Lord of Deceit (Heiress Games Book 2) by Sara Ramsey Page B

mistress, they had tolerated her — had even been kind to her.
    As Somerville’s cast-off mistress, they had no reason to serve her. The driver, who once seemed eager to take her on her errands in Mayfair, had barely acknowledged her during the trip to Devonshire.
    Only Agnes remained loyal. But she had grown up in Devonshire and would be glad to be home. She nudged Octavia toward the door. “I’ll see to your baggage, miss.”
    Octavia looked up at the grand entrance to Maidenstone Abbey. The steps leading up to the door were still familiar to her, even after four years. The weathered divots and cracks in the stones were the same. The double doors had been repainted and the knocker polished to a high sheen. Not that anyone should need to knock — the drive was long enough that a footman would notice any arrival before guests had the chance to climb the steps.
    They had spent the previous night at an inn less than an hour away, which the driver had grumbled about — but Octavia had forced the issue and he had eventually backed down. She had wanted time to freshen herself up this morning before arriving at the abbey. This wasn’t an interview she wanted to conduct while underdressed and short of sleep.
    Not that she had slept the previous night. She took a breath and mounted the stairs. The family motto crossed her mind. Briarley contra mundum — Briarley against the world. It was on the coats of arms in the older wings of the vast house, but it was as applicable to her now as it had ever been to her ancestors.
    There was nowhere else in the world that she wanted to go. And nowhere else in the world where she felt so unsure of her reception.
    The door opened. The butler, Claxton, had seen his share of shocking events in his tenure there. He had been one of the first to arrive at the scene of the horrific crash that had killed Octavia and Lucy’s parents. He had attended to the guests at Julian’s funeral. He had said farewell to her when Somerville had taken her to London without a hint of judgment in his voice.
    But he didn’t look happy to see her. “Miss Ava,” he said, with a bow that was no deeper than absolutely necessary. “We didn’t expect you.”
    “There wasn’t time to send word, Claxton. Can you see to airing my room?”
    He looked beyond her to the growing pile of luggage in the drive. “Are you planning to stay, Miss Ava?”
    She nodded. She wouldn’t explain it to him. Soon, she wouldn’t have to explain it to him. If the London papers hadn’t reached the house ahead of her, they eventually would. News of her dismissal as Somerville’s mistress would be all over England within the week.
    Claxton frowned. “You should talk to Miss Lucy, Miss Ava. She is with Lady Maidenstone in the orangerie.”
    Lady Maidenstone . Octavia had never met her grandfather’s absurdly young second wife. Octavia had seen her grandfather in London several times before his last illness had confined him to the country, but he had never brought his young wife with him. And Octavia hadn’t returned to Maidenstone for her grandfather’s funeral. Her grandfather had always been happy to see her, but Octavia had never wanted to see Lucy again.
    Perhaps she could appeal to Lady Maidenstone instead. But from the way Claxton spoke, she guessed that it was Lucy who ran the house, no matter what the order of precedence should have been.
    “I’ll find her,” Octavia said. “Agnes can direct the footmen to take my things.”
    He didn’t look like he wanted to agree with that, but he didn’t stop her as she swept past him into the foyer. The main entrance to Maidenstone Abbey was in one of the newer wings of the house, added in the last few decades. Her ancestors had a penchant for building, but did not feel similarly about tearing down — and so the abbey that the estate was named for, built for monks during the Gothic period, was surrounded and nearly entirely subsumed by the Tudor, Jacobean, Palladian, and now