A Thief of Nightshade(2)

Aubrey gave a sideways glance at Sam, silently bidding her to keep her comments to herself, and took the little girl’s hand. “Peyton looks fine.”

Brooke stood up straight, smoothed her own dress and tucked a stray strand of blond hair behind her ear. She scrunched her nose as her gaze fell on Aubrey.

“Aubrielle, you have ... is that dirt on your mouth?”

Sam laughed below her breath.

Aubrey

lifted

her

hand,

still

somewhat soiled, for Brooke to see. “I must have touched my mouth with it.” She pulled the tissue from where she’d shoved it into her pocket and wiped her face.

Brooke gave her a terse nod. “I’ll be inside. We have a new au pair, her name is Francine ... I think. I didn’t feel it was appropriate to mention it earlier, but if you get tired of—”

Aubrey cut her off before she could say the child’s name. “It’s fine, Brooke.”

After a long, awkward moment, Brooke retreated through the main entrance of the sprawling Tudor home.

Aubrey knelt down and took Peyton’s chin in her hand. The little girl had the same auburn hair and hazel eyes as Aubrey, the same freckled cheeks. At times, just looking at Peyton felt like gazing into a mirror of her past. “See, even I have dirt on me and I’m a grown-up. Dirt that someone,” she looked to Sam, “could have told me about.”

Peyton’s lower lip quivered as she tried to straighten the black ribbon on her dress. “I just wanted to play.”

Sam scooped Peyton into her arms and slid the child to her generously padded hip. “What’s a little dirt in the grand scheme of things? And who needs an au pair anyway, right? She’s probably a wicked witch in disguise. Though, one wicked witch really is enough.”

“Sam, honestly.”

“I’m just saying.” Sam shrugged as they walked toward the manor. “She isn’t old enough to know who I’m talking about.”

Peyton playfully pouted her lips and said, “You’re talking about Mommy.”

Sam cleared her throat, a slight blush on her cheeks, as Aubrey arched a brow.

“Okay, well ... it’s not like she doesn’t agree with me.”

Peyton’s

eyes

glistened

with

amusement and she nodded with a grin.

“See,” Sam said.

Ahead of them, below the shelter of a portico and through an open French doorway, Aubrey could see a cluster of mourners garbed in black, smiling and chatting, likely about whatever was going on in their daily lives—their children, the fundraisers they were covertly raising support for even while at a funeral, gossiping about who hadn’t paid their dues at the country club, who was cheating on whom. Of course, as soon as they saw Aubrey, their

demeanor

would

immediately change. Their conversations would

turn

to

condolences,

their

expressions reverent and, as her mother would have said, appropriate.

At the very thought of it, Aubrey grew short of breath. She didn’t want to be appropriate. She didn’t want to thank everyone for coming or answer all of the questions that would be asked about Jullian’s death; but more than anything, she didn’t want to be touched by those who would think to express their sympathies through a pat on the shoulder or arm or worse, an embrace.

Sam

started

her

best

Brooke

impression, “Aubrielle, you mustn’t go around eating dirt at funerals...” Sam trailed off as Peyton fell into a fit of giggles. “Aubrey? Aubrielle? I’m sorry, that wasn’t funny.”

“It isn’t you.” Aubrey closed her eyes and tried to take a deep breath.

Feeling light-headed, she waved away Sam’s concerns. “I just ... I can’t do this.”

Sam pointed toward the valet, who’d noticed their arrival and was coming to collect Sam’s keys. “If you’re gonna go, you’d better go now.”

Aubrey took the keys and made a swift return to the car. She started to say something but lacked the breath to get it out.

“I’ll figure something out creative to tell them. Don’t sweat it. Should I tell Harry where you’re really going?”

“How do you know where—?”

“The lake cabin. It’s where I would go.”

Doubt welled in Aubrey’s gut as she opened the door and sat down, but she buckled her seatbelt and started the engine before the feeling could take hold. She avoided looking at the rearview mirror as she passed back through the gate.

Aubrey drove on autopilot, only vaguely hearing the music on the radio during the first half hour. The second half hour she spent in silence, listening only to the sound of the road. Night was well on its way by the time she arrived, the sun a bright red streak across the sky as it began its descent, matching the foliage and highlighting the

brilliance

of

the

evergreens that stood sentinel on all sides of the lake.

Leaves crunched beneath her boots and the crisp sting of the wind on her cheek left her feeling hollow as it reminded her of all the times she and Jullian had camped this time of year.

He’s never coming back. He’s dead.