“Oh, no. I lack the cleverness needed for the law.”And the morals, Mouse thought. Thornwood seemed to hear her thoughts, sending a strained smile her way as Carlyle spoke. “No, now that my position in the War Office has run its course, I’m looking into politics.”
“You will have to forgive me, Mr.Carlyle. As a foreigner, I know little about the English system of government.”
“Was your country not democratic, Mr.Thornwood?” Carlyle asked with a tone that dripped with saccharine insincerity.
“I suppose you would call us feudal,” Thornwood said, stirring some more sugar into his tea with practiced grace. Beneath the table, Mouse clenched her hands, trying to rein in her shaking.
“Or perhaps archaic?” Carlyle asked.
“It depends on your point of view, I presume. To some, anything foreign is old-fashioned.” The clink of Thornwood’s spoon against his teacup rattled through the room as he lifted it.
“Speaking of old, I am sure you had a devil of a time with this house. Have you been staying in the village, Mr.Thornwood? It seems like a tiresome trek to make so early in the morning and so late at night.”
“I did not realize that it was your role to ask questions, Carlyle,” Mouse snapped. Her thoughts drifted to the night before, Thornwood’s lips against hers in this very same room, with the press of the cool wood against her back.
Beckett looked up from his papers at last, and Mouse winced.
“I was curious about that myself,” Beckett said.
The Faerie stayed silent, his head tilted. Mouse could see that he knew the question was a trap but could not quite puzzle out how. In any case, one of them had to speak, and they had a better chance if it was her.
“I’ve offered him one of the rooms here at Thistlemarsh. He and his servant have full use of the lower floor, while I have been in my old room upstairs.”
She hoped the way she threw the words out, as though every unwed noblewoman put up strangers in her home for a month without a chaperone, would at least delay further questions. She also hoped that neither man would notice the heat blooming in her cheeks. Carlyle had found a loophole in Thornwood’s magic. The Faerie had put up a protection against noticing flowers coming from the walls, but not from societal concerns about where people slept.
“We’ve done some exhaustive work on the water features in the garden, Mr.Beckett,” she continued, trying to change the direction of the conversation. “I’m sure you remember Thistlemarsh was once the site of a Faerie-blessed well.”
Beckett put his papers aside altogether. His squint focused on Thornwood. “If I understand you correctly, then you have been living with a lady unchaperoned for a month?”
“Hardly unchaperoned!” Mouse said. “His servant, Mickelwaithe, is on hand as well.”
“He means without a female chaperone, Mouse,” Carlyle said. He leaned back in his chair. “You are being intentionally obtuse.”
“Given the short deadline, it was essential that I stayed on-site to maximize the daylight,” Thornwood said stiffly.
“I see,” Beckett said. He retreated into his papers before continuing under his breath, “I did notice that Lord Dewhurst’s animaltrophies are missing. He specifically asked that they stay. On its own, I might have overlooked the issue, but considering…”
“We will find a way to bring them back,” Mouse offered, and flushed as her voice broke on the last word. Beckett frowned, not looking up from his papers.
Carlyle took a loud sip of his tea.
Determined, despite her knowledge that, in only a matter of seconds, everything had fallen apart around her, she said, “Shall we continue the tour?”
“Is there anything else to see?” Carlyle asked.
Mouse gritted her teeth.
“I do not think it will do you much good, Lady Dewhurst,” Beckett said. “I am afraid that, given these two issues, you’ve not met the terms in the time allotted. Thus, it is my opinion that the estate must go to Mr.Carlyle. Do understand that with these Faerie-blessed houses we must be very strict.”
“There was no clause about me living here unchaperoned.”
“No, but it is not promising that you are so ignorant of basic propriety to even consider allowing a man to stay here without one, let alone to do it. That is Mr.Beckett’s point,” Carlyle said.
“Do not lecture me on morals,” Mouse hissed. “There was no clause about my reputation. This is the bloody twentieth century.”
She met Beckett’s eyes, begging him to say something, anything.
“Mr.Carlyle is quite right,” he said.