room and grabbed the latch. “See?”
But as it had every time before, the lock turned easily in her hand, and the door creaked open. Why was this door continually unlocked? It didn’t make any sense. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you had a key,” Cecilia said, watching as Seraphina slipped through the gap in the door and into the marchioness’s bedchamber.
Seraphina paused on the other side and waited for Cecilia to follow her. Once she was certain Cecilia was doing her bidding, Seraphina disappeared into the gloom on the opposite side of the room. Cecilia cast an apprehensive glance over her shoulder before creeping after Seraphina, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.
This is a terrible idea.
She half expected Gideon to leap out at her from the shadows, but all remained silent as Cecilia followed her feline guide past Lady Darlington’s bed to the dressing room at the back of the bedchamber.
Seraphina stopped when she reached the clothes press, and Cecilia huffed out a breath. “This again, Seraphina? What is your fascination with Lady Darlington’s clothes press? One would think you’d be more cautious of it after having been trapped inside.”
Seraphina didn’t appear to agree with this logic. She was alternately nuzzling the edge of the door and weaving between Cecilia’s legs, as if she was urging Cecilia to open the clothes press and peer inside. “Mrrarh.”
Cecilia hesitated, but Seraphina wouldn’t hear of a refusal. She gazed up at Cecilia with those glowing green eyes until at last Cecilia relented. “Oh, all right, but just a peek. What is it? Have the moths gotten into it, or—”
She went still, the words dying on her lips. The blue silk ball gown, that particular shade of blue…she snatched up a fold of the gown and held it up to the muted light.
She’d seen this gown before. Not the last time she’d peered into the clothes press, but tonight, less than an hour ago. She’d seen it on an exquisitely beautiful dark-haired lady with frigid blue eyes.
This gown didn’t belong to Lady Cassandra.
It belonged to Lady Leanora. She was wearing it in the portrait hanging in the small picture gallery, along with the sapphire hairpins Cecilia had found on the dressing table days earlier.
Cecilia fell back against the wall behind her, stunned. How had she not noticed before this was the same gown, and these the same sapphire pins tucked into those thick, dark curls? The embroidered slippers, as well. No doubt those were also Lady Leanora’s.
But how did Lady Leanora’s gown come to be in Lady Cassandra’s bedchamber?
Cecilia stared down at the fold of the gown caught between her fingers. It couldn’t be a coincidence the only gown now hanging inside the clothes press was the very gown Lady Leanora had worn in her portrait. It had been chosen purposefully, by someone who understood its significance.
Cecilia tapped her head against the wall at her back in an attempt to knock some sense into it. The most likely explanation was almost certainly the correct one, and the most likely explanation here was Lady Leanora had done it herself.
But when?
Lady Leanora had remained at Darlington Castle for several months after Lady Cassandra died. Perhaps Lady Leanora considered herself the closest thing the Darlington family had to a marchioness, and had decided to seize the marchioness’s apartments as her due.
Yes, that had to be it. Nothing else made sense, unless…
The way they tell it, Lord Darlington is madly in love with Lady Leanora.
Was it possible Gideon had put these things here?
It would explain why he insisted Lady Cassandra’s bedchamber remained locked at all times. If he was readying the bedchamber in eager anticipation of Lady Leanora’s return, he wouldn’t want anyone to know of it.
But everyone would know soon enough, because who was the White Lady, if not Lady Leanora? Gideon must know it was her. How could he not? Had he been chasing her all these weeks only to see the ghostly rumors laid to rest, or did he have a more tender reason for wanting to find her?
Nausea swelled in the pit of Cecilia’s stomach, but before she could give in to the urge to flee this cursed bedchamber, Seraphina darted through the door of the clothes press and disappeared inside. “Seraphina! Come out of there at once!” Cecilia reached inside to snatch the cat out, but instead of soft fur, her knuckles nudged into something hard. Not shoes—it wasn’t the right shape, and too heavy. It felt like…a box?
She crouched