Page 11 of The Swindler’s Daughter

Kaelyn and I spent the rest of the day preparing Princess Marilee’s trunk while Sir James’s valet did the same for him. Jane prepared the children’s things with Beatrice’s help.

That evening, I worked to straighten the kitchen, encouraging Emeline to go to Cecily’s cottage so that they could visit and say their goodbyes. Cecily would be going with Princess Marilee. Falstone, as Her Highness’s most trusted guard, was going with her to Dalthia, and where Falstone went, his wife and children went. I knew that before Emeline had Hunter in her life, Cecily had been her lifeline, the sister she’d never had, so I wanted to be sure they had a proper farewell.

The next morning, we all stood out on the front steps, waving the family on their way and wondering what the next months would hold. In addition to Marilee’s and Cecily’s families being gone, Marilee’s lady’s maid, her second guard, the children’s nurse, and James’s valet would be absent as well. It would be a very empty house for the duration of their trip.

As the carriages disappeared down the drive, I heard the housekeeper, Beatrice, let out a hefty sigh before turning to look us over. Each maid, footman, cook, and groom was pinned in turn by her gaze. “I understand that things will be different now. There may be less work, but since our master and mistress have been kind enough to keep us all on staff during their absence, we will not shirk the duties that remain. We will not abuse their hospitality. We will not sully their good name in any way. Is that clear?”

A chorus of “Yes, ma’am” rumbled through our gathered ranks.

“Good,” Beatrice said with a satisfied nod. “Off to your duties, then.”

I silently fumed, annoyed that neither Rowan nor Johnny was present to hear Beatrice’s speech about not sullying the good name of the Sutton household. Rowan and his family worked for the manor but were not part of the house staff. And Johnny worked at Bridgefield, where Beatrice had no jurisdiction. It was a shame that the two who were most likely to cause trouble weren’t able to hear the warning they so clearly needed.

3

I approached the cottage that Rowan shared with his parents and found him sitting on the front step, an antler in one hand, a shard of rock in the other. He was using the antler to chip away at the edges of the rock shard, forming it into an arrowhead.

I was nearly on top of him before he looked up and noticed my approach. He fumbled to set his tool aside and stood. “Miriam,” he said with a nod. He had the good sense to look slightly more humble than usual.

I gave him a terse bob of my head but didn’t speak.

“Shall we?” he said, gesturing toward the practice range.

We walked together around the back of his cottage and into the trees. “Lovely day,” he commented.

I ignored him.

“Have you been practicing?” he asked.

“Of course.” He knew very well that I did my best to practice two or three times a week, so long as work didn’t wear me out too much. He was only asking stupid questions to get me to talk because he knew I was angry with him.

When we reached the archery range that he’d cobbled together over the years, he handed me a quiver. I put the strap over one arm and then my head so that it lay diagonally across my back. I took my stance, and Rowan took a moment to kick my back heel into a better position then gestured for me to proceed. When I hit the target, my pride swelled, and a very small amount of my anger dissipated.

That is until Rowan opened his mouth.

“So, are you going to ask about it?”

I cut my eyes over to him, ignoring how charming his smile was, and then I focused again on the target as I drew an arrow from my quiver. “About what?” I questioned, feigning ignorance.

“You know what.”

“No, I’m not going to ask, because as I told you, I don’t want to know,” I bit out as I nocked another arrow.

“So you’ll just condemn us without knowing the facts?”

“The facts?” I shouted, whirling so I could look at him, the arrow still nocked, but pointed at the ground in front of me. “The facts are that you and Johnny stole. You took something—not a small something, but an entire purse of money that did not belong to you. Those are the facts.” I turned back to the target, raised my bow, drew back, and shot.

I missed. My skills were always rubbish when I was angry. I’d completely missed my anchor point, drawing to my neck instead of the corner of my mouth.

“I’m sure it’s easy to judge from where you are. You’ve never had to beg for what you needed.”

I sucked in a breath and slowly turned to face him, feeling as if he had slapped me. “And you know this how?”

He scoffed. “All I have to do is look at you.”

Deep hurt and resentment clawed at my insides. “One look and you know everything about me?” I worked to keep my voice calm, but inside I was boiling. He knew nothing about me. He didn’t know about the nights I’d spent alone in the wagon, waiting for Father and Hunter to come back from one of their jobs. He didn’t know how many times I’d gone to take a bite of dinner only to have it taken from my hands because I hadn’t brought home enough coins that day. He didn’t know that Hunter had always saved a little of his food to be sure I didn’t go hungry if the old man was being especially mean. He didn’t understand how frightening it had been when Hunter and I had been forced to find employment at different houses or the terror of being thrown out of the house where I worked when I was too ill to tend to my duties.

“I know you’ve had a brother to take care of you your whole life,” he said with a cocky tilt of his jaw. But his gaze wasn’t quite steady.