Chapter 22
My bedroom was on the second floor of the west wing, in a corner at the back of the house.
I threw open the door, and a single glance told me Beauchamp had been here. The curtains had been drawn back, allowing sunlight to spill through the windows and dapple the ivy-bordered, puff-top bedspread. The furniture had been polished to a high sheen, and the scent of lemons and oranges filled the room. On a dresser was a vase filled with blossoms from the mock orange trees Granddad had told me Grandmother loved.
“This has been my room since I was about five.” I looked out the window at the forest of birches the house had been named for. It was such a beautiful sight. They marched row upon row for half a mile or more.
“What, always like this?”
“Hmm? Oh, yes. This was Granddad’s roo
