Satin Princess(45)

“Lucky you,” Jessa sighs dreamily.

“I always wanted to do something special with it. Build something that was mine. Ours. We got married here. And then five years later, we moved from the city with our children to give this life a proper go.”

“Did they enjoy it here?”

“It took some adjustment from city life,” Margaret admits. “But the children loved it. And eventually, Thomas and I fell in love with country living, too. Neither one of us could ever move back to the city now.”

“You know, I always dreamed of doing something similar myself,” Jessa says with the air of someone confiding a foolish secret. “Not as big as yours—I don’t have the chops for that like you do—just a little garden big enough that I could cook from it. Taste the earth in the stuff I make.”

“You’ll need a nice big house with a nice big yard, then,” Thomas says. “I’m sure your husband will be able to take care of that for you.”

“Oh,” Jessa says, looking suddenly flustered. “I wouldn’t expect him to…”

“Nonsense,” Margaret says, cutting her off. “You must always expect everything from your partner. That’s what marriage is all about.”

Jessa can’t keep her eyes from mine any longer. She glances at me and then quickly away, her face flushing. Fortunately for her, we round a hedge just then and the manor comes into sight.

“Wow,” she breathes. “This place is amazing. I know I sound like a broken record, but it really is.”

“We’ve had quite a few renovations done throughout the years,” Margaret admits. “We added two wings to accommodate more guests. And the kitchen was expanded, too.”

“It takes a lot of work and money to maintain a stodgy old building like this,” Thomas adds grumpily, though all of us can tell that he’s obviously in love with the work. “There were moments when we wondered if it was worth it.”

“Oh, it was worth it,” Jessa says immediately.

I’m inclined to agree with that as well. Looming before us is a sprawling, gray-bricked home with moss and ivy growing over the facade. Peaked roofs glisten in the sunlight and stained glass windows look out from the upstairs guest rooms. It’s magnificent.

Margaret leads us through the main entrance and into one of the formal sitting rooms that overlooks the back gardens. The flower beds closest to the house are devoted to every imaginable variety of blossom. It’s a riot of color everywhere I look.

“You really live here?” Jessa asks, her eyes wide with admiration. Like she’s wondering if this is all some strange sort of dream.

“Well, yes and no. Thomas and I stay in one of the two annexes connected to the main structure,” Margaret explains. “Our son and daughter-in-law occupy the second annex. You would have met them today, but they’re in London attending to business. Now, come, let me show you around.”

We’re given a short tour of the manor itself. It’s as grand as you’d expect from the outside, all mahogany and marble and quaint metalwork details. The whole place is pristine, but it’s not an off-putting kind of thing where you’re too awed to touch the objects. It’s welcoming. Cozy, even.

When we return to the beginning of our loop, the table by the window has been arranged with a sprawling assortment of pastries, scones, and biscuits.

“Please help yourself,” Margaret says, taking a floral plate and handing it to Jessa.

She looks overwhelmed as she accepts the plate and reaches for a biscuit. I can also tell her energy is starting to flag.

“Jessa, why don’t you sit and rest for a bit?” I say coolly.

“I’m fine,” she says.

My hand comes down on the small of her back and I force her into a seat. “Let me rephrase: sit,” I say firmly. “You need to take it easy.”

“I have been taking it easy for days now,” she whispers.

I give her a look that ends the argument as quickly as it began. Margaret and Thomas are both observing us with politely amused smiles on their faces.

“I remember when you were that protective of me,” Margaret stage-whispers to her husband.

“Her first trimester hasn’t been easy,” I say by way of explanation.

“Oh!” Margaret says, clapping her hands together. “You’re pregnant?”

Jessa blushes. “I am.”

“How wonderful!”

“Very good,” Thomas adds in a laughing rumble. “Very good.”

While the two of them are fawning over her, I back out of the room and pull out my phone. I stand a few feet from the threshold so that I can still keep an eye on Jessa while I dial Yulian’s number.

He answers immediately. “I’ve been looking,” he says instead of a greeting. “But there’s no sign of her anywhere.”

“She’s got to be somewhere.”

“I agree. I’m just saying, ‘somewhere’ might not be England. Not anymore, at least.”

I grit my teeth together and glance towards Jessa. The coppery English sun is filtering in through the arched windows and illuminating the notes of gold in her hair. Somehow, it puts things in perspective for me.

“Then expand the search,” I tell my brother. “I want to find her now.”