The Lady By His Side(47)

Her memories were so vivid, she felt a phantom tug.

Drenched and infuriated by his high-handedness, she’d narrowed her eyes back and, in no uncertain terms, had told him what she thought of his behavior—of his entirely unnecessary rescue.

Beyond furious with each other, they hadn’t exchanged so much as a word for the rest of his stay.

But he’d kept that pebble.

It had to be the same pebble.

She blinked, then glanced at his face, but he was stuffing all his belongings back into his pockets and didn’t look at her.

Crawford waved Sir Humphrey to the door. “We should start our search immediately—speaking to the rest of the staff can wait.”

Sir Humphrey glanced at Antonia and Sebastian. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

“No,” Sebastian said. “But we think we’ll find the house plans and diagrams of the grounds in the library.” He picked up the rolled map of the estate they’d found earlier. “We’ll hunt them out, then start our search.”

They filed out of the estate office. Crawford, followed by Sir Humphrey, strode off up the corridor and into the front hall, taking his constables with him.

To Sebastian’s surprise, Antonia turned in the opposite direction. For an instant, he thought she was heading back to the study for some reason. Instead, she opened a door—a secondary door more or less concealed in the wall the corridor shared with the library—and led the way into the large room.

He followed and closed the door, which clicked shut, fitting neatly into the wall in a way that rendered it not readily discernible. He walked deeper into the room, then halted and surveyed the shelves lining the walls. Interrupted only by gaps for the doors, windows, and the large fireplace, the open shelves were packed with leather-bound tomes of every description.

“Luckily,” Antonia murmured, “we’re looking for folio-sized books, and there aren’t so many of them.”

He set the map of the estate on a small circular table. “I see some.” He walked to the wall shared with the corridor and crouched to scan the tall volumes filling the bottom shelf. Antonia trailed after him and halted beside him. He forced his mind to remain on track, to take in what his eyes were seeing in terms of the words etched on the spines and not drift… “Ah—this might be it.” Thank God.

He hauled out a large, heavy volume covered in maroon leather with “Pressingstoke Hall” inscribed on the spine. He hefted it into his arms, rose, and carried it to the central library table.

Antonia followed eagerly, her attention plainly diverted by the find.

They opened the book and saw a copy of an early plan of the house when it had been a medieval hall. Like many large houses, Pressingstoke Hall had gone through various iterations, with new versions built onto or over earlier structures.

“This book looks like it was compiled early this century. We need the latest plan.” Antonia turned the pages until they were looking at an exquisite rendering of what was obviously the current Pressingstoke Hall.

Antonia studied the plan. “There are too many rooms to remember, especially on the lower level and in the attics. We’ll need to make a copy.” She looked around. “There’s a writing desk.”

She crossed to the desk, sat in the chair behind it, and searched in the shallow drawers, eventually unearthing several sheets of paper and a handful of pencils.

He carried the large book over and placed it open on the desk. “You’re unquestionably better at drawing than I am.”

“True. But before I start on this, let’s see if we can find the plans of the grounds.”

They hunted through the folio-sized volumes and finally found a box stuffed with loose sheets. He carried the box to the library table, and she quickly sorted through the pages.

“This is the one—done in 1827.” She studied it for a moment, then handed it to him. “You can manage a reasonable copy of that, I’m sure.”

So while she settled at the desk to make a copy of the plan of the house, he sat at the library table and did his best—his distinctly poor best—to draw what was at least a passable representation of the grounds, noting the location of the various buildings and structures that dotted the cultivated area around the house.

Antonia diligently copied line after line, an activity that required attention, but not a great deal of active thought. Her mind, unsurprisingly, reverted to contemplation of what was fast becoming her dominant obsession.

Sebastian.

He who apparently carried around a pebble he had drawn from her sodden hair some fifteen years ago.

If it was the same pebble.

It had to be the same pebble; why else had he glanced at her and moved to hide it?