And still, there was a gaping hole they were all dancing around. Just why was it that Sussena, Lady Asterleigh, could not simply sell the place, move to the court, become one of the Handmaidens, and save the money from the sale of her property as a potential dowry. This was making Abi exceedingly curious. It wasn’t age—she was just a little past nineteen and certainly neither too old nor too young. It was a mystery.

Perhaps she was just one of those people who was painfully shy around strangers. Lady Dia could certainly cure her of that, but she might not know that.

Asterleigh Manor wasn’t one of those walled edifices, but it was bounded by what must have once been a very handsome and imposing hedge that towered well over their heads but showed by its unkempt appearance that it certainly hadn’t been seen to in a good many years. The iron gates let into the hedge, hung from gateposts of stone, stood wide open, and it didn’t look to Abi as if they had been closed in decades. From the gates, it was a short distance indeed to the house, which was less like the sort of manor she was accustomed to see in Haven and more like a sprawling, enormous farmhouse. It was two stories tall, with an attic, made of gray stone with a thatched roof. The main entrance, a pair of substantial wooden doors, was in the very middle of the house. The doors opened as they were half way up the short driveway, and a single male waited for them to come to him.

The cavalcade of three wagons pulled up in front of the house, and now that they were practically on top of it, the decades of neglect were a bit more obvious. There was a great deal of “whitewash” dripping down the sides from the nests in the thatch overhead, and the thatch itself was old, gray with age, and left a litter of bits on the ground around the base of the walls. Wrenmarsh senior descended from his wagon as Rafi handed Abi out, Larral leaped out of the wagon bed on his own, Perry hopped down off the bench seat, and Rafi began handing down the packs to Perry.

“Well,” said the senior Wrenmarsh. “Here she be, as promised.”

The man looked Abi over, dubiously. He was dressed not unlike Wrenmarsh save that his smock was much mended, as were his moleskin trews, and his boots were more patch than whole leather. He peered at Abi from beneath a pair of bushy brown eyebrows, and his thick moustache wiggled as he considered the new guests. “I were ’spectin’ some’un older,” he said, echoing Wrenmarsh’s words. Given how his gaze flitted between her and Perry, she suspected he had also expected someone male.