Manor of Secrets (28 page)

Janie paused in the kitchen doorway, unable to quell the pulse of homesickness that throbbed in her veins.

Mrs. Seward looked up from the chocolate cake she was glazing. Janie knew that the expression on her own face — and probably Harry’s — told the whole story. But Janie needed to say it out loud. To make it real.

“I’m going to Italy.”

Her mother walked around the table, wrapped Janie in a hug, and then held her at arm’s length.

“You’re sure?” Mrs. Seward asked. “You know I’d have you in my kitchen anytime.”

Janie suddenly wanted to accept. To take the safe option. To refuse Harry’s dare.

But she shook her head. “I know,” she said. “But I think I’m ready for this.”

Mrs. Seward hugged her again and whispered in her ear, “I
know
you are.”

Pans crashed and rattled in the scullery and Janie laughed. “Do you need some help?”

“I just need to finish this cake. I’m going to send it to Miss Caldwell as a peace offering.”

Janie scowled.

“None of that, my dear. We all make mistakes.” Mrs. Seward looked over Janie’s shoulder to where Harry stood. Waiting. “And false accusations.” She took Janie’s chin in her hand. “Everyone deserves a little forgiveness, don’t you think?”

Janie nodded.

“Now go out and get a little fresh air.” Mrs. Seward turned back to the table. “I think the weather’s beginning to break.”

Harry walked Janie all the way to the edge of the lawn. To where the ha-ha dropped away into the meadow beyond. They stood on the verge, facing each other. Not touching. Just looking. Janie studied him. Memorized him. The light hazel eyes, the freckles, the nose — a little short and rounded at the end — the straight jaw. And those curls.

“I’ll miss you,” she said.

Harry put his hand over his heart. “Part of me will be with you wherever you go.”

“I love you,” she said helplessly.

“I know,” he replied, pulling her into an embrace. “Which is why you need to start this adventure so I can eventually become a part of it.”

C
harlotte tugged at the hem of her lilac-colored basque jacket and looked out at the view. The morning light brushed the tops of the hedgerows and the air felt clean and cool. Two cars waited on the gravel drive. One — a dependable Rolls-Royce Silver Ghost — would take Andrew to London, where he would begin work on his new endeavor. The Manor’s green Daimler waited to make the short trip to Penshurst station, where a train would whisk her into her new life.

Charlotte turned and looked down the drive to the courtyard gate. Janie stood there with a carpetbag, Harry by her side and Mrs. Seward right behind her. Janie hugged her mother, kissed Harry quickly, and started to walk up the long drive toward the cars alone.

Lady Beatrice came out onto the porch and Charlotte started down the front entrance steps.

“We’ll all use the same door, won’t we?” Charlotte asked, pausing on the bottom step and looking up at Beatrice. “At your house?”

“When we come from town, we’ll use the front,” Beatrice said, joining her. “When we come from the garden, we’ll use the back. All of us.”

“Good,” Charlotte said, still looking up at The Manor. The limestone and brick, the bay-fronted sitting room, the windows glinting reflections of the green summer air.

“I wish she had come down to say good-bye.”

“My sister was never good at good-byes.”

Beatrice looked up as well, and then nodded her chin at one of the sky-colored windows.

“She’s watching,” Beatrice said, and kissed Charlotte on the cheek. “Perhaps that means she’ll be good at hellos when the time comes.”

The tightness didn’t leave Charlotte’s chest, but she nodded and said, “I hope so.”

They turned together and saw Andrew standing by the door of his car.

Waiting.

“I may not have a writer’s eye,” Beatrice whispered, “but I think that boy fancies you.”

Charlotte felt the color rush up her throat and into her face, bringing with it a giddy smile. She couldn’t take her eyes off Andrew as he walked toward them.

“I hope so,” she murmured.

Andrew opened the rear door of the Daimler and helped Beatrice step up onto the running board. He waited until she was settled before he walked back to Charlotte, standing closer than propriety should have allowed. The tickle of his breath on her hair sent a little shiver to the nape of her neck. It was quickly followed by a chill that spread through her stomach. She looked up at him.

“I’m scared,” she said.

His expression lost any trace of mirth and he studied her seriously.

“You’re starting a new life,” he said. “One that you will control. Making your own choices is a scary thing.”

“What if I make the wrong one?”

“Then you’ll learn from it. Just like your mothers did.”

Charlotte’s eyes burned, and she had to close them. Two mothers. Each of them loving her differently.

“I hope I don’t make the same mistakes,” she said.

“You’ll make others.”

Charlotte opened her eyes, and his were laughing at her again. Then the intensity behind them became more refined, more focused. More serious.

“I refuse to avoid making choices because I might make mistakes,” Andrew said. “I want to choose where my life will go. And with whom I fall in love.”

His eyes didn’t leave hers as he added, “I think I may be falling in love with you.”

Charlotte hoped that her eyes told him all she wanted to say. Because she found that all she
could
say was:

“Oh.”

He must have heard something in that
oh
because he took one step closer and kissed her softly on the lips. A kiss so unlike Lawrence’s that it felt like her first. Because this kiss wasn’t just a kiss. It was a promise of more to come.

Charlotte knew she could imagine many more years of those kisses. But she chose to enjoy the moment as it happened.

“I will see you in London,” Andrew said when he pulled away. Then he smiled mischievously. “And you never know. I hear the call of Florence and it is like a siren’s song. I might not be able to stay away.”

“I hope you don’t,” Charlotte said, and then laughed at herself. “Stay away, that is.”

“You forget,” he said. “I know how to fly an airplane. I’ll be there sooner than you think.”

He kissed her once more and helped her into the car. Charlotte reached for Beatrice’s hand and squeezed it as Andrew shut the door.

Janie climbed into the front seat and turned around to face them. “Are you ready?”

Charlotte heard the fear in her voice. And the eagerness.

“Yes,” Charlotte said. “Adventure awaits. Let’s meet it together.”

B
efore anyone else, I would like to thank you, dear reader, for picking up this book and spending some time in the life of The Manor. Writing a book can be a lonely business, and I’m so glad you’re out there at the other end of the process.

This book would never have been written without the cleverness and creativity of my editor, Aimee Friedman, or the support of my agent, Catherine Drayton. Thank you, ladies, for the journey.

I’d also like to thank the Splinters, who read my messy first draft and supplied insightful feedback and margaritas. Kristen Crowley Held, Beth Hull, and Talia Vance — I dedicate all manner of secrets to you. And a vast debt of gratitude is owed to the YA Muses (Bret Ballou, Donna Cooner,
Veronica Rossi, and Ms. Vance
again
), who kept me going through deadlines and crises of confidence.

Huge kudos to the team at Scholastic: production editor Rachael Hicks, designer Yaffa Jaskoll for the stunning cover, and Lindsay Walter, copyeditor extraordinaire.

And of course, my family. Thank you, Martha, for listening to plot problems and helping to solve them, Gary for making dinner and saying, “Get back to work!” and my boys for enthusiasm, understanding, and patience.

And Mom. Thanks for believing in me.

K
atherine Longshore is a former travel agent, coffeehouse barista, and preschool teacher who has finally found her calling writing novels for teens. She is also the author of a series of novels set in the court of Henry VIII, including
Gilt
and
Tarnish
. After five years exploring castles and country manors in England, she now lives in California with three British citizens and one expatriate dog. Visit her online at
www.katherinelongshore.com
.

Gilt

Tarnish

Brazen