“She didn’t choose me either.” I forced the whispered words past my trembling lips.
His eyes narrowed. “Liar.”
“It’s true. I didn’t even know her name until my father began telling me the story of Lady Jayne Disappears.”
“You lie! You just admitted to writing those things. Do you have any idea what you’ve done, the trouble you’ve caused? I thought it was Woolf . . .” Fire flashed across his eyes so near mine as he spoke Papa’s name, and that’s when the truth struck me. It pierced and then swelled with clarity through my mind. What had Papa’s letter said? He’d only guessed at his killer when he’d received threats.
And he’d been wrong.
“It was you.” I breathed the words in disbelief. “You killed him.” Garamond wouldn’t. Couldn’t. But Kendrick . . .
His lithe body tensed, hate seeming to ooze out of his pores as sweat. “The man has enemies wherever he goes. You cannot blame me.”
I studied his face, realization turning to fury. “You murdered him. He left me proof.” The lie slipped out and had the desired effect before my conscience could even nip at me.
“It was an accident.” He released my arms and sprang back as I crumpled at his feet. “I wanted to scare him, make him stop writing about her. But he wouldn’t.” Tears glistened on his cheeks in the moonlight cutting through the windows on his left. “I went to talk to him and he wouldn’t say a word. Not a single word.” He clutched his hair. “I poked, but he refused to react. To say anything. I poked harder and harder, but he just . . . sat there. Like a lump. A worthless lump. I charged at him, screamed in his face.”
Tears thickened behind my eyes as I imagined it.
“Nothing. Like my pain, my whole life, didn’t matter a speck. And then I saw a board . . .”
The doors banged open behind him, light framing a dark-suited man. “Don’t you touch her.” Digory moved toward us like a force and grabbed Kendrick, yanking him back in his shock.
Others crowded into the doorway, blocking the light from someone’s candle in the hall. “Kendrick, what is this about?” Garamond’s voice carried through the empty room.
Digory bent to help me up and together we rose, facing Kendrick, who stared at us with the whites of his eyes gleaming in the dimly lit room.
“Kendrick?”
Glenna’s voice jarred him. Jerking his head toward the family, then back at me, he spun and shoved past them, charging into the dark, his panting breaths echoing back to us.
Knees buckling, I clung to Digory, who supported my weight with surprising ease and embraced me, patting my hair. Then, when my legs again solidified, we moved toward the doorway and the family I had upended with my stories.
I walked past them all and avoided their gazes, but I stopped at the formidable wall of my aunt Eudora, whose stony face studied me with all the emotion of a statue from her wheeled chair.
“I’m so sorry. For my father, for my mother . . . and for ruining your household with Nathaniel Droll.”
Her grimace cracked and a smile wobbled her lips. “What will be fixed must first be broken.”
37
She wore bright colors and flowers in her hair even on ordinary days because life itself, the fleeting, precious gift, was her special occasion.
~Nathaniel Droll, Lady Jayne Disappears
They did not find Kendrick, but somehow God provided me a buffer against fear. After the wordless embrace of my family in the wake of Kendrick’s terror, I felt protected in this house. If not by them, then by God himself.
My lone footsteps echoed in the grand hall later that night as I walked about, hoping to tire myself into a long slumber. When another set of steps slapped over the tile, I turned to face Clem approaching with bowed shoulders and a grim face. “It was good of you to save Nelle that way.” He paused before me, hands in his trouser pockets. “I owe you an apology.”
“Certainly not.” I laid a hand on his arm. “You acted out of love for Dahlia.”
His shoulders hunched. “I couldn’t even say goodbye to her. I’ve no idea where they are. I simply have to trust they’re safe.”
“I have a feeling Silas Rotherham will make sure of that.”
“I wanted to tell you about that.” He rocked back on his heels, eyes downcast. “I should have told you when I found out, but I couldn’t bear to. But you deserve to know.”
“What is it?”
“There was no proposal. I spoke with Nelle when I found her in the garden shed, and she told me. The only proposal Silas gave her was of a business nature. He gave her a loan for a machine that’ll do her sewing so she can open a shop. I couldn’t even bear to tell her I’d told everyone about their engagement.”
My heart thudded into my ribs. “Truly?”
He nodded. “They were never in love. Not even when I wished it.”
Hot and cold surged through me. I squeezed the boy’s arm. “Silas is not her only hope, Clem. She will do well. She’s quiet but strong.”
Another nod, and the boy excused himself, slipping into the billiards room.
I silently drank in the truth of his words, basking in the hope they provided. They brought such relief, but sadness followed it as I remembered my rejection of the man. And the ending—oh, if only they would not abide by my request this time. That ending could change everything, if only they would print the one I’d begged them not to.
Loneliness and defeat wrapped itself about me like a blanket. Craving connection to one of my own, I found my way down the halls again to the south tower with the help of a candle. But when I stepped into the rounded chamber, I sensed only hollow disappointment. Used and discarded, this room contained only remnants of the person who had once occupied it. And that woman no longer moved about in my mind as a sweet, fragrant dream, but as something tarnished and broken.
Just like memories of Papa. The wild, joyful storyteller had large holes in his character that my daughter-eyes had always glossed over, but maturity and truth had brought reality. As well as supreme disappointment.
And suddenly, I had no one with whom to connect. I had lost Silas by my own actions and I could no longer think of my parents, either of them, with the fond sense of shared identity I once had. Looking out across the lawn, I spotted the windows of the chapel glowing with inner light. Likely Aunt Eudora’s current sanctuary. Somehow those stained-glass windows mirrored what I knew of my parents—beautiful, colorful, vivid . . . and broken into a million pieces.
And then there was me, the girl with the too-soft heart and quiet life. I had no interest in the social excitement and high fashion my Lynhurst family centered their life on, but neither did I resonate with my parents’ desire to chase the fleeting sensations of happiness and romance with such abandon. All of their lives were far more complicated than I’d ever guessed, and somehow I’d been born into the middle of it. Me, plain and simple me. More out of place than ever before.
God, where do I belong?
And in that very question came my answer, sweeping over me with powerful force. Sinking onto my knees on the thick rug before the bed, I rested in his presence for long moments until his familiar calm stole over me with soul-drenching peace. I basked in it, fearing nothing, grateful for all of him.
“Sometimes it’s desirable to not fit into such a broken place.”
Silas’s words now haunted me with their truth. I did not fit into this place, and that was all right. No, more than all right. What would I be if I did belong? Selfish. Scheming. Hurtful. Broken and eventually bitter.
I wanted none of that. No wonder I’d never felt comfortable at Lynhurst. There in the south tower, with the fading day outside the window, I mentally tugged apart the character of Lady Jayne in my novel and the real woman, for no one would want such a heroine. The fictional Lady Jayne would be good and sweet and loving, everything I could want in a mother. It was so far from the truth, but it bound up the wound in me that would always exist concerning the woman. Once again fiction would sm
ooth over the harsh realities of my world and allow me to enjoy what I could never possess.
Heavy with peace and assurance, I climbed onto the bed and dropped face-first onto the soft comforter. And like a dark blanket, exhaustion swept over me and I slept the night in my mother’s room.
Morning dawned with brilliant orange and red streams of light prisming through a thick fog. I woke early with the realization that I was finished writing, possibly forever. For the final installment of Lady Jayne Disappears had been completed, whichever one they chose to use. Standing up in the chilly room, I gathered a shawl to myself and wrapped it around my nearly bare arms.
Running fingers through my loosened hair and removing the pins, I stretched my legs under my rumpled skirts and crossed to the armoire. An overwhelming wistfulness came over me as I fingered my mother’s gowns. In a moment of spontaneity, I released one from its hanger and held it up to my own body. Yes, we certainly had the same slender figure.
Struggling to undo the stays and buttons on my own dress, and using the trifold mirror for help, I peeled the lightly moist garment from my body and slipped into a deep-amethyst-colored gown from the armoire. The bodice, ruched with tiny gold flowers, hugged my torso, and the skirt fell from my waist in a waterfall of tucks and gathers. Standing before the tall mirror inside the armoire door, I spun, arms out, enjoying the swish of the luxurious fabric. It was one of the simpler gowns in the wardrobe, and less voluminous, yet still as lavish as artwork.
Would Papa approve? Had I the patience to pile my dark hair atop my head and sprinkle it with pink roses, I would look so much like her in the painting.
Tugging the stubborn window open, I climbed onto the sill and sat to watch a fresh day awaken, nearly close enough in this first-floor bedroom to brush the grass with my fingertips. I leaned my head back to drink in the wet scent of the outdoors, and when I opened my eyes, a lone horse and rider galloped across the yard toward the stables, scattering the fog in its path. With a jerk, the horse tossed its head and pivoted in the hazy sunlight, paused, and then righted its course toward the house. Had the rider seen me?
My chest tightened. Astride the horse sat the one figure I would never erase from my mind, for he had crept in and gently, permanently encircled my heart. The horse pounded closer and chills climbed my skin. When he neared, I saw Silas’s face—that precious face, an ocean of kindness spilling from its planes.
I pushed off the sill, landing barefoot in the wet grass a half story below, but a sudden shyness rooted me to the spot. The ground vibrated with the power of horse hooves as the animal drove closer. Dancing to a stop halfway to me, the horse bucked its head, and I had a sudden memory of the elation I’d felt as I flew over the landscape on horseback. But the exhilaration from the present moment greatly eclipsed it, overwhelming me with waves of exceeding joy.
Silas dismounted in one smooth movement and led the horse forward to close the distance, his open coat flapping about him. As he neared, his face ruddy and glowing with the morning wind, he extended a worn, floppy book. “I’ve come to make you rewrite this.” His dark hair whipped across his forehead.
Shocked into stillness, I blinked and stepped closer. “What is it?” I accepted the volume and flipped through the pages. My own curly handwriting stared back at me. It was my original ending, the one I had dreaded seeing in print. The collection of my most intimate feelings for the man now extending it to me.
“You must rewrite it. I insist.”
Heat flamed through me. “How did you—”
He tossed the book in the grass beside us and caught up my hands, twining our fingers. I did not stop him. “Lady Jayne does not give up so easily. Not when her love for Charles is so powerful throughout the whole book.” His fingers pulled back and then sank into my hair, reveling in the tresses as the wind blew it about. It seemed too good to be true. “If she loves him, she shouldn’t let anything keep them apart.”
“She chose to give him up because she thought he loved her dearest friend.”
“Perhaps she was mistaken.” His steady gaze pinned mine as he pulled me to him.
“Her friend needs Charles so much more than she does.”
“But Charles needs Lady Jayne.”
“Oh.” The word came out on a single breath as I laid my head against his coat.
He tightened his embrace as if I’d threatened to run again and spoke, the heartfelt words rumbling through his chest where my cheek rested. “I love you, Aurelie. So much.” The words rushed forth, as if he had to push them past a barrier. “The very fact that you do not fit in here, with these broken people. The fact that you do not feel comfortable among them.”
“I shall always be out of place with wealthy society.”
He bent and placed a solemn kiss atop my head. “My dear Aurelie, if you fit into this world, this very broken, selfish place, it would be you who was the wrong size.”
Tears heated behind my eyes. Once again my Father lavished his love upon me through this man who had so often been his instrument of rescue in my life.
Silas’s hands slid up my back to my shoulders and cupped them, gently moving me back to look into my face. “Rewrite the ending, dearest. For me.” Shutting his eyes, he bent near to rest his forehead against mine. The sweet scent of him mingled with the cool air.
I could not bear to look directly at him, so I closed my eyes and did as he asked. I spoke through the tears that dripped down my face. “As she looked back over the house far behind her, it nearly broke Lady Jayne to give Charles up, for he had earned his way into her heart with his very character and being, and no amount of time or love from another could wrench him out. She loved him quickly and fiercely, never wanting to be without him.” I sniffed and looked up at him.
He pulled back to search my face, those gray eyes now a magnet for mine.
I delivered my next sentences with all the passion welling up in me in that heady moment. “But when Lady Jayne learned he loved her too, and only her, she sprinted after him and embraced him, exploding with all the bottled-up love and longing of her heart and—”
His warm lips found mine and sealed them with a kiss that was deep and powerful, dipping me back for a fuller drink. Again his fingers dove into my hair and drew me against him, the other hand caressing my back. I released my fears and sank into it, gently pulling his face closer for more. These were Silas’s hands clinging to me, holding me to him. His lips exploring my face, my neck.
When he finally moved back, still holding me close, his eyes were closed and his cheeks ruddy. “I’ve waited far too long to do that.” And with a smile creeping over his handsome face, he pulled me to him and kissed me again, anchoring me close with the force of his pent-up passion.
When we finally parted, I laughed as my mind righted itself. Our joint shadow stretched all the way to the house in the long rays of sunrise as we stood before one another. Together we knelt and then lay side by side in the grass dotted with little white flowers, hands clasped between us. The beauty of the moment eclipsed any other thought until only peace and brilliant happiness remained.
“I never thought you would return after the way you left.” The words slipped out of my giddy brain.
“It isn’t every day a man is able to see his girl’s love for him in black and white.” He squeezed my hand, then caressed the curves and knuckles with his thumb. “You were right, you know. Books are not always an escape. Sometimes they untangle real life marvelously well.”
I smiled, eyes sliding closed. “Papa would have loved you.”
“Actually, he did.”
My eyes flew open and I searched his for an explanation.
“We visited Lynhurst every summer of my childhood so I could see my school chum Kendrick. A delightful man named Woolf caught me up while I was in my darkest, most lonely youthful moments and kindled within me a love of stories. I loved him dearly for it and returned to see him every year, eventually more so than Kendrick.”
Papa. I blinked toward
the sky. His words about my controversial father balmed my heart. “You truly enjoyed him, didn’t you?”
He nodded against his hand that propped up his head. “He saw something good in me when few others did. I lived my adult life by that example. Ah, and I have something else you might like.” He sprang up and walked to his horse to untether a long, smooth stick. “All these years, this has been a permanent fixture in my private chamber. It was your father’s walking stick. They gave it to me the summer Woolf vanished.” He lay beside me on his side, propped on one elbow, and laid the stick in the grass between us, touching the rough engravings. “Together we walked, invented wild tales, and discussed books. These are the characters from his stories. See, there is Lenny the Leprechaun, and that one is Harry the Crab.”
Tears clogged my lashes and I turned away from the walking stick, grass tickling my warm face. Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me. “That’s how you knew to search for Nathaniel Droll at Lynhurst. You’d met him before.”
“That I had. At least, I’d thought it was him.”
“But what on earth drove you to search for him all summer? Certainly you didn’t hope to gain anything from finding him.”
“When the imposter Nathaniel Drolls surfaced, my father tasked me with finding the real man and setting the whole mess to rights. I assured him I had inside information on this author and could find the truth. My father didn’t even remember discussing his newly rising publishing company with Woolf on his visits here, but I’m sure now that he must have. And then when I returned home with only some of the answers a few days ago, my father told me about this snit of a girl who’d come into his office . . .”
“Snit of a girl.”
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