Then she saw it, what looked to be an ornately swirled infinity sign. A carving that perfectly matched her necklace’s uniquely shaped pendant. Undoubtedly this was how she could open the box, which she wouldn’t do.
But what if she merely took a tiny peek? What if this was her destiny? Why else would she be the one to have this pendant? The key that opened the mystical box. Perhaps she was meant to open the box. Surely that meant no harm would come to her.
She’d barely had time to put her hand in her pocket to reach for the necklace when the carriage pulled to a stop.
“What exactly do you think you’re doing?” Fielding grumbled.
Her thundering heart seemed to stop beating. She met his gaze before it focused on the box in her lap. “I was merely admiring the box. It’s quite the treasure, as you can imagine.”
“Indeed.” He took it back from her and tucked it into the bag. “We’re here.”
The carriage door opened and a footman extended his hand. “Miss,” he said.
She poked her head out. “We’re where?”
“My family’s home. It’s about halfway between Portsmouth and London. I thought we could rest and wash up.”
When she still didn’t move he nudged her. “Get out of the carriage, Miss Worthington.”
The estate sat beyond the circular drive, classic in architecture. Several stories high, it peaked with at least six chimneys and two picturesque wings flanking each side of the home. They were nearly cathedral-like in structure.
“Come along,” he said, but he did not bother waiting for her to follow.
Esme had always wondered what it would be like to have a bevy of servants bathe and dress her, and today she’d found out. One washed her hair, one kept the water temperature just so, and one scrubbed her back. Then two more had helped her dress and attended her toilet.
The dress they’d put her in was a couple of decades out of style with its butter-yellow full skirt, velvet sash, and squared bodice, but it was clean and warm. Miraculously, they’d found a pair of boots that came close to fitting her. The leather had hardened with age, clearly conforming to the previous owner’s feet. On Esme they were tight across the arch, but loose in the heel and longer than necessary. She tugged at the ill-fitting dress, which clung too tightly to her hips.
She would have liked nothing more than to toss herself upon the luxurious-looking bed taking up the center of the room, but Mr. Grey had not said how long they’d be here and she had some exploring to do. Namely, she wanted to find Pandora’s box and have another look.
Walnut paneling covered the lower three-quarters of the hallway walls and positively gleamed with lemon oil. The fresh scent invigorated her as she proceeded down the large marble staircase. Mr. Grey had said this was his family estate, yet the servants had been most surprised to see him when he’d stepped out of the carriage. Or perhaps it had been the mud-covered, scantily clad woman he’d brought with him. But somehow their dismay had seemed clearly aimed at him.
As if they hadn’t seen him in years and had never expected his visit.
Fielding Grey was a most curious man, Esme decided. She would rather enjoy learning more about him, but for the time being, she’d have to settle for investigating his home. Where would he put the box while he rested and bathed? Starting at the door closest to the back of the house, she worked her way through the myriad halls. The home was spotless and the rooms fairly standard: a couple of parlors and a library, a room she’d longed to further explore as the books beckoned her like new friends, but she forced herself to keep moving. She then came upon a conservatory, a billiards room, and a study.
She had nearly closed the door on the study when she spied Thatcher’s tattered bag sitting on the massive mahogany desk. Slipping inside the room, she assured herself that no one was watching, then closed the door behind her. After a cursory glance to make certain she was alone, she quietly made her way to the desk. And before she knew it, she was seated in the large leather chair.
The stiff chair was exceedingly uncomfortable and so large that her feet dangled several inches above the floor. She ignored the fact that she felt more like a girl than a woman. Gently, she retrieved the box and set it in her lap.
Pandora’s box!
Esme stifled a giggle, again feeling very much the young girl with a new toy. Every time she looked upon it, the carvings became more and more beautiful. She ran her fingers across the gold, reveling in the feel of it. Then she heard it—a whispering. Just the faintest of sounds, like a voice being carried on a wind. She whipped around to look behind her but found no one there. Straining to listen to the voice, she was unable to decipher any of the words.
“Hello? Anyone there?” she asked. Yet there was nowhere in the room for someone to hide and only the door through which she’d entered.
She shook her head and looked at the box. Again she heard an unmistakable whisper. It was a sound filled with the promise of fulfilled longing. Suddenly she was overtaken by the sweetest yearning. With a sense of hope and the possibility of joy. Although the words were still undecipherable, she could have sworn she’d heard her name. But that was impossible.
She continued stroking the box, tracing each engraving, noting each detail. Something pricked her finger and she drew it back; a fleck of blood bubbled from a tiny cut. Strange, considering the gold was perfectly smooth. She lifted the box for a closer inspection and noticed a slight abrasion in the metal near the etching that matched her pendant.
Her heart quickened. It was as if the box were asking her to open it—no, begging. One little peek wouldn’t hurt. For so many years she’d longed to open it, how could she now deny herself this moment?
She had the opportunity; she had the key.
She scanned the room once more before removing her necklace. Carefully she lined her pendant piece up with the carving, then took a deep breath before pushing it into place. She heard something give way within. Slowly she exhaled.
In one swift movement she opened the lid and squeezed her eyes shut. She waited for a swarm of locusts or screaming—something. Nothing happened.
One eye popped open to inspect the inside of the box, then she opened the other.