Daughter of Mystery by Heather Rose Jones Page B

behind the brick column and it was in this slight hidden bay that her trunks had been deposited, in a space not useful for a third bed.
    She went to sit on the edge of the nearer trunk where she could see out the window. Dusk was falling but she could make out the lines of a small paved yard and then a carriage house opening onto the lane behind. That was where she’d entered last time when delivering the baron’s invitation. She was startled by a tear that blurred her vision and threatened to fall. She tilted her head back and blinked until it retreated and could be denied. If it could be denied it didn’t need to be explained.
    Through the walls she heard the chiming of the tall clock in the hall downstairs and jumped up. Best not to add further antagonism by being late to her first meal. Almost as an afterthought she unbuckled her swordbelt and laid the weapon inside the trunk she’d been sitting on.
    * * *
    With the ordeal of the first understairs dinner endured, her goal was to speak to Margerit again that evening—to know what to expect in the morning. Morning. Her lessons with Signore Donati. Would anyone have thought to send a message around to him? It was nothing that could be mended at the moment. Maybe once things had settled down. Did Margerit go out in the mornings? They had met that one afternoon in the park, but she had no idea what a well-born young lady’s daily schedule might be.
    She was hesitant to wander into the family areas of the house without permission. Maitelen had promised to let her know when Margerit went upstairs to change for bed; that would be the best time to ask questions. The enforced idleness was maddening. She had no books, no occupation, not even the relief of solitude as she didn’t care to flout too many rules on the first evening. It was almost a relief when one of the footmen—still liveried from serving at dinner—came to tell her the master wanted to see her in his office.
    With Mefro Lozenek, she had chosen to draw a line from the beginning. Margerit’s uncle was a different matter. He might not technically command her , but he did command Margerit. Any trouble would rebound there. So she followed the footman up. With every path through the house, she picked up more bearings but she itched to explore it thoroughly—to know every turn and corner as well as she knew all the baron’s properties.
    The man was sitting before the fire examining some papers on a side table. He didn’t react as she entered and bowed silently. The minutes stretched out. If he thought to rattle her he’d chosen the wrong tactic, Barbara thought as she settled into her watchful stance. The baron had been a master at that game.
    A quarter of an hour passed before he pushed the papers aside and looked up. “The clothing will need to change.”
    Barbara stole a moment to choose her response carefully. “I will, of course, dress as the maisetra commands me. But there are garments that can make my work easier or harder.”
    “Do you seriously think that my niece requires an armin, much less a professional duelist?”
    The question made it clear what he thought of the idea, but she answered as if it had been sincere. “If we were in Rotenek, there would be no question. Every year you hear a story of an heiress snatched and forced into marriage. Some of them may be complicit in their own abductions, of course, but not all. Two years ago there was a young woman from a good family—rich, but with enemies. She was affianced to a promising young man. The brigands who took her claimed they wanted money for her safe return but the rumor was that it was for revenge on her father. She escaped on her own but the whispers started. She swore she was untouched and yet the young man broke off their engagement. In the end, she hanged herself.” She paused to see if he believed her. “It’s possible that here in Chalanz a young unmarried heiress can come and go about town without fear of seducers and