I gnawed on my lip, processing Imonie’s story. This would be perfect for my exposé on the Vespers. “Do you think she killed her husband?”
Imonie wiped a wrinkle from the tablecloth. “Yes, I do. She poisoned him.”
“But why?” I asked. “Why would she kill him? She hasn’t gotten with the duke since then.”
“Perhaps the count had come to know too much about her. Perhaps she wanted to raise her boys on her own. Perhaps she had simply tired of him. Perhaps he was in her way.” Imonie shrugged. “No one knows, so that’s why I’m telling you to give her a wide berth.”
That did nothing to reassure me. Not when I recalled how Lady Raven’s gaze had been icy, beholding me in her son’s bed.
“Papa said she’s an old acquaintance of his,” I said.
Imonie snorted. “Yes, and why do you think he’s now working in the mines and has given up magic and wants nothing more than to evade the Vesper boys?”
I wasn’t sure, so I remained quiet.
Imonie began to gather the plates, carrying them to the wash bin. I thought the silence would continue to hang between us, but then she looked at me and said, “He doesn’t want the countess to find him.”
I was relieved to see the countess’s carriage was gone when I returned to Auberon Street. The minute I stepped into the foyer, Mrs. Stirling met me with a sigh of relief and a tray of tea and biscuits.
“There you are, Miss Neven. Gave us all a fright, wondering where you had gone!”
“I’m sorry,” I said, flushing when I realized I had been absent most of the day. I’d honestly thought no one would care. “I went for a walk.”
I was worried that Mrs. Stirling would have that reserved gleam in her eye, the same from that morning, when she found me in Phelan’s bed. But she only nodded and extended the tea tray to me.
“Do you mind carrying that up to Mr. Vesper?”
I accepted it and carefully ascended the stairs.
Phelan was sitting upright in bed, loose papers spread before him. He was intently reading, his hair damp from a bath. He was wearing clean clothes, my stitches hidden beneath his shirt. It almost felt like I had merely imagined the events of last night. As if it had all been a dream.
“Did Deacon find her yet?” Phelan asked, presuming I was Mrs. Stirling.
“He didn’t need to,” I replied, drawing his attention.
I stood on the threshold holding his tea tray, and for a moment, he and I stared at each other. Words seemed to be lost between us.
“I thought . . . ,” he began, but his voice faded.
“That I had run away?” I finished with a teasing cadence.
He hesitated—where, indeed, did he think I had gone?—but withheld whatever he wanted to say or ask me.
“Come in, Anna.” He dropped his gaze to the papers before him.
That afforded me the chance to slip past the mirror, and I set his tea tray down on his bedside table, mindful of the new jars of herbs that now sat by his glass of water.
“I see the doctor has been here,” I remarked, watching as Phelan gathered his papers into a heap.
“Yes. And my mother.”
“I know. I met her this morning.”
Phelan’s eyes darted back to mine. “Did you? She failed to mention that to me.”
“No, I don’t think she would have,” I said, wandering to the window. The curtains were tasseled back, the shutters were open, and I stood in a stream of sunlight, watching the street below. “I was in bed beside you when I met her.”
“Oh.”
I couldn’t resist glancing back at him, how he flushed and hurried to pour his cup of tea, thankful for the distraction.
“Do you remember anything from last night?” I asked.
Phelan took a sip, but his gaze found mine again. “I remember everything.”
I had to break our stare first. My skin warmed when I thought about how I had touched him last night, how he had seen my bare back, how he had asked me to stay with him.
“I need to tell you something, Anna.”
I braced myself. Surely, his mother had convinced him to dismiss me, and I waited for it to come, for Phelan to let me go. He set his teacup in its saucer. He was drawing this out, to no doubt make me nervous.
“What is it, Phelan?” I asked, impatient.
“I’m going away,” he said.
I gaped at him, unable to hide my shock. “To where?”
“I can’t tell you. But I’ll return in a week or so, and I need you to remain here. To record the nightmares that may emerge and to give the portion of dream tax to the duke’s collector, who will be arriving any day now to claim it. I also need you to discreetly pass on a payment to a friend. You will note that there is a purse with a red ribbon in the safe, where I store the money. When they stop by to ‘borrow a book,’ I need you to ensure they receive that money.”
I was quiet so long that he frowned, concerned.
“Anna?”
“Yes, I will do these things for you,” I said, inwardly shaking myself. “When do you leave?”
“Tomorrow.”
“This must be a trip of great importance, since you should be at home, recovering in bed.”
He refused to answer, returning his attention to his stack of papers. I sensed that his mother had given him this order.
And then the realization hit me like a strike to my body, and I turned to the window quickly, before Phelan could see the emotion ripple across my face.
I knew where he was going.
Hereswith.
24
Three days after Phelan departed, Lord Deryn called.
I found him waiting in the library, standing before Phelan’s bookcase, intently studying the volumes on one of the shelves. He pivoted when he heard me enter, a well-practiced smile on his face.
I smelled the bergamot of his cologne. A sickly sweetness, mingling with that odd scent of molded parchment. And I knew he was here for me, not the tax.
“Miss Neven. It is good to see you again.”
“Your Grace,” I said with a curtsy.
“Forgive me for calling so unexpectedly, but I wanted to speak to you. Please, sit.”
I obediently lowered myself into the chair, but my dread kindled. A few spells rose to mind, in case I needed to cast them on a whim.
“I wanted to inquire about this last new moon,” he began, taking Phelan’s seat behind the desk. “Was it my nightmare that materialized?”
“No, Your Grace.”
He waited for me to elaborate, and when I didn’t, the duke raked his fingers through his beard.
“I know you cannot tell me which dream manifested,” he said. “Forgive me for asking. But I need to know how Phelan was wounded.”
“How do you know he was wounded, Your Grace?”
“I have ears and eyes everywhere, Miss Neven. Nothing happens in this province that I do not know about.”
His words were unsettling, but I was determined that he would never know how much he rattled me. I sighed as if relieved and leaned closer to him, my elbows impolitely resting on the desk.
“I’m happy you already know of it, Your Grace. Did the countess inform you?”
“No, she did not.” There was no emotion in his face, in his voice when he spoke of her. The monotone only made me more suspicious of their relationship.