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She spoke with the lilting cadence of the north coast, her vowels warm and unhurried, shaped by a lifetime of wind and stone. There was a warmth to her manner that reminded Angelo of the women in the Florentine markets. Practical, no-nonsense, but fundamentally kind.

They followed her inside, and Angelo felt the house embrace them. That was the only way he could describe it. A sense of being gathered into something ancient and aware. The entrance hall was all dark wood and stone, the ceiling crossed with massive timbers that must have been old when Elizabeth sat on England’s throne. Portraits lined the walls. Stern-faced men in ruffs, elegant women in elaborate gowns, all watching with the same gray-blue eyes that seemed to follow their progress.

“Lord and Lady Trenwith are in the library,” Mrs. Roskelly explained as she led them deeper into the hall. “They asked that ye be shown to the morning room first, to warm yerselves and take refreshment. The library can be fierce cold this time of day, all those old stones holding the chill.”

Angelo noticed the way the hall seemed to breathe around them. Draughts whispered through iron grates set into the walls at irregular intervals, creating a constant susurrus of air that harmonized with the cliff’s song. It was unsettling and strangely beautiful at once.

The morning room proved a welcome contrast to the entrance hall’s austere grandeur. Here, someone had made an effort at comfort. A fire burned enthusiastically in the hearth, casting warm light across faded Turkish carpets and furniture that had seen better decades but remained serviceable. Tall windows looked out toward the sea, though Angelo noticed that the view was positioned carefully to avoid the vertical drop to the rocks below.

“Tea will be along presently,” Mrs. Roskelly said. “Lord and Lady Trenwith should join ye shortly. They’re just finishing some correspondence.”

She bustled out, leaving the three men alone in the suddenly quiet room. Lorenzo immediately claimed the chair closest to the fire, perching on its edge like a bird ready to take flight. He could not seem to stay still, his foot tapping an agitated rhythm against the carpet.

Angelo and Nicholas gravitated toward the windows instead. The view was extraordinary. The churning Atlantic stretched to the horizon, its surface textured with white caps that caught the failing light. Clouds raced overhead, their shadows chasing across the water like living things.

“Four days in a carriage to stare at water,” Nicholas muttered. “How delightful.”

But Angelo barely heard him. He was too caught up in the visceral drama of it all. The wind, the waves, the cliffs singing their ancient song. This was a place where the elements ruled, where human constructions clung to the edge of the world and pretended permanence while the sea patiently worked to reclaim everything.

Behind them, the door opened again.

“Signor di Bianchi!”

They turned to see Lady Trenwith entering, followed by a tall man with the bearing of someone accustomed to authority. This would be her husband, Lord Trenwith, the one who had recently married the young woman during her disappearance that had so alarmed Lorenzo.

Angelo had met Lady Trenwith, then Miss Bigsby, only once, briefly, shortly after arriving in England and taking up residence at his uncle’s home in London. She had struck him then as intelligent and talkative. Now, as Lady Trenwith, she seemed to glow with happiness.

“Lady Trenwith,” Lorenzo said, advancing with outstretched hands and a warm smile. “How delighted I am to see you well. And Lord Trenwith, of course.” He clasped her fingers briefly before his obsession took hold of his tongue. “Your message spoke of extraordinary discoveries? I confess I have barely slept since receiving it.”

“Signor di Bianchi, we are equally eager to share what we have uncovered thus far,” Lady Trenwith replied, returning Lorenzo’s smile with genuine pleasure. She turned to greet Angelo and Nicholas. “And Mr. Angelo Scott, Mr. Nicholas Scott, what a surprise to find you here.”

Angelo stepped forward, brimming with youthful energy. “Lady Trenwith, Lord Trenwith, what a delight! We were with Lorenzo to help him in his search for you when you did not come back from the Danbury estate. He desired friends he could trust not to gossip while we endeavored to find you. When he learned you had uncovered something, he asked us to join him.”

Nicholas Scott, leaning slightly on his walking stick, offered a nod of his head.

“Miss Big—I mean, Lady Trenwith. I hope Cornwall is treating you well. Though I suspect it cannot be more challenging than my current company.” He cast a pointed glance at Angelo, who had to admit that he was vibrating with enthusiasm beside him. Lady Trenwith immediately understood the family dynamics, he suspected. His zest contrasted sharply with Nicholas’s more guarded manner, yet both men respected Signor di Bianchi’s pursuit on behalf of his family enough to accompany him on this journey.

“Angelo has time on his hands to assist,” Lorenzo explained, “and Nicholas brings a practical perspective that helps keep our endeavors grounded in reality.”

“How flattering,” Nicholas Scott remarked dryly. “I have been reduced to the voice of reason. Clearly, my reputation has suffered irreparable damage.”

“Then you shall not be disappointed,” Lord Trenwith said with quiet confidence. “What we have discovered defies simple explanation. Perhaps it would be best if we showed you directly.”

Lorenzo’s excitement was palpable as Lord and Lady Trenwith led the small party through the manor toward the library. “I have dreamed of this moment for so many years,” he confided to the viscountess as they walked. “To finally see my ancestor’s work, to understand what drove him to such elaborate secrecy. It will vindicate everything I have believed about his genius.”

Lady Trenwith smiled politely, but she seemed mildly worried.

In the library, Lord Trenwith demonstrated the mechanism in the shelving that opened the concealed entrance, and the shelf swung inward to reveal the hidden chamber which was oddly reminiscent of a chapel. Lorenzo actually gasped aloud, his hands trembling slightly as he peered into the shadowed space beyond.

“Magnificent,” he murmured, his professional composure giving way to genuine awe. “The engineering alone is extraordinary. My ancestor apprenticed with da Vinci himself, which was where he learned these engineering arts. To maintain such a secret for three centuries …”

“The craftsmanship is remarkable,” Nicholas added with grudging admiration, clearly appreciating the mechanical ingenuity despite his reserved manner.

“Wait until you see the chamber itself,” the lady said, lighting an additional lamp to supplement the Lord Trenwith’s illumination.

They proceeded through the entrance, Angelo inhaling sharply as the hall revealed itself in the lamplight. The mirrors caught and multiplied the flames, creating an almost supernatural effect that did not fail to impress.

“Madonna mia,” Lorenzo breathed, his Italian echoing strangely in the elongated space. “It is like stepping into another world entirely.”