Ines had managed to escape to the library.
After the mortifying disaster in the drawing room, she had found her sanctuary. She had been hiding there for nearly an hour, tucked into a large, comfortable chair, her feet drawn up beneath her. She was supposedly reading a history of the Roman empire, but she had been staring at the same page—the one detailing the construction of aqueducts—for twenty minutes.
Her nerves were stretched thin as violin strings.
The house felt... occupied. Conquered. Every distant sound from the hallway—a footman's tread, a closing door, the chime of the hall clock—made her jump. She imagined Carcel was everywhere at once: turning a corner, opening the library door, appearing suddenly to stare at her with those intense, unreadable dark eyes. It was exhausting.
Just as she was convincing herself to relax, to actually read the words on the page, she heard a soft knock on the library door.
Ines's heart leaped into her throat. She snapped the heavy book shut. He's found me.
"My lady," Edith called softly from the other side of the door.
Ines let out a shaky breath, her hand pressed to her chest. It was only Edith. But why was she being disturbed? She had given strict orders she was not to be.
"Yes, Edith?" Ines called out, her voice a little sharper than she intended.
The door opened a crack. Edith peeked in, her expression apologetic. "My lady, I am sorry to disturb you. Miss Gladys is here."
Ines's head raised fully from her book. Her mind went completely blank. Gladys?
She thought to herself, But it is Thursday . Gladys comes on Friday. She is never early. She is never late. She is always on Friday, at ten.
A new kind of panic, replaced her vague, lovesick anxiety. A change in their routine was dangerous. It was a breach in their careful, quiet system.
"Gladys?" she repeated out loud, her confusion plain.
"Yes, my lady. She is in the foyer. She says it is... rather urgent."
Urgent. That was a word they never used. Ines stood up from her chair, her book of Roman history forgotten. She quickly smoothed the front of her blue silk dress, her mind racing. What could be so urgent? Did someone find out? Is she in trouble?
"Thank you, Edith. I will come at once," she said, her voice now calm and cool.
She walked out of the library, her steps quick and measured. She glanced down the main hall toward the stables. It was quiet. Rowan and Carcel, she prayed, were still occupied with horses or business ledgers. The last thing she needed was for Carcel to see her greeting her "tutor" with such obvious, secret anxiety. Nothing ever passes his observant eyes.
She saw Gladys in the foyer. Her friend was standing near the front door, twisting the handles of her leather satchel in her hands. She looked pale and distressed.
"Miss Gladys," Ines said, her voice formal for the benefit of any listening servants. "How nice to see you. Shall we go to my sitting room for our lesson?"
"Yes, my lady. Thank you," Gladys murmured, her eyes darting around the foyer.
Ines led the way up the grand staircase. Her back was rigid. Every step was an agony of suspense. She could feel Gladys's anxiety radiating behind her.
They reached the privacy of her bedroom, and Ines shut the door firmly behind them, letting out the breath she had been holding.
"You are a day early," Ines said immediately, her voice dropping to a worried whisper. "Why is that? What has happened?"
"Oh, Ines, it is terrible," Gladys replied, her own voice low and frantic. She did not even sit down. "I am so sorry to come like this. It's Mr. Hobbs. The printer."
Ines's stomach turned to ice. "Mr. Hobbs? What about him? Has he been arrested? Did someone talk?"
"No, no, nothing like that!" Gladys rushed to reassure her. "It's his mother. She just passed away."
"Oh," Ines said, the immediate terror fading, replaced by sympathy. "Oh, the poor man. That is dreadful."
"It is," Gladys agreed, her eyes wide. "But Ines, he is closing the shop. He's leaving for the country this evening to be with his family and settle her estate. He said he... he won't be available to print for the entire next month."
"A month?" Ines whispered, aghast. "But the readers… they are already waiting. They will be furious. They will think Mr. Pendleton has abandoned them."
"I know," Gladys said, wringing her hands. "That is why I am here. He said… he said if I can get the manuscript to him before he leaves today, today, he will print the copies tonight as a final job before he locks the shop."
Ines stared at her. Today.
A strange, dizzying relief washed over her. She had stayed up until three in the morning, her hand cramping, her eyes burning, fueled by an unsettling mixture of creative panic and the memory of Carcel's face. She had finished it.
"I have it," Ines said, her voice flat with exhaustion.
She walked to her desk, her movements stiff. She pulled out the key from its hiding place in her jewelry box, unlocked the bottom drawer, and retrieved the thick, heavy parcel wrapped in brown paper. The manuscript. The story that had caused her so much trouble.
She handed the parcel to Gladys.
Gladys took it as if it were a sacred relic, her relief visible. But her practical nature took over. She quickly untied the string and leafed through the last few pages, her eyes scanning the lines. Ines watched her, chewing on her lip.
Gladys's brow furrowed. "You actually finished it," she murmured, more to herself than to Ines. "But, Ines… it seems rushed. The handwriting here is nearly illegible."
Ines felt a flare of defensiveness. "It is not rushed," she said, a bit too sharply. "It is… passionate. That is all I could do, Gladys. At least I am done with the stable scene. They are finally out of the stable." And I am finally free of it, she thought.
Gladys nodded, understanding the fragile state of her author. She quickly retied the parcel. "You are right. It is finished. That is what matters." She tucked the manuscript securely into her leather satchel. "I must go. Now. I have to run to the print shop."
"Be safe, Gladys," Ines said, walking her to the door.
"I will," Gladys promised. "You can use the next month to prepare another manuscript. Perhaps one with more… passion." She gave Ines a quick, witty smile and was gone.
Ines closed the door, a wave of exhaustion and emptiness washing over her. It was done. The manuscript was gone. She was free.
And Carcel was still in her house.
She needed to be alone. Truly alone. She went back downstairs. She poked her head into the drawing room. Empty. She made her way back to the library, her true home. She peeked inside. It was just as she had left it: quiet, empty, and bathed in the warm light of the afternoon. Rowan and Carcel must have gone out, perhaps to the club.
Now I am alone, she thought, a genuine, deep sigh of relief escaping her. I can read in peace.
She picked a different book from the shelf, a light romance novel this time, something that required no thought at all. She went to her favorite spot, the deep, velvet-cushioned window seat. She curled up, tucking her feet beneath her, and leaned her head against the cool glass.
She glanced out the window for a while, just watching the leaves on the oak tree sway in the breeze. She felt the warm afternoon sun on her face and a slow, creeping sense of peace settled over her.
Her shoulders, which had been practically touching her ears all day, finally relaxed.
She opened the novel. She read the first page, something about a willful heroine and a stern duke. It was familiar. It was comforting.
She read two more pages.
Then, her gaze unfocused. Her mind began to drift, pulling away from the book in her lap and back to the world she had just sent to the printer.
She's right, she thought, Gladys is. It was a bit rushed at the end. I got them out of the stable, but what happens next?
She stared, unseeing, at the sunny garden.
What should be the next scene for Stefan and Doris? she wondered.