Arcana (24 page)

Worry makes its bed in the pit of my stomach as I keep watch on the stables from my window. It isn’t until later, when the three ladies leave without any of the horses, that I finally allow myself to breathe a sigh of relief.

The next morning, the invitation arrives as promised. It’s delivered by a liveried servant who refuses to hand off the creamy envelope to anyone but me. My name is scrolled in a bold hand across the front. On the back is Lord Thornewood’s crest stamped in red wax. I clutch it to my chest and race up to my room to open it free from distraction.

The invitation is straightforward enough, containing all the information he told me at the park. It’s the personal note to me that makes my breaths come a little faster. In the same bold handwriting, Lord Thornewood has written:

I read and reread the note. So he
does
think about our kiss. His note all but implies he’d like the chance to do it again. A rush of excitement fills me at the thought that I’m not the only one who cannot stop thinking about that night.

I fold the letter and hide it in my reticule. I should probably dispose of it to avoid the risk of anyone ever finding it, but I can’t bear the thought.

Now for the hard part. Convincing Grandmama. After my confrontation with her only yesterday, she has been even chillier toward me than usual. But as I cannot walk myself to Lord Thornewood’s estate, I must gain her permission.

I push open the door to her sitting room, my hand more tremulous on the handle than I would like. “Grandmama?” I call.

She looks up from her mahogany writing desk. “Yes?”

“May I come in?”

She covers whatever she was writing with a blank sheet of paper. I try not to feel offended—or suspicious. “I suppose. What is it?”

“This invitation arrived this afternoon from Lord Thornewood.” I hand it to her, hoping it’ll do the talking for me.

“Hm. This is quite the opportunity. But we’d have to leave on the morrow.”

“It’s only for a couple days, though, so we won’t need much luggage. Lord Thornewood also said he will send transportation for us.”

Her eyes scan the invitation again, and I hold my breath. She looks at me. “And you wouldn’t mind staying at his estate?”

I shake my head. “On the contrary, I think it’d be a lovely change of scenery.” When I see some of the tension leave her, I add, “Penelope and Lady Hasting have already assured Lord Thornewood they’ll be there.”

Grandmama lets out a breathy sound that sounds suspiciously like a snort. “Yes, she informed me yesterday. It comes as no surprise. Lady Hasting jumps at any opportunity to parade her daughter in front of potential suitors.”

“He personally invited Lucy, too,” I say, grasping for my only other leverage.

“Oh? And what did your sister say?”

“She was eager to go.”

Grandmama sighs. “Very well. Call my steward to me at once. We mustn’t waste a moment if we are to leave in so short a time. Earls are unbelievable in this regard. No care given to the convenience of anyone else.”

She’s still ranting as I run to find Mr. Bancroft. Let her rant all she wants. I’m just grateful it was easier convincing her than I thought.

True to his word, Lord Thornewood sends a vehicle to bring us to his estate. Only it isn’t the carriage we expected. In its place is a gleaming motor car, its chauffeur impeccably dressed in black.

“I am Jasper,” he says with a short bow. “Please allow me to escort you to Thornewood estate as his lordship requested.”

“Well this is quite the surprise,” Grandmama says, almost grudgingly.

Lucy turns to me with excitement shining in her eyes. “Oh, Wren, is this not amazing? Not even Papa has a motor car!”

I can only stare at the beautiful machine, a thrill racing through me at the thought of being driven in it.

Jasper helps the servants load our luggage, and then assists us into the back, the black leather seats buttery soft.

“Thank you, Jasper,” I say. “Lord Thornewood had informed us he would be sending transportation, but we never guessed it would be something quite as modern as this.”

Jasper smiles. “His lordship wants you there as soon as possible, milady. This will cut your travel time down to only two hours.”

With a short bow, he closes the door and walks around to the front of the motor car. The engine starts with a rumble, and with a little jolt, we are on our way.

Grandmama sits across from Lucy and me in the motor car, preventing all meaningful conversation, but with the scenery racing by faster than I have ever seen, I am content to look out the window.

Everything looks so green after being in the cold city. Now we’re outside of London, the countryside is rich farmland with rolling hills shaded by tall, leafy trees. Homesickness stabs low in my chest as I think of my father’s estate. The Season has been more interesting than I could have hoped, but I still desperately miss home.

I let my mind wander and even nap for a while, until the motor car turns off the main road and onto a long, curving path. I sit up straighter in the seat, eager to catch the first glimpse of Thornewood. A large lake shimmers in the sun, reflecting the enormous oak trees that tower over it.

Lucy sucks in her breath as we go around the final curve. “Oh, my. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen such a thing in England.”

I just stare at the house—if it can even be called such a common name. I cannot believe Lord Thornewood didn’t breathe a word of warning. Glimmering white in the afternoon sun, its Persian architecture all graceful lines and rounded arches, like a miniature Taj Mahal, stands the Thornewood manor. Lucy’s right. I’ve never seen such a thing in all of England and am surprised I hadn’t heard of it before. There are many aristocrats fascinated by all things Eastern, especially Indian, but never to the point their home is a replication of one of the great wonders of the world.

Even Grandmama’s mouth hangs open in shock. “What in the world?” she says.

The chauffeur takes us right to the front steps, and instead of the liveried servants one would expect of an earl’s household, lithe Indian men with copper skin and jet black hair emerge to take our luggage. My hands shake as I take the footman’s proffered hand. It’s like I’ve stepped into the words of a storybook. The front door opens again, and Lord Thornewood jogs down the steps to meet us.

His smile is wide and welcoming. “Kath—Miss Sinclair,” he corrects himself with a glance at my grandmother, “I trust your trip was uneventful.”

“Very,” I say, acutely aware of how my knees now feel like jelly. “Well, until we drove up the path to Thornewood, of course.”

Lucy joins me, and he bows. “Miss Lucy, I’m so happy your governess could spare you.”

“I am, too,” she says, without a hint of her usual shyness. “I wouldn’t have wanted to miss this. Your estate is breathtaking.”

For once, his confidence falters, replaced by an almost boyish hesitancy. “I know it must be a terrible shock. I find it’s often better just to see it with your own eyes, which is why I so cruelly didn’t prepare you.”

“It’s beautiful,” I say, my wide eyes still taking in this exotic piece of India transplanted to English soil.

Some of the tension leaves his face as if he had been waiting for some sign of my approval. “I cannot take credit for it, of course. My father was enamored with the story of the great Taj Mahal. He spent much of his time in India, actually.”

“I would love to visit India,” I say, watching the servants carry in our luggage, their silken clothes fluttering in the breeze. “So I thank you for giving us the opportunity.”

He smiles. “Of course. Ah, Lady Sinclair,” he says when my grandmother joins us, “it’s an honor to have you and your granddaughters at my home.”

“Your home indeed,” she says. “A home like no other in England. No, the pleasure is ours, my lord. I know both my girls have grown restless in London. This will be a welcome retreat.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Come, then. I’ll show you to your rooms.”

We follow, and I try not to stare at his wide back, which I know from experience is knotted with muscle. It certainly doesn’t help he’s casually dressed, in only a light linen shirt, riding breeches, and tall boots.

When we enter the house, his boots ring out over the marble floors. I have to force my mouth closed, as I am tempted to stare at the soaring ceilings and enormous crystal chandelier. Everything is marble. Marble and ornate Persian rugs threaded with gold. Wide columns in the entryway give the impression we’re inside an emperor’s Eastern palace. He leads us up a sweeping staircase lined by beautiful paintings—the kind you can get lost in. Lucy gazes at them with naked admiration.

“This will be your room, Lady Sinclair,” Lord Thornewood says, standing to one side of the doorway. Grandmama breezes through, much less humble and appreciative than she should be.

“This is a well thought out room,” she says, gazing around her. Despite the marble floors, the room could be like any other found in a grand English estate. Perfect for my grandmother. I lean in to see what view she has from her window—it’s of a quaint English-style garden. “This will do nicely. I thank you.”

“Absolutely,” Lord Thornewood says. He turns back to Lucy and me. “Shall we continue?”

“Did you choose each room we’d stay in?” I ask.

“Naturally.” He leads us to another room, five doors down from my grandmother’s. “I chose this one with you in mind, Lucy.”

A wide smile brightens her face. “This is perfect, my lord, thank you.”

The room is dainty and feminine, and colorful paintings adorn every wall. The rounded archways continue here, and exotic leafy foliage makes it feel as though we truly have left England for the weekend. His obvious love for my sister makes my heart swell.

“Your maid will be here shortly.” He reaches out and tucks my hand under his elbow, and his grin is mischievous. “Now for your room.”

“My room?” I ask, my brows furrowed. “I’m not staying with Lucy?”

He looks at me askance. “Why would I have you share when I have twenty-three guest rooms?”

His question is so characteristically arrogant I can’t help but smile. “Very well. Lead on.”

We walk down the hallway and pass many rooms. I try to count how far away I am from Lucy, but I lose track. “Are you trying to get me lost?” I ask.

“Not at all,” he says as we turn the corner. “You won’t sound nearly so irritated when you see your view.”

As soon as I walk into the room, I stop and stare. The entire wall opposite me is windows. Floor-to-ceiling length windows. The doors to the balcony are thrown open, pale curtains waving in the soft breeze. The smell of flowers fills the room, both from the number of bouquets in golden vases and from the garden beyond. The view is of the shimmering lake and gardens. In fact, from this room, it seems I can see the whole of his estate—at least the part of it that spreads from the front of the house.

But it’s the marble tub in the middle of the room that gives me pause. It’s perfectly round and set up on a dais, appearing as if it grew out of the marble floor beneath it. It’s big enough for two people to bathe comfortably. I have never seen the like in all my life. The only bathtub I’ve ever enjoyed has been made of hammered copper.

It takes me a moment to realize my hand is still attached to his arm. “Does this please you?” he asks, his voice rumbling in my ear.

“Very much so,” I say, my eyes still on the sweeping view from my windows. The bed is even situated in such a way I will be able to watch the sun rise above the trees while propped against pillows. It’ll be like sleeping outside—something I haven’t done since I was very small.

He runs his hand along the edge of the tub. “What think you of this?”

Still in shock, I answer him completely uncensored. “I think it’s big enough for two.” The blush spreads up my neck as nervous flutters release in my abdomen.

His eyes darken. “Truly, Katherine, I believe you’ll be the death of me. I dare not even ask if that was an invitation.”

I give him the coy smile I’ve been suppressing since the moment we met. Its impact is lessened, I’m sure, by my furious blush.

He must take pity on me because he changes the subject. “I know you are probably tired from your trip, but would you care to walk with me?”

“I would—especially if we are to walk in one of the gardens. Truly your groundskeeper must be very talented.”

“Does this mean you approve of Thornewood?” All hints of his teasing smile are gone.

I meet his gaze. “It’s more beautiful than I could have imagined.”

A look of relief passes across his face. “It’s been a long time since I cared what someone would think of my home—if I ever have.”

His words are simple, but the underlying meaning speeds my heart and sends warmth traveling through my chest. “I can’t think how to thank you properly for such a beautiful room.”

A slow grin spreads on his face. “You could kiss me.”

He’s teasing, but his intense gaze tells me he’s also serious. Do I dare? My eyes drop to his mouth. It must have been enough of acquiescence because he takes one determined stride toward me and wraps me in his arms.

I hold my breath as his mouth descends upon mine.

Before my mind even fully comprehends the feeling of his full lips, my body responds as if we’ve kissed every day of our lives. Could it possibly be like this for everyone? This all-consuming need for another person?

I press into him, my body melding against the hard contours of his. He groans, deepening the kiss. He draws the tip of his tongue across my bottom lip, slowly, teasingly, and warmth floods me. My hands reach up to touch his hair, and it’s as thick as I imagined it to be but surprisingly soft. He trails kisses on my jaw and down my neck, and I arch back brazenly to give him better access.

His hands skim the sides of my body, strong but gentle, and I wish I was wearing a tea-gown with no corset instead of the heavier satin traveling dress. Desire pools low in my abdomen, a primitive craving for him to touch my bare skin. As if he hears my thoughts, his fingers skim the side of my neck down to my décolletage, teasing the tops of my breasts.