She led him out into a dark, cold hallway. “There’s not much to see up here, I’m afraid,” she said in a hushed voice. “Just old bedrooms nobody uses.”
“Still.” Liam stopped at the first door. “Let’s have a look. We are on an adventure, after all. You never know what ghosts could be lurking behind closed doors.”
Cora opened the door, leading him into a musty room. Dusty sheets were draped over what little furniture there was, and it was clear nobody had been inside to clean in a very long time.
“Ghosts, indeed,” Liam murmured, taking a quick inventory of the room. No jewels in there, to be sure. He turned to Cora. “Onward, Captain.”
She led him through the rest of the rooms on her floor. All the same. All in varying states of neglect. It was odd to him, that a grand man like the squire would allow so many bedrooms to lay dusty.
Cora led him down a curved staircase to the first floor of the house. She pointed to a narrow hall and whispered, “That’s the kitchen and the servants’ wing.”
He followed her in the opposite direction through a set of ornate double doors. The grand drawing room had soaring ceilings, but the stale, musty air made the room feel cramped and lifeless. As Cora led him through, Liam was shocked to see how threadbare the furniture was. All of the chairs and settees were faded, and none of the pieces had been polished in ages. There were blank spots on the walls where some paintings were missing. The whole scene made no sense.
“This way lies the hall of portraits,” Cora said, leading him out into an immense hall with long, narrow carpets. “I used to be afraid of this place when I was little because I imagined he was watching me.” She held up the candle and pointed to a large, grand painting in a gilded frame. “The Black Duke,” she said in a dramatic whisper.
The painting showed a handsome, proud man with dark, wavy hair and dark eyes. He was tall and broad shouldered, with a muscular build that seemed at odds with his satin and lace clothing. It was a typical formal portrait, but the artist had managed to capture a roguish gleam in the man’s eyes that was anything but common. Something about the way he stood, surrounded by the three wolfhounds, made him seem restless and a little bit wild.
“The infamous Black Duke is one of our ancestors,” Cora said in a low voice. “He’s said to have stolen the money and land that was the basis of my family’s fortune.” She looked at the portrait, then at Liam. “He looks a bit like you, actually.”
Liam ran a hand through his shaggy hair. No one had ever compared him to a duke before. He glanced at Cora to see if she spoke in jest, but it was clear she meant it.
“Though I can’t imagine you sitting in a drawing room wearing satin and lace,” she said with a laugh. “You seem like more of an outdoor man.”
Liam thought of his last robbery. The stagecoach footman hollering after him. Heart thumping as he ran like mad through the woods. The scent of foliage and damp earth mixed with the hot rush of adrenaline. “I am definitely an outdoor man.”
Cora chatted sweetly as she showed him the rest of the house, and everywhere Liam looked, things had fallen into disrepair. The rooms were dusty and ill kempt. There were faded areas on the floor where rugs had once been, and all the rooms had peeling paint and crumbling millwork and threadbare curtains. Liam couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He and his friends had often imagined the squire’s house to be magnificent, with gold ceilings and silver staircases, but the inside of Cora’s house was a wreck. No wonder nobody from the village had ever seen the inside.
She shivered as they moved toward the back of the house and Liam wished he had a coat to offer her.
“It’s always drafty here,” Cora said. “I’ve never much liked it. If I could live anywhere, I would choose that lovely cottage in the village. The one by the great tree. It seems like such a warm, happy place. Do you know it?”
“Yes.” Liam knew just the cottage she was talking about. Situated near a babbling brook at the edge of the village, it had a sturdy roof and cheerful flowers by the garden gate. Everything about it was sunny and bright. A place like that suited her.
“And now, we come to the library,” she said in triumph. She pushed open two double doors and led him inside. “This is my favorite room in the house because this is where all the great stories are. Nothing amazing ever happens in my life, but whenever I come here, it’s like the whole world cracks open.” She gestured to the floor-to-ceiling bookcases that lined the walls. The air smelled like dusty parchment, old leather and tea roses. There was a writing desk near the far wall and comfortable reading chairs near the fireplace. Liam could just picture Cora settled there to read.
A painting of a beautiful woman hung on the wall behind the desk. She had black hair and stunning blue eyes, and she wore a pale silk dress adorned with roses.
“My mother,” Cora said wistfully. “She was a great beauty, and so charming. My father said she could charm a selkie right out of its skin. When she was alive, the house was always full of music and friends. I was very young when she died, but I still remember her rose perfume and her colorful gowns and all the parties.”
“What happened to her?” Liam asked softly.
She turned away from the portrait and leaned against the desk. “She caught a cough. And one day she went to bed and never woke up. It devastated my father, which is why he’s so strict with me. If I so much as sneeze, he practically wraps me in cotton wool and sends me to bed. It’s the reason I had to stay home today.” She walked over to the fireplace. “I was pulling books from a shelf this morning to take on the trip, and I started sneezing from all the dust. My father overheard me, and became convinced I’d caught a chill.” She shook her head, running her fingers over a carved wooden box on the mantel. “Nothing I could say would persuade him otherwise. So I’ve been in my room all night, reading.” Cora lifted the box’s lid, and a soft melody began to play. She shut it firmly and turned to face him. “And that’s when you found me.” She forced a bright smile and gestured to her gown. “Alone and dressed for a ball I won’t attend.”
Something sharp twisted in Liam’s chest at the injustice of it. He eyed her gown with distaste. No wonder it was so concealing. Her father was overprotective. It was a crime to leave such a lovely, intelligent, kindhearted woman alone in a dusty old house like this. She should be dancing. She should be at parties full of laughter and light, not hidden away like some rare jewel in a dark cave, shining for no one.
On impulse, he closed the distance between them and drew his knife.
Cora gasped.
“Don’t be afraid,” Liam said, his dark eyes searching hers. “I won’t hurt you.”
Cora stood frozen in place, but gave a tiny nod.
Liam grabbed the offending ruffles on the neckline of her gown and began cutting. His knife parted through the silk fabric, altering the childish style to expose her graceful neck and shoulders. Then he bent to slice away some of the flounces on her gown until, at last, he was satisfied. “Now,” he said firmly, “you’re dressed for a ball.”