certainty. The past five months had brought home a harsh reality she was still learning to bear.
The moment she reached her majority, she would go home to Stirling, back to the land and people who needed her. With luck, she would have her guild membership and be able to practice medicine openly. If the guild refused her, as they well might, being the closed-minded collection of old men they were, then she would find another path. Herbalism. Midwifery. Whatever might allow her to serve and heal.
That was neither here nor there for the moment. She still had a month of mourning to observe, then more months before she was free to bid farewell to Lord Stirling’s vast, empty household. London, for all its fine carriages and candlelit balls, was not ready to release her from its crowded, noisome grip.
Audrey frowned slightly, shifting on the trunk’s hard edge. She was not even sure whether to be pleased or irritated by the pounding downpour outside. It was delaying Lady Astley’s arrival, which was a relief, but only a temporary one.
Her gaze fell on the ornate gilded birdcage set beside her, where little Flapper beat his good wing against the bars in agitated protest, the other carefully immobilized in a neat binding to let the bone mend. The flutter of feathers and soft, distressed chirps tugged at her heart.
She could just imagine the encounter when Lady Astley finally arrived.
“What is that in the cage, pray tell, Miss Gideon?”
“This is … my pet … starling, Flapper, your ladyship.”
Even in her private, silent rehearsal, Audrey felt the cold prickle of Lady Astley’s anticipated stare, her glacial gaze enough to turn any polite lie to ash on the tongue.
“Your … pet? Do you believe a starling is an appropriate pet for a young lady of the ton, Miss Gideon?”
Audrey had to think carefully about how she would respond to such a question.
“Lord Stirling … had a servant capture it for me as a gift, your ladyship.”
Audrey shook her head at her own reflection in the glass of the door. That was an outright lie, and certain to invite even more trouble. She could not disrespect her guardian with such a flagrant falsehood.
Perhaps she should attempt the truth?
“What is that winged creature, pray tell, Miss Gideon?”
“This is … my patient … Flapper, your ladyship.”
The noblewoman’s brows shot up in horror. “Your … patient?”
Audrey groaned, feeling her stomach twist uneasily, queasy with anticipation of the encounter. Accepting the truth would be far worse. What the deuce was she to do when the lady’s carriage actually drew up in front of the townhouse?
“Sweet heavens, this will be a disaster,” she whispered under her breath, causing the liveried servant standing nearby to cast a sidelong glance in her direction.
Flapper chirruped from the cage, his free wing fluttering like a tiny banner of sympathy.
Springing to her feet, Audrey began to pace the broad entry hall. Gilded pier glass reflected a thin, gloomy daylight seeping in through the fanlight above the door and from the narrow windows on either side with their beaded condensation.
The starched footman kept his eyes trained forward in the polite manner of the best-trained servants, making no acknowledgment of her restless movements. Audrey had tried to be friendly with the staff in past weeks, but quickly discovered that the earl’s household was a monument to propriety. If anything, they seemed even more committed to rigid decorum than the nobility themselves. To them, she was merely the earl’s guest—worthy of careful, distant service, but not true companionship.
