Gilded Cage (Dark Gifts #1)(35)
His eyes met Luke’s, and Luke couldn’t look away.
‘This is the long game,’ the Doc said. ‘We need to be the winners when it ends.’
9
Abi
If she wanted to discover why Luke wasn’t welcome at Kyneston, Abi’s only option was Jenner. But he’d warned her not to ask.
So how could she get him to tell her?
Perhaps if she could win his trust. His admiration. Maybe even his affection?
She snorted at that, and turned back to the heap of unopened mail on her desk. There might be none so daft as a clever girl in love, as Mum would say, but Abi wasn’t that deluded. She wanted Jenner’s affection all right, but she would do even if Luke was at Kyneston with the rest of them.
She picked up the letter opener, a heavy silver knife bearing the Jardine family crest of the salamander embowered – a fire-breathing lizard fenced into a circular garden – and attacked the pile of envelopes.
The fourth one down had handwriting on it that she recognized. Her own.
It was the birthday card they’d sent Luke, returned unopened from Millmoor. ‘Inadmissible’ had been stamped across it. Abi growled with frustration. It didn’t even bear a censor’s mark. They hadn’t bothered to open it and see that it was nothing more seditious than a card, handmade by Daisy. The three-month no-communication period for all slavetown newcomers hadn’t expired yet for Luke, so they’d simply sent it back.
Soon, though. She glanced at the calendar on her desk, the red ring around a date at the start of December, just days away. The three months were up then and they’d all get news on how Luke was doing, assuming he was as desperate to write to them as they were to hear from him.
Abi hoped he was being sensible and toeing the line. Surely life in Millmoor couldn’t be much worse than having a rubbish job and a crummy flatshare out in the real world. Luke probably spent his days packing boxes in a factory, and had a crowd of friends already.
At least that was what Abi told herself. She tried not to think about that guard, Kessler, or the day Luke had been ripped away from them. She didn’t dwell on the fact that Luke – that all of them – were just chattels of the state with no rights at all. She pushed away the image of Dad on his knees, blood streaming down his face, and Luke being prodded into the van with a baton.
Whatever it took to make Jenner Jardine bring Luke here, Abi intended to do it. She’d started with what she did best: work.
In nearly three months at Kyneston, she had already made improvements to how the Family Office ran. She’d created a spreadsheet of the estate year, colour coded and filled with calendar alerts and reminders. She’d asked certain of the key staff – if you could call slaves that – to begin monthly audits.
She’d tried not to come across as a bossy upstart, and they’d mostly listened when she explained that better organization was in everyone’s interests. Her message was that the smoother the house and estate ran, the less chance there was of Lord Jardine or Heir Gavar blowing their fuses. They’d all seen that often enough that they readily agreed. The housekeeper was particularly friendly, and Abi was always welcome belowstairs for a cup of tea and a scone. However, she knew the grizzled Master of Hounds hadn’t taken kindly to this northern city girl bringing her notions to his ancient southern estate.
As for Jenner himself? Well, he was a dream.
He was sweet and funny, hardworking and thoughtful. An itemization of all the ways in which he was generally wonderful would be even longer than Abi’s to-do list.
Gavar was probably the type most girls would go for, but his temper meant his buff physique was more intimidating than appealing. And the Young Master was simply too spooky even to think of in those terms. So, yes, Jenner was the only one of the three she didn’t find scary. By itself this wasn’t a ringing endorsement. But add in all the plus points as well, and Miss Abigail Amanda Hadley had quite a crush going on.
Could he ever feel the same? The sensible bit of Abi’s brain insisted that was impossible. But the illogical bit (which was evidently bigger than she’d ever suspected) continued to hoard small moments, the way the back of her desk drawer accumulated pen lids and paperclips. A glance; an enquiry about her family; a spurious pretext for keeping her late; a hand on her arm while pointing something out.
No single action meant a thing, by itself. But taken together, could they add up to something more?
So she was disappointed to answer his summons to the Great Solar early one morning, only to find the chamber filled with what looked like every house-slave at Kyneston. One of her friends from the kitchens explained that it was the annual pre-Christmas deep clean. Everyone mucked in. Abi was reluctantly collecting a duster when Jenner appeared at her elbow.
‘Not you, Miss Hadley, if I may? I was hoping you might help me in the library.’
He led her there then dithered over whether or not to shut the door. Abi wasn’t much of an expert at ‘reading the signs’, as a flirty schoolfriend had once termed it. But the situation seemed somehow promising.
To hide her confusion, Abi turned to look at what was laid out on the table. Resting on a cover of thick grey felt were three paintings and an unframed canvas, several document cases and some custom-made book boxes.
‘I thought you’d enjoy this more than dusting,’ said Jenner, having eventually closed the door and joined her. ‘With my brother’s wedding to Bouda Matravers at the end of March, as well as the Third Debate, Mother suggested we show off some family treasures to our guests. It’s only once a generation that the heir marries, after all. I’ve been digging out a few possibilities.’