Hadley watched his face fall, his features all the more thoughtful and comely when softened with emotion. Stepping in front of him, she held his hands in hers. For a long moment, they simply stood there locked hand-in-hand, gaze-to-gaze, one pulse rising in harmony until the world beyond them fell silent. In this world, there was nothing but them. They were deaf to society’s rules and expectations. As his hand trailed up her arm to pull her closer, she rested her palm against his cheek and slid it along his jaw. Her hand cupped the back of his head with her fingers working into his earthen hair while the other hand traveled around his side. Eilian closed his eyes and gave into the reassuring warmth of her lips as they met his. His hands slipped around her waist and back, reveling in the familiarity of her form and her body breathing him. When she began to ease from his grasp, he tightened his embrace and drew her into another kiss. He clenched his eyes against the moisture accumulating behind his lids and pressed harder, hoping it would cease before she could see.
His lips trembled as he relinquished his hold but kept his head down. A gloved hand skimmed across his cheek and wiped the wetness away without a word. Hadley rested her forehead against his, stroking the prickled flesh of his neck and jaw. He swallowed against the lump of emotion in his throat. If he looked up, she would see it too, and he couldn’t bear to say anymore. Her arms tightened around him, holding him together when he no longer could.
“There is nothing wrong with you. There has never been anything wrong with you,” she whispered against his ear, her breath warm against his cheek.
His voice cracked against his will as he replied, “I don’t know how you can say that, Had.”
“None of us will ever be what others want, but we have to please ourselves first, you know that. If it gives you any comfort, you are precisely what I want.”
He let out a soft laugh and sniffed. Still holding her arms, he drew back to plant a reverent kiss on her forehead. “And you’re everything I could have hoped for and more.” The words hung on his lips. Even if she was right, he would never see it. He would never be one of them and no words could change that. After a lifetime of being told he was wrong, how could he believe her? “Come, let’s go home before the rain gets worse.”
The moment they reached the Brasshurst lawn, the heavens opened and rain poured over Folkesbury. As they held their hats to their heads and sprinted the rest of the way home, Eilian wondered what they would do now. Selfishly he hoped Hadley wouldn’t try to make him go further tonight. After the funeral and the unwelcome sadness and fear of the future, all he wanted was to have dinner and settle into bed with his wife and a good book. While he admired Hadley’s ambition and that she always had a plan or an item on her to-do list that needed her attention, tonight he hoped she would cuddle up with him in front of the fire instead. To feel the warmth of life was what he needed most.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The Lady in White
After shedding their soaked funeral attire and enjoying a feast of Turkish chicken and jasmine rice, the Sorrells retired to bed early. With a storm rattling the mullioned windows and the weight of mortality hanging in the air, Eilian removed his jacket and tie in silence. His eyes trailed to the dressing room door, knowing Hadley was just on the other side. What should he have felt when he saw her come out in only her nightgown and caftan with nothing more than a gossamer layer of cotton separating them? Another man’s pulse—Nadir’s probably—would have raced with anticipation while he stood there wondering if she would have been warmer in flannel. He had never understood why people railed against nude sculptures or ancient carvings crying that they were immoral. While he was studying them for technique, comparing them to what he knew of art history, and searching for symbolism, others were staring at them because— A grimace twisted his features at the possibility.
Cutting off his train of thought, Eilian quickly gathered his pajamas and robe. As he removed his shirt and trousers, he stared down at his chest where the skin had thickened in ropy scars or seared to form shiny patches of pink too glossy to be normal. He raised his prosthetic arm and felt his skin tug in protest. If it hadn’t happened, you never would have met her, he reminded himself as the dressing room door squealed open and Hadley appeared in her bright red robe. Her light eyes slipped over his form, a smile gathering on her lips.
Standing behind him, she ran her hands over his firm shoulders before encircling his waist. She nuzzled his back. “Ready for bed? I don’t know about you, but after today, all I want is a good night’s sleep.”
Eilian gave her a quick kiss as she walked back to their bed. Behind him, the coverlet sighed as she collapsed upon it and stretched into a yawn.
“I hate funerals. I’ve been to far too many in my life,” she said, sinking into the blankets. “Are you coming?”
“In a minute. I’m just getting my book.”
At the dresser, Eilian’s eyes ran over the spines of his great-grandfather’s journals, his gaze following the numbers undulating across their covers. He couldn’t believe he was nearly at the end, counting down Laurence Sorrell’s life in pages. Plucking the final book from the stack, he thumbed through on his way to the bed until he found where he had left off.
“Where are you at now?” she asked as he settled in beside her.
“His wife just died. Nash and my father aren’t getting along. Big surprise.”
“Ah, so soon you might find out why your father abandoned this place.”
He nodded. “That’s what I’m hoping.”
As he slid lower and shifted until his body settled into the now familiar grooves of the old mattress, Hadley laid against his side with her head resting on his shoulder. Her calloused hands scratched across his stomach until she let out a drowsy breath and sighed into him. He smiled, wrapping his arm around her, even if it did make it harder to read.
She closed her eyes, and for a moment, he thought she had drifted to sleep, until she asked, “Did you ever find out how your grandfather died?”
“He drank himself to death when my father was ten. Jenny and my father permanently moved in with Laurence. Thank God I don’t like brandy.”
“Oh,” she replied, her voice dropping with disappointment. From his flat reply, it was hard to tell whether he was ashamed or how she should respond. “It must be hard to read some of the entries. I don’t know if I would want to know that much about my family. It must taint how you feel about them.”
“I didn’t think I would either, but reading this actually makes me feel better. It’s the first time I have been able to connect with my family. Maybe it helps that I knew nothing to begin with, so it didn’t change how I felt about anyone.” Except his father, but in that case, he was hoping to find the man behind the tyrant. “I never held any illusions that my family was perfect. I was only interested because my father never said anything about them. He could have been raised by wolves for all I knew. Somehow, I thought we would have talked one day, but we never got around to it.”
Hadley frowned. Even after six months, he was still grieving for the relationship he wished he had with his father. She paused, her finger lightly tapping his stomach as she decided if she should stray off topic and say what was on her mind, but she couldn’t forget the way he squeezed his eyes and bowed against the pain.
“I was surprised to see how much the funeral affected you. I didn’t think you had much affection for Mr. Nash.”
“Nash was a miserable man to us,” he said as he held up the book, “but to Laurence, he was his first grandchild. It’s hard to reconcile the young boy tending to his grandmother to the man who berated us, but that’s who he really was... before the world got to him. Then again, Nash was murdered, and while I can see how he could get on someone’s bad side, he was family—the last one on my father’s side. I would like to see whoever did it brought to justice, as unlikely as that is.”
***
Fire crackled in the grate at the foot of the bed. Hadley’s body had gone lax against him hours
ago, her arms limply outstretched across his stomach while her head weighed heavy on his shoulder. As he carefully turned the page, she let out a congested snore and squirmed against him before quieting once again. Eilian smiled and turned his attention back to the journal. This volume had been a bit of a disappointment compared to its predecessors. While it was still filled with sketchy caricatures of big-nosed people alongside drawings of plants and wildlife done with anatomical precision, the subjects of the entries had shifted from his family to the tourists coming to enjoy the summer shores. With his grandsons off attending Cambridge or spending weeks to months visiting other gentry in Bath or London, Laurence’s attention had regrettably turned to the mundane.
Eilian sighed, skimming the gossip until he saw mention of a familiar name.
July 18th, 1856
Harland is apparently smitten with a young woman he met at the beach. One Millicent Holland, daughter of the Earl of Monmouth. She, her parents, and brother are in Dorset on holiday and staying in Poole. I had been wondering why my steamer and my stationary kept disappearing, but it appears that Harland has been using both to woo the young lady in question. I have to wonder what will happen when the Hollands go back to London. I fear my grandson will follow, and the house will finally be empty. Maybe I shall retire to the dower house. If Harland marries, he and his bride should have the hall, but I’m getting ahead of myself, though I would like to see him settled as I am getting up there in years.
I’m not sure how I feel about the Hollands. The daughter passes well enough for pretty or at least fashionable and seems inoffensive. Her brother, the future Earl of Monmouth, is haughty and scornful, scoffing and scowling at Harland at every opportunity. It is probably his age as he is no more than seventeen. He reminds me of myself at that age.
Out of the lot, I think I like him best.
Eilian let out a snort. Well, at least he and Laurence felt the same about Uncle Malcolm. A smirk crossed his lips as he wondered if his great-grandfather had found young Malcolm handsome. He and his uncle were often mistaken for father and son. Maybe Laurence Sorrell would have liked him, too.
July 24th, 1856
The university’s term can’t start soon enough. Harland and Randall have been nearly coming to blows as of late. Since Randall left for Cambridge last year, he has been particularly snappish, especially toward Harland. In front of me they remain civil, but behind closed doors, I hear their voices raised in anger. I wish I knew what was going on, but—
Eilian eagerly turned the page only to find the back blank. He flipped it back and then forward again. Jolting upright, he thumbed through the journal for any loose pages that had been haphazardly stuffed in but found nothing. At his sudden movement, Hadley slumped off his shoulder, her blue eyes opening a crack as she watched him frantically shake the book before trying to pry apart the back cover. With a grunt, she rolled over and tucked the pillow close to her head to block out the glow of the gas lamps and hearth.
“What’s wrong?” she mumbled. “It isn’t another break-in, is it?”
“Have you seen any more of these?”
She squinted through one eye at the book cover, barely legible in her hazy vision. “Hmm? No, why?”
“I think I’m missing one. Maybe I just misplaced it. Stay here, I will be right back.”
Throwing off the covers, Eilian leapt out of bed and darted over to the dresser where his great-grandfather’s journals sat in a row like careworn soldiers. In the mirror, he watched as Hadley reeled in the blanket and hugged it close against the chill of the waning fire. He turned back to ask her again if she had seen it, but by the time he did, her breathing had slowed to drowsy puffs and her arms once again laid limp ahead of her. With a small smile, he turned back to the diaries. As his eyes ran over the numbered spines, he counted off. All of them were there. Flipping to the last entry, he tried to recall the date he had seen scrawled in the family bible. No, his great-grandfather had lived for another four years after the last entry. There was no way the man stopped writing for no reason. He had to have misplaced one.
Without making a sound, Eilian shut the bedroom door behind him and quietly padded down the hall, slipping on his bathrobe as he followed the carpet-runner down the steps to the great hall. Standing on the rug before the hearth, he closed his eyes and felt the machine pulse beneath his bare feet. A wave of fatigue passed over him as the moonlight broke through the midnight fog and fell over him through the mullioned window. It had seemed like such a good idea to journey down to the hidden study to look for the missing journal, but with his hand on the spring that opened the paneling, he considered how easy it would be to turn back and settle into bed beside Hadley, to feel her body rise and fall with sighing snores. He didn’t need the book. He wanted it, knowing that finding it would be the only thing to settle his mind.
He pushed down on the wall with a soft click and swallowed hard. Maybe he wouldn’t want to know what was in it. Maybe his father had done something terrible and Randall Nash could never forgive him. Maybe his great-grandfather had ultimately disowned him, and that’s why he left Brasshurst Hall and never really discussed his childhood. No matter the result, Eilian had to know the truth.
The hidden door popped open beneath his palm. Switching on the lights, he ran his eyes over the shelves of ledgers one at a time, looking for anymore diaries, but among the rows of uniform black spines, it was obvious they weren’t there. With a tired sigh, he dropped to his knees and crawled under the desk. A dull ache throbbed through his shoulder as he leaned forward on his prosthesis to get a better look. In the dim light, it was nearly impossible to make out anything beneath the heavy desk. He reached out with his real hand, feeling along the edges of the hidden shelf for the missing book, but when he withdrew his hand, he found it tangled with cobwebs and coated in dust. Ducking his head under the tabletop, he checked for hidden panels or false walls in the dark before backing out to check the drawers in case he overlooked the missing journal. He sifted through the piles of old letters and sketches, the thick paper stiff in his hand. It wasn’t there. Eilian stood with his hands on his hips, surveying the room’s few contents. Where else could it be hidden? His eyes brightened at the thought. The library.
He turned, ready to run down the hall to the other room, but he leapt back with a yelp. Standing in the doorway, blocking his entry to the parlor, was a figure shrouded in white. It stood so still he couldn’t be sure if he was dreaming or if one of Brasshurst’s ghosts had finally found him. His heart pounded as he backed into the edge of the desk, but when the creature tipped its gaze, he dissolved into laughter. Staring back at him from beneath the pale floral bedspread were his wife’s blue eyes. Her red hair was plastered to the side of her face and gathered around her forehead in sweat-curled clumps.
“Had, you scared me half to death.”
She gave him a dull, sleep-ringed glare. “I scared you? You scared me. I woke up and found the bed empty. After the break-in and murder, you decided it was a good idea to go strolling around the house. Do you realize how irresponsible that is?”
“I told you, but you were asleep. I’m missing one of the journals.”
“So you decided to look for it at this hour?”
He opened his mouth but shut it without speaking. Controlling his impulsivity was not something he was particularly good at, especially when it involved something that interested him. “It sounded like a good idea at the time.”
“You’re ridiculous,” she yawned. “Come on, let’s go check the library.”
“What?”
“You heard me. I know you will end up there anyway as soon as you think I’m asleep again, and I don’t think I can sit upstairs waiting for you to come back. Let’s go, I’m not staying up all night.”
He smiled to himself as she gathered her blanket close and backed out. Shuffling past him, she disappeared down the hall and left him to shut up the old office. By the time he reached the library with its ever thrumming pulse, he found Hadley sta
nding on a stepstool pulling books out of the glass cases one at a time to check their covers. In that moment, he loved her more than she could know.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Pretenses
From the corner of his eye, Nadir watched Leona with her embroidery hoop and needle in her lap. Her hand trembled, but she never stirred, as her mind was far away. She had sent Argus out in Nadir’s steamer to the market, citing residual weakness that Nadir knew was long gone. Glancing down at his book again, he frowned. He missed the vibrant woman—the older cousin—he saw in those few days between her illness and Nash’s murder. Now, she had been replaced by a Leona far more reserved and thoughtful than suited her age. Clearing his throat loudly, she finally looked up.
“Is there anything I can do for you? We could drive up to Poole, get you some new clothes or maybe some fabric for new drapes. I’m sure you could use them, and getting out of the house would do you some good.”
She stared at him for a moment, her gaze drawn, and replied softly, “Thank you, Nadir darling, but I’m fine.”
“You don’t look it. You haven’t been yourself in days, Lee. Now, I know something is wrong. Is it Argus? Did he say something unkind to you about your condition?”
The Ingenious Mechanical Devices Box Set Page 75