Sir James’s carriage clattered over the streets, heading into Palisades, which centered around a tor-like hill. The old city had been settled there. Now it brooded over a sprawling capital. The carriage wound upwards towards the old palace, now the Academy, a drab battlement of multiple crenellated towers—stone, not marble like New Government House.
Aubrey realized she was gripping the seat cushion.
Watching her, Sir James raised his brows.“We won’t be visiting the Academy proper, Miss St. Clair,” he said just before the carriage turned off the main road into a drive shadowed by thick trees. “I’m sure you would enjoy a tour of our lecture halls. However, today, we are headed to Burnum Lodge where the Academy’s alumni gather.”
“Lord Simon truly won’t be present?”
“The man never leaves his house.” Sir James actually seemed to shiver. “A great mind shattered.” He sighed heavily.
The carriage stopped before a low stone lodge full of curtained windows. Sir James came around the back of the carriage to help Aubrey descend. She walked past him up shallow steps through the lodge doorway into an airless vestibule.
Sir James said, “You’ll want to freshen up. The footman will show you where to go.”
A footman stood at the foot of a staircase with a single landing. Aubrey walked forward, her fingers brushing the vestibule’s wallpaper, its raised texture scratching her fingers. The footman preceded her up the stairs (he didn’t know Aubrey could claw his neck). She followed his narrow back down a hall that ran along the front of the lodge. He stopped before an open door and turned to watch her, coolly impervious. She slid past him into a large chamber. The door snapped shut, clicking sharply.
Locked in. The fear in her gut expanded, a supple bubble around a vanishing pit.
Just some questions. Then home.
Furniture packed the chamber: a canopy bed; small tables piled with glass and porcelain knick-knacks; plush, squat chairs. Opposite the bed, dark heavy drapes covered a series of windows.
Beyond the bed, a door opened on a washroom. Aubrey bathed her face and brushed her hair. Returning to the bedchamber, she heard male voices in the vestibule. She edged around the bed to the windows. Drawing aside a drape, she peered out and down. Below her, gentlemen in brocade frock coats mounted the outside steps, stopping on the stoop to smoke or exchange words. Academy alumni gathering.
Aubrey watched the roving men through narrowed eyes. Will they dare the kitten’s paw?
Her claws snapped into view. She glowered at them, then sheathed them quickly as the door opened. Sir James loomed in the entrance.
“Ah, Miss St. Clair. If you would accompany me downstairs.”
No, she wanted to say. I changed my mind. But this was just another step, another box to check before she reached home.
Men filled a long parlor on the ground floor. Smooth faces with enigmatic eyes turned towards the door as Aubrey entered.
“Sit, please,” Sir James boomed at her back, and she sat abruptly in a small-backed chair facing the gathered men. They leaned against walls, sat in armchairs and on settees.
No woman was present—no chaperone or doyenne, not even a maid—and Aubrey twitched while the bubble inside her expanded. She had never taken chaperones seriously: a young lady could evade one if she really wanted to. But Sir James had promised Mr. Stowe that a woman would be present, after which Aubrey would be taken home.
