“Um …” Although I’ve made my decision, I’m still floored by how swiftly everything is moving and changing. “Well, I have to graduate from high school first. That’s only two weeks away. And if I plan to leave any earlier than my eighteenth birthday, which isn’t until October, then I probably have to get my guardians’ permission first. Right?”
“Actually, no,” Harry clarifies. “Your parents’ will states that if ever you should inherit the title and estate, you may be considered emancipated and thereby live at Rockford, running the property under a co-regency until you turn twenty-one. After that, you retain sole control.”
I stare at him, my mouth falling open.
“Why … why would my parents think to include something like that in their will? Before the fire, there was no chance of me ever inheriting anything.”
“It’s customary to have a clause like this for all immediate family members of someone on the level of a duke,” Harry answers. “In the past, wars could wipe out multiple heirs within a year. Fifth and sixth cousins had to be prepared to assume inheritances. Since then, the precaution has stuck.”
I nod slowly.
“Okay. But what’s a … a co-regency?”
“It’s another authoritative figure who shares control of decision making with the heir until he or she comes of age. In this case, as estate manager, I am your co-regent.” Harry smiles. “But I promise, you won’t see too much of me. I’ll be there to help you manage the tenants and staff and so on, and we’ll make decisions about the property together, but aside from that you’re free to do as you wish.”
“Jeez, and to think just yesterday your only prospect was being an undeclared major at NYU,” Lauren marvels. “Talk about your life changing overnight!”
“You’re not kidding,” I say quietly. “I—I should probably go home and talk to the Marinos about all of this. I have no idea how the conversation with them will go down, but I have a feeling it won’t be pretty. Everything would have been so different if they had just been honest with me.”
“Would you like me to come speak to them with you?” Harry offers.
“I can be there too, for moral support,” Lauren adds.
“Thanks, both of you. But I think I need to do this alone. I’ll call you tomorrow to go over any other arrangements we have to make,” I tell Harry.
“One more thing,” Harry says, rising to his feet. “Since you’ll be arriving in England around the start of the social season—meaning you’ll be expected to make public appearances and entertain guests at Rockford—you need to undergo a bit of study. Duchess training, so to speak. We can fly in an etiquette expert and put him up at a nearby hotel, if you’ll make time for lessons after school.”
“Um … what?” I squeak. “You really want to spend a fortune sending an etiquette expert to America to give me duchess lessons? This is too weird.”
“I’m not the one spending it,” Harry says with a grin. “You’re an heiress now, don’t forget. These papers you’re about to sign will transfer the Rockford bank accounts into your name. As your co-regent, I’m tasked with giving you an allowance so that you don’t burn through your inheritance as so many young people do. But if I may be so blunt, an etiquette expert will hardly break the bank. And it’s rather necessary.”
Lauren and I turn to each other, eyes wide.
“It’s like … like you’re a whole new person now,” Lauren says awkwardly.
I shake my head.
“I’m not. They can call me a duchess, but I’m still me.”
I return home to find Carole putting the finishing touches on dinner while Zoey sets the table. For a moment I just stand in the doorway watching, knowing this will be my last glimpse of normalcy before I drop my news on them—before life changes forever.
“Hi,” I call out. “I’m home.”
“Good. You’re on dishwashing duty tonight,” Zoey replies, giving me a smirk.
Carole comes out of the kitchen to greet me, and from the way her eyes keep nervously darting back and forth, I can tell she’s read Harry Morgan’s letter—and she doesn’t want me to know about it. My anger at their secrecy flares anew, but I force myself to stay calm for Zoey’s sake.
I wait to speak until Keith returns from work and we’re all seated around the dinner table, preparing to dig into a roast chicken.
“I have some news,” I begin, my voice sounding funny and high-pitched to my ears. “It’s a good thing you’re all sitting down.”
Carole’s fork drops to her plate with a clatter and Keith frowns at me in concern. Zoey claps her hands together in glee.
“You and Mark are together!”
“Um, no. But I love how you think my having a boyfriend would be groundbreaking news.”
“I’m just saying, it’s about time.” Zoey shrugs.
“Anyway,” I continue. “It has to do with my family. The Rockfords.”
“Zoey, can you give us a minute alone?” Keith quickly interjects.
“What?” Zoey looks at him incredulously. “Are you seriously banishing me from dinner right when Imogen is about to make a big announcement?”
“Let her stay,” I tell Keith. “She’s going to find out anyway.”
He pushes his plate to the side, his frown deepening. I clear my throat awkwardly and turn to Zoey.
“Zo, I’m not sure how much of this you know, because we never really talked about it, and you were only eight when I came to live with you guys. But my parents who died in the fire, they … they were part of a noble family in England. The family has always owned Rockford Manor in Oxfordshire, which is a mansion that includes acres of land, plus a local village where people live and farm—”
“Wait, noble? Do you mean like royalty?” Zoey interrupts, her eyes wide.
“No, no. But in England there’s a system called the peerage—dukes and duchesses, earls and countesses—and they’re ranked just below royalty. My dad was the younger son of the Duke of Wickersham, which made him a lord and my mom a lady.”
Carole and Keith sit frozen, listening to me with a look of dread in their eyes.
“So what does that make you?” Zoey asks breathlessly.
“Well, when my parents were alive, it meant that I was treated a certain way just because I was part of this family of dukes and duchesses. But then after the fire, the line of succession changed—everything changed. My first cousin, Lucia, became next in line to inherit Rockford Manor and the title. So she would have been the Duchess of Wickersham.” I swallow hard. “But she died in an accident last year—which I didn’t even know about until today.” My hands shake as I speak, and I can’t look at Keith and Carole, unable to grasp how they could have kept this from me.
“That’s awful! But what does it mean for you?” Zoey presses.
“Her death left me next in line after my grandfather. And he recently died from a stroke—which I was also unaware of.” This time I’m able to look at Carole and Keith, shooting them a withering glare.
Zoey’s mouth hangs open.
“That means you’re … you’re a … ?”
“Yeah. You’re looking at the new Duchess of Wickersham and owner of Rockford Manor.” I try to lighten the mood with a jokey tone, but instead sound almost as terrified as I feel.
“Oh. My. God.”
Zoey, at least, seems to love this. She gapes at me as though I’ve turned into a celebrity straight from the pages of her favorite magazines.
“Are you serious? This is unbelievable! Don’t tell me I have to bow to you now, though, do I?”
“Of course not!” I laugh. “I mean, people bowed to my grandfather, but I’d feel ridiculous if anyone bowed to me. Like I said, I’m not royalty.”
“But you’re close to it,” Zoey marvels.
“Well … I guess, sort of. The Duchess of Wickersham usually serves as a lady-in-waiting for royal ceremonies like coronations and weddings and stuff like that.” I realize how completely full of it I sound, and I cough in emba
rrassment. “Sorry. I know this is all so sudden and unreal, but I signed the deed of inheritance, so there’s no going back.”
At my words, Carole and Keith simultaneously snap out of their state of shock.
“You signed what?” Keith bellows.
“How did any of this happen? How did you speak to Harry Morgan? He wasn’t supposed to contact you!” Carole frets.
“And that’s the part of the story I understand the least.” I grip the sides of the table in fury. “How could you keep everything a secret from me? I should have known that my grandfather was sick, and that he and Lucia died. I should have been at their funerals. And, Keith—you lied to me about who called last night. I trusted you both, my parents trusted you, and here you’ve been lying to me for ages! How could you?” My voice breaks, and I turn away, gulping a breath of air.
Carole’s face crumples, tears brimming in her eyes. Zoey is stunned into silence, glancing around the table as if she no longer recognizes any of us. Only Keith keeps his composure. When he speaks, his voice is firm and even.
“I’m sorry you feel that way, Imogen. But the reason we’ve kept everything from you is simple—to protect you. Maybe you don’t remember how you were when you moved in with us, but Carole and I will never forget the state of distress you came to us in. For a year, you’d wake up in the middle of the night crying from nightmares; you barely spoke or ate or left your room. Whenever you received a letter or any kind of correspondence from Rockford Manor, your nightmares and panic worsened. Finally, more than two years after the fire, you became yourself again, the girl we remembered. We finally got to see you smiling and happy. So Carole and I promised ourselves we would do everything in our power to keep you that way, which meant shielding you from the people and places that triggered your trauma. We owed it not only to you, but to your parents.”
I stare at him, speechless. I don’t remember being in such bad shape when I first moved in with the Marinos. I’ve tried to block those years out, and now they’re mostly a blur.
“But—but—” I stammer. “My parents would have wanted me to know about Lucia and my grandfather. And my dad would have expected me to take care of Rockford Manor. It was his childhood home. He would never want me to just turn down my inheritance and let the place be left to the government. I might have been … broken from what happened, but that doesn’t mean you can make decisions for me about what’s rightfully mine.”
“There’s more to it than that,” Carole says slowly. Keith shoots her a warning look across the table, but she continues. “Your father loved Rockford Manor, that’s true. But not long before the fire, when your mother was preparing for the annual summer trip, she confided in me that she wasn’t comfortable at Rockford anymore. She said that she’d seen strange things at the house, and that she sometimes felt afraid there.”
“What?” I blink in confusion, trying to reconcile this description with my memories of Mum cheerfully reading to me in the Rockford library and taking tea in the gardens. “She never seemed afraid.”
“Well, I imagine she wouldn’t have wanted to show it.”
“So what was she scared of? What were the things she saw?” I press.
Carole shrugs helplessly.
“I don’t know. When I asked, she just brushed it off and said she was probably being silly. But I could tell there was more to the story. Then when I found out another tragedy had taken place there, when your cousin died, it confirmed my fears that something isn’t right about Rockford Manor. For five people to die right there in the gardens—it’s … it’s …” She can’t finish her sentence, her expression growing all the more urgent. “You can’t go. We can’t lose you too.”
“You won’t lose me. …” My voice trails off as I fidget with my napkin. Carole’s words have me rattled, returning my mind to the confusing, frightening place where a flower grew and sparks flew out of nowhere. But there’s no way to know if Rockford Manor had anything to do with all that—and Carole’s theory about the fire and Lucia’s accident being linked to some kind of macabre conspiracy in the house sounds far-fetched even to my own overactive imagination.
“I think we need to show it to her, Keith,” Carole says abruptly.
My head snaps up.
“Show me what?”
Keith hesitates.
“It’ll help her understand,” Carole urges. “It’s time.”
“Seriously, what are you guys talking about?” Zoey demands.
Keith nods slightly, and Carole pushes her chair back, leaving the room. The three of us wait in silence, my heartbeat picking up speed, until she returns holding a piece of paper.
“We received this letter a year and a half ago,” Carole reveals. “Keith and I talked it over, and since we didn’t know who sent it or what to make of it, we decided not to share it with you—we didn’t want to cause you unnecessary worry or fear. But after you read this, I think you’ll have a better grasp on why we were so vigilant in keeping you away from the Rockfords.”
I swallow nervously and take the letter from Carole. Zoey scoots her chair closer to me to read over my shoulder, and her sharp intakes of breath coincide with my own shock at the words, written in an unfamiliar cursive hand.
January 21, 2013
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Marino,
I trust that you and your family are well. I write to you as a friend, with knowledge of a plot that concerns your goddaughter, Lady Imogen, should she ever return to Rockford Manor. I can’t tell you more, nor can I go to the authorities. They wouldn’t believe me.
The one thing I know is that Lady Imogen should be safe so long as she stays with you in America. Don’t let her return.
Sincerely,
A Friend
I stare at the letter, rereading it until the words blur together. Who could have sent this? What kind of plot were they talking about? My legs begin to tremble under the table and I shift in my chair, trying to steady them.
“Maybe it’s a joke, or a trick?” Zoey says hopefully. “For all we know, the person who wrote the letter was just getting to be jealous of Imogen’s a duchess and wanted to keep her away from it all.”
“But Imogen wasn’t a duchess—or even next in line—when this was sent,” Keith objects.
“Still, Zoey might be right,” I say. “People who follow all that British society stuff know about me, and whoever wrote this letter must have realized I was third in line for the title at the time. Maybe there’s some distant cousin out there who was jealous and wanted my place?”
Even as I speak the words, I know my theory doesn’t make much sense—but then, how could I be at the center of some vendetta in England, when I haven’t been there since I was ten years old? Another thought occurs to me.
“Did you ever show this to anyone else? Like Oscar at Rockford Manor? Or the police?”
“We didn’t share it with anyone from Rockford, but we did make a copy for the Wickersham police,” Keith replies. “They ran a handwriting check but couldn’t find any local matches, and they conducted an investigation, though they dismissed it a little too quickly for our liking.”
“If it was a legitimate threat, they wouldn’t have dismissed it.” I feel a surge of relief. “I’ll show the letter to Harry Morgan tomorrow and send a copy to Oscar. I know I can trust both of them. If they feel I have something to worry about, then we’ll deal with it, but otherwise … let’s just treat this as a prank. Okay?”
Carole stares at me, the color draining from her face. I realize then that she must have been certain the letter would change my mind.
“You’re so determined to do this,” she says shakily. “How can you brush aside the danger you might be in?”
“Because we don’t know that I’m in danger. The police didn’t seem to think so—and I can’t make major life decisions based on an anonymous letter that could be someone’s idea of a good joke.” I take a deep breath. “I know that the easier and safer move might be to just stay here and let the manor and my inher
itance go. But I’ve only done the safe thing since the fire. And every time I took the easy way out, by avoiding my cousin and acting as if the Rockfords didn’t exist … I ended up full of regret. Especially today, when I found out Lucia and my grandfather are gone, and I can never apologize or make things right. So this time, I’m going to be brave. I’m saying yes. And I’m really sorry if it upsets you, but … there’s nothing you can say to change my mind.”
A heavy silence falls over the table.
“You’re still a minor,” Keith finally says. “You do need our permission.”
I wince, unsure how to say what I need to without hurting them further.
“Um. The estate manager, Harry … he told me my parents’ will states that if I ever became heir to Rockford Manor as a minor, I’d be considered emancipated. Meaning, technically—I don’t need permission. I have the paperwork, if you need to see it.”
Zoey’s expression is beginning to match her parents.
“Wait a minute, are you saying you’re moving to England forever?”
“I wish I could say no, but yeah. I have to. We’ll visit regularly, though, all four of us. The place is huge, you can have your own wing if you want—” I stop midsentence at the sight of Carole crying silently and I rush over to her chair.
“Please, tell me what I can do to make this a little better,” I beg. “I don’t want to upset any of you, but I need to do this.”
“You’ll stay till graduation and my birthday, right?” Zoey asks in a tiny voice.
“Of course,” I promise. “I won’t leave a day before you turn sixteen.”
“If there’s nothing we can do to stop you, then—then there is one thing you can do for us,” Keith says quietly. “You’ll go to school at Oxford. Just like Edmund and I did.”
I stifle a laugh.
“Keith, you know I hate to disappoint you, but my odds of getting into Oxford are, like, one in a million. It doesn’t matter if I have legacy there. Nowadays you pretty much have to be valedictorian to get in. And we all know I’m not.”
“It might not be as hard as you think. The third duke made quite the sizable endowment to Oxford in the eighteenth century, and the Rockfords have continued contributing to the school ever since,” Keith divulges. “So long as your grades are respectable, which they are, I see no reason why you wouldn’t get in.”