Death of a Duchess, Nellie Steele [non fiction books to read .txt] 📗

I responded. “I do not find country life at all boring. However, it was around this date when I arrived at the orphanage. I often find myself dwelling on the memory of that distressing day. But, with the travel, I shall have plenty to distract me. And I am eager to see how Tilly is getting on.”

“Ah,” Robert said with a smile. “I see. What a terrible memory to commemorate. Well, I am glad to be of some service to you during this time.”

“You are more than just some service,” I answered, matching his expression.

His grin broadened. “I will see you at dinner. I am going riding.”

“Please be careful,” I warned him, recalling his injured leg.

“I shall, dear,” he promised. His brow furrowed, and he added, “It occurs to me you have never asked to ride. If you enjoy it, ask Thomas, our stable hand, to prepare a horse for you whenever you like. The grounds are most beautiful to take in on horseback.”

“I do not ride,” I responded.

He paused a moment, as though uncertain how to respond. “Do not ride?” he repeated, his voice phrasing it as a question.

“No,” I answered. “I never learned. Girls at St. Mary’s had little use for the knowledge and no means to acquire it, anyway.”

“Yes, I understand,” Robert said. “Well…” He paused again, as though unsure. “I shall teach you. If you are keen to learn, that is.”

“I should enjoy that,” I responded. “I would like to take in more of the estate than I am able to walk.”

He smiled at me again. “Excellent. We shall begin upon our return from Glasgow.”

“I look forward to it.”

He offered me another kiss on my forehead before departing. Alone, I turned my attentions to my new trinket. The brass box sparkled in the sun streaming through the windows. I smiled down at it, pressing the button to trigger the mechanism that released the bird. The little blue bird leapt from his hiding spot, his wings flapping and his beak opening and closing as he sang his merry tune.

I played it several more times before I worried I may break it on the first day I owned it. Instead, I returned my attentions to my book, though my mind wandered to preparations for my trip. As my mind listed items to be completed, my gaze fell upon the small singing box. Warmth filled my heart as I pressed the button, allowing the bird again to serenade me.

This March, I would not feel melancholy. Wistfulness would be banished by the small chirping bird. I had finally found my home.

My lips formed a broad smile. I reached for the box, caressing it. I closed my eyes, feeling its cool metal beneath my fingers. I rubbed the intricate details. My hand fell on the knob and I pressed the button again, freeing the bird to sing anew.

The song ended prematurely. My stomach jolted, and a lump formed in my throat. Panic rose in my chest as I assumed I had broken the trinket already. My eyes snapped open. I focused my attention on the small box, but something else drew my gaze.

Pale fingers rested on top of the box. I followed them up to a hand, wrist, arm and ultimately to stare at a pale face. Annie hovered over me; her fingers firmly pressed on the box. “Hello, Annie,” I said. Her dark eyes bored into me as though she could study my soul. “You don’t care for the bird’s song?” She raised her hand, readying to swat the box away. “No!” I shouted, leaping from my seat and grabbing hold of the box. “Do not touch it. It is mine, a gift. I shall not see it broken.” My eyes met hers. “Please,” I added.

She lowered her hand, and I set the box on the table. “You haven’t visited in some time, Annie,” I continued. She stood unmoving; her mouth set in a grim expression. “I suppose we both needed a respite after the last encounter.”

Her eyes narrowed, and she raised an eyebrow at me. “I do not believe you intended to hurt me,” I confessed. I paused. “Am I incorrect?”

Annie pointed to the singing box. I furrowed my brow, attempting to determine her meaning. “What is it, Annie?” I questioned.

Her arm did not move, continuing to point to the box. “The box?” I paused, assessing any reaction on her part. None showed. “It was a gift… from Robert.”

Her arm lowered, and she nodded. I struggled to understand. “Does the gift disturb you? Is it the sound? Or perhaps the concept that Robert has given me a gift?”

Annie shook her head. The crinkle in my brow deepened. “I do not understand,” I admitted. “You pointed at the box. What is it about the box?”

Annie swung her head in agitation. I paced the floor, my hand resting on my forehead. “It isn’t the sound. It isn’t the box itself. It isn’t the fact that Robert gifted it to me. What is it?” I threw my hands out with frustration.

Her arm raised, and she again pointed at the box. I sighed and returned to pacing. “Not the box itself…” I murmured. “Not the gift…” I replayed the conversation in my mind, trying to focus on what triggered the nod from Annie.  I halted my pacing, staring at her, throwing my arms in the air. “Annie, I do not understand what you are trying to communicate!”

Her arm, which never ceased pointing to the box, raised. I followed its trajectory. Her finger now pointed out the window. A horse rode from the stables, traveling away from the castle. I spun to face her again. “Robert!” I exclaimed.

Annie nodded her head slowly, lowering her arm. I smiled at her, a sense of achievement filling her. This marked our first successful communication! The smile was quickly replaced by a confused expression. “But what about Robert?” I questioned as the crinkle returned to my brow.

Annie continued to stare at me with her piercing gaze. I met