The Vanishing at Loxby Manor by Abigail Wilson (grave mercy .TXT) 📕

me to my thinking time in the first place”—she waved her hand in the air—“like what I should wear whenI call on my neighbors, or the problem can simply wait till I think on it the next time.” She looked up as if she’d solvedsome great dilemma. “Thus, I don’t have to worry with whatever plagues me outside of my thinking time.”

She flicked open her fan, souring at my obvious bewilderment. “I daresay such a practice would be beneficial for you as well.It improves conversation, at the very least. No gentleman wants a lady who is dull.”

“And I daresay no lady wants a dull husband either.”

She snapped her fan closed. “Don’t be impertinent. Gentlemen can be whatever they wish as long as they provide you with acertain level of comfort. Take your cousin Samuel for instance.”

Oh dear. My mother had to have written her. I shifted on the sofa. “And this thinking time has given you a new perspectiveon our troubles?”

“Well, yes.” She frowned, but she couldn’t quite keep her lips pressed tight, almost as if a secret satisfaction ached toslip out.

Not only was Mrs. Cavanagh prone to rambles and fits of nerves, but she was also a bit mysterious in how she managed her day-to-day life. She would retire to her room for a good portion of the day bemoaning her troubles, then emerge from her self-inflicted cocoon only to lecture me on how I might snag a husband.

She leaned forward to secure her teacup, then took a long, careful sip. Her eyes met mine over the cup’s rim. “I had a thought . . .”

“Oh?”

“If Miles Lacy is no longer with us, that means Seline has not married the fool.”

All I could do was nod. Nothing Mrs. Cavanagh said at this point could possibly surprise me. I glanced down at the book inmy lap. She was difficult to watch really—her ability to wade through a shallow pool of thought, coming up only to ensurethat those around her met her expectations. I ran my finger along the cover, a cold sensation filling my chest.

Was I so very different from Mrs. Cavanagh?

I’d kept my assault a secret to retain my reputation, even though I knew full well I no longer held any intention of marrying.The idea was a sobering one, perhaps not exactly fair, but something to ponder nonetheless. I had a long way to go if I wasever really going to understand myself. Perhaps Mr. Cavanagh was right and I should simply move on, pretend, or otherwise.Inwardly I sighed. If only it were that easy.

I tapped my finger on the book. “Have you heard anything from your brother-in-law in regard to his search?”

“Charles’s letters have been few and far between, but he did write and there is no further news. Seline has simply vanished.” Her voice turned a touch dismal, and I was forced once again to reexamine my perception of Mrs. Cavanagh. She did love Seline in her own way, as she no doubt loved all her children. And she seemed to worry a great deal about Seline’s return. So why did I feel uneasy in her company, almost as if she were keeping some sort of secret?

I watched her pick at her needlepoint as if the two of us were simply enjoying a fine afternoon, but on occasion there wasan urgency to her movements. She jerked the needle up and down, her breathing short and fast as her eyes slid readily to thedoor, the very feel of the room ever changing.

Suddenly Baker entered the drawing room and the silence snapped. Mrs. Cavanagh jumped to her feet, her hand flying to herchest.

He didn’t respond to her hasty movement, but I could see plain as day it had affected him. He cleared his throat. “Mr. Cavanaghrequests your presence in his room, ma’am.”

It took a moment for her to answer. “You may inform him I will be there shortly.” Her voice was strong, but when she whirledaround to stow away her sewing bag, I caught a glimpse of her face. It was only a second, and I could have easily been readinginto what I saw, but her eyes looked pinched, her mouth quivering in a scowl.

I stood as well. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Her eyes met mine, and I was startled to see them shiny with tears. “How kind of you, but as you well know, I am merely passingthe days as best I can until I hear word of Seline. Mr. Cavanagh needs me just now, and I should not keep him waiting.”

Chapter 22

Piers entered the receiving room at precisely three o’clock. I stood in the warmth of the front windows when I heard my name,turning to see a rather well-dressed gentlemen in dark blue waiting for me in the doorway. I couldn’t help but notice againhow refined Piers had become in my years away.

“Good afternoon.”

Society had never considered him to be naturally handsome, his features a tad unremarkable, his mannerisms a bit clumsy attimes; however, when he smiled, I mean really smiled, he possessed the momentary ability to capture one’s attention. I’d triedto put my finger on his allure years ago with little luck. There was just something about his face when it changed. I foundmyself smiling back.

He accepted his hat and gloves from a waiting servant, and I made my way to join him at the open front door. Beyond the porticostood the waiting curricle, and I cast a questioning look back. “I didn’t know you intended to drive.”

We exited the house and he crossed in front of me, maneuvering into place to assist me into the vehicle. “It is a lovely day,and I’d much rather drive than ride. What do you think? You’ll not catch a chill on the return trip?”

“I have my pelisse. I think a curricle ride sounds delightful.”

I accepted his outstretched hand and mounted the steps up and over the large wheel of the vehicle, where I settled into a long black leather seat. Piers rounded the equipage and swung into his place at my