she was a stranger. But he was a threat. David would find it very odd that her antiquities expert was now breeding horses right next door.
What was she to do? She trusted her little staff, but that didn’t mean David had still not set spies on her. He could have bribed her footman Aloysius Sunday afternoon once she’d gone to bed with her imaginary headache, for example.
She hadn’t made her escape—her sanctuary—at Hazel Grange after all, but jumped right from the frying pan into the roaring fire. She’d have to write to Reyn now; she had no choice. He must stay away, certainly for the remaining months of her confinement. Maris could imagine him underfoot, being solicitous, bringing her fluffy pillows and sweetmeats. His concern for her well-being would be a disaster.
Could she risk meeting him? To write of her situation would make her even more vulnerable to exposure if the letter went astray. Where could she meet him? The Grange might not be safe.
No place was safe from prying eyes and wagging tongues. Maris squeezed her eyes shut to keep the tears back. She couldn’t spend the remaining months crying. That couldn’t be good for the baby, nor would it accomplish anything. She was sick of crying, anyway; she needed to be strong for the path she’d chosen.
Reyn might not even want to see her. Perhaps his politeness was just that—a pleasant façade, a social grace. She’d been nearly mute herself.
He had looked . . . wonderful. His skin was burnished from the sun, his hair longer, unruly. He’d been hatless and the damp had twisted up his hair into curls at his neck.
Maris rolled off the bed and padded over to her little desk. She’d make the note as innocuous as possible and have Stephen deliver it.
She would write to his sister. Invite them both for tea tomorrow. Get Reyn alone somehow and tell him . . .
What?
She would think of something. She had to. Maybe she’d try the truth.
When Betsy ushered the visitors from Merrywood into her sunny parlor, Maris looked up with a practiced smile. It froze when she noticed the absence of her erstwhile lover. He hadn’t come. Did not want—
A girl unmistakably Reyn’s sister curtseyed deeply, as did her female companion. Miss Durant was possessed of the same dark hair, and same dark eyes. Same long nose, which should have spoiled her looks, but somehow made her all the more attractive.
“Thank you so much for inviting us, Lady Kelby. I am truly honored. May I introduce my friend and nurse, Mrs. Beecham?”
“W-welcome. Won’t you please be seated?”
Miss Durant looked around as she gracefully settled into a wingchair. “What a lovely house this is!”
“Thank you.” Maris’s tongue felt glued to the roof of her mouth. It had better unstick soon, or the young woman and Mrs. Beecham would think her unfriendly, or so clueless she’d ruin the reputation of countesses everywhere.
“I collect you have not been here long. We are also new to the area. My brother purchased Merrywood in January, and it was a challenge to get it organized. It was in such a shocking state. The house had been neglected for years, but Reyn—that’s my brother, for his sins—was more interested in the stables. That’s a man for you.
“Of course, he was in the army for almost half his life. He tells me he can sleep like a baby in filthy ditches, so a bed is of no consequence to him. Mrs. Beecham, I should be sitting next to you on the couch so you can kick me to keep silent. I’m so sorry, Lady Kelby. I’m chattering like a magpie, but I confess I’m a bit nervous. I’ve never met a countess before. I believe you’ve met my brother, though, haven’t you? He did some work for your husband before his passing. My deepest condolences for your loss.”
Maris found herself charmed by Miss Durant’s nervous prattle. “Thank you. No one needs kicking, save for myself. I’ve barely said a word.”
“How could you?” Ginny’s smile was also like her brother’s—wide and honest, with a touch of mischief. “I have not let you get one in.”
“I must do better. How do you take your tea, Miss Durant, Mrs. Beecham?” Maris kept herself busy pouring and sugaring while Miss Durant commented on the décor.
Maris was quite proud of the way Hazel Grange looked. There was nothing terribly valuable within, but with a baby coming, that was just as well. She took a deep breath. “You