She took slow, steadying breaths to keep herself grounded. Everything would be fine if she stuck to her plan. She couldn’t panic. Fourteen more days. That was all she needed to endure. Fourteen more days to develop an antidote that would guarantee Hal’s survival and her safety. Fourteen more days until she could go home. She didn’t have to embroil herself in any of this. She just had to be quick and discreet. And focused.

So focus.

If she knew what the poison was, she could treat the root cause, but at least fifty different plants grew in this area that could cause his symptoms. She would have to visit the local herbalist to narrow down the options and acquire samples if she could. In cases like these, folk knowledge often surpassed scientific.

After pulling on every jacket she owned, Wren waddled into the hallway. Even in broad daylight, the house was impossibly dark, almost funereal. The only natural light filtered in through a round window at the end of the corridor that watched her like a half-shut eye. The snow accumulating on the windowsill would soon consume her view entirely. Wren wondered if this was how it felt to be buried alive, watching as the darkness swallowed a single point of light. After this ordeal, maybe she’d request a transfer to a coastal town.

Emerging into the grand hall, Wren clutched the banister and hurried down the staircase’s three twisting flights. As she rounded the last corner, she smacked into something solid and red. She gasped, staggering backward, but gloved hands caught her and steadied her by the elbows. She twisted out of the grip, but stilled as a key swung hypnotically in front of her nose like a pendulum. Wren recognized it—Lowry’s, of course—and looked up into his panicked blue eyes.

“Ms. Southerland?” As soon as he registered it was her, he wilted with relief and laughed breathlessly. He was dressed ostentatiously in red checkered trousers and a matching waistcoat. A different outfit from this morning…? They’d met only a few hours ago, and it wasn’t as if he’d entertained anyone or gone on a ride in this weather. “We really ought to stop meeting this way, scaring each other half to death.”

“My apologies! My head is elsewhere, clearly.”

His gaze lingered anxiously on the fur-trimmed collar of her coat. “Where are you off to in such a hurry? You’re not leaving, are you?”

And what concern of his was it if she did? Then, she remembered—the contract.

I shall not leave the estate under any circumstances without express permission.

Forcing a smile, Wren said, “Would you give me leave to run an errand? I’m hoping to go to the apothecary. My supplies have run dangerously low, and I’m missing an ingredient for Henry’s medication.”