Free Summerset Abbey by T. J. Brown

behind them.
    “King George,” Elaine answered quickly, giving Rowena a look.
    Victoria threw herself onto the chaise. “Now you’re being silly, but go ahead, keep your little secrets. I have some of my own.”
    “And what would those be?” Rowena finished her drink and handed Elaine her glass. Elaine finished as well and then secreted the glasses behind a marble statue of Artemis.
    Victoria waved her hand. “Oh, you’ll find out soon enough.”
    “Girls! My poor darling nieces. How are you bearing up under the tragic loss of your dear father?”
    Rowena shivered at the sound of her aunt’s cool, cultured voice. “I can’t speak for Victoria, of course, but I am doing as well as can be expected,” she said.
    “I’m perfectly wretched, Auntie.” Victoria rose from the chaise and clasped her hands in front of her. “I feel just like that poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning.
“I tell you, hopeless grief is passionless,
That only men incredulous of despair,
Half-taught in anguish, through the midnight air
Beat upward to God’s throne in loud access
Of shrieking and reproach. . . .”
    “I can just imagine, poor dear,” Aunt Charlotte interrupted. Victoria took the hint and went and kissed her cheek without treating them to the final lines.
    Rowena took a deep breath and followed her.
    Aunt Charlotte had been the most beautiful debutante of her season, perhaps during the entire eighties. Dowagers still spoke of her beauty and the exceptional ease with which she comported herself at such a young age, even among the Prince of Wales’s smart set. She’d capped off her stunningly successful season with a brilliant match and was soon giving glittering parties attended by the cream of English society. For years she had been applauded for both her beauty and wit, and even now it was only up close that one could see the slight melting of her lovely features, as if she were one of last season’s leftover apples. The renowned wit seemed perennially missing.
    Aunt Charlotte suffered through Victoria’s kiss, then turned to Rowena. “I’m sorry for your loss, my dear. I know poor Conrad is desolate. Your father was a wonderful man.”
    Rowena knew that her aunt and her father had a mutual avoidance pact. But then, if the roles were reversed, he would be offering the same polite, empty words. “Thank you, Aunt Charlotte. How are you feeling? I’m sorry you couldn’t make it to the service.” She leaned in close to kiss her aunt’s cheek and then realized her mistake when her aunt started sniffing. She must reek of gin.
    Her aunt’s blue eyes flickered over her, but Rowena knew she wouldn’t say anything. Yet. “I’m feeling much better, thank you for asking, and we will have our own little service here tomorrow. Oh, Conrad, here you are now. Shall we go in to dinner?”
    Dismissed, Rowena stepped away as her uncle led Aunt Charlotte to dinner.
    Summerset had two dining rooms, a large formal one for parties and a smaller one for when they dined en famille. It was the smaller one they went into now, which was one of Rowena’s favorite rooms. With its low crossbeams and built-in china cabinets, it looked like the kind of place built for happy families to break bread.
    Of course, the Buxtons did not “break bread,” they dined. Even when they were eating informally as a family, there were never fewer than seven courses.
    The table, a long, dark, highly polished rectangle, could comfortably seat twelve. Aunt Charlotte sat on one end and Uncle Conrad sat on the other. The girls clustered in the middle. Rowena wondered whether they sat this way when only the three of them were present and decided they probably did. Elaine sat next to her, Victoria across from her.
    Rowena eyed her sister with concern. The attack this afternoon had left her pale; only her eyes showed her agitation, darting from Aunt Charlotte to Uncle Conrad. Rowena frowned. What was she up to?
    She found out a few minutes later over the