by Jeff Wheeler
“Sir Jordan is a good man. Well, most military men are,” he added with a grin.
It came time for them to turn, and they crossed their arms over their heads in preparation. His other hand dropped to her hip, his arm against her bosom, as the movement required. She wore no bone bodice and could feel how close they were together, could feel his warm breath on her cheek. She looked into his eyes and saw his yearning for her. It was an almost pleading look, one that showed he was afraid of what he was going to ask her but was daring enough to face that fear. Her connection to him grew deeper as she peered into his vulnerable eyes.
They broke the pose and retreated around in a circle to begin the routine a second time. Her heart was hammering wildly in her chest. The feelings in her heart were love. She recognized them, and they frightened her. She’d always been so careful about her feelings. But in the past weeks she had spent so much time with Rand, had experienced his weaknesses and helped him overcome them. Could a heart change so quickly? She was deeply confused, and when they began the second set, hands bridging above their heads, bodies pressed closely together for a second time, she felt the room begin to spin.
“Can I talk to you?” he whispered.
She was afraid to. Afraid of what she might say, of what she might do. Every resolution she’d formed before coming here tonight was turning to water. She might say yes. She might not be able to help herself.
She stared into his eyes again, his pleading, tormented eyes. She wanted to kiss him, to comfort him, to make his hurts go away.
In all her life, she had never felt so vulnerable. Or so hopeful. Or so confused.
This isn’t you.
“No,” she answered, breaking their grip. She pushed away from him and walked away, tears of mortification burning her eyes. There were gasps of shock as she fled the floor, interrupting a dance—shaming herself in the eyes of everyone present. There would be gossip for certain. There might even be shunning.
Is this what Lady Maren had felt like all those years before?
She was half-blind from tears as she rushed toward the tempest. She had to leave, to escape the night’s disaster.
She wouldn’t be able to face him again.
As she walked, she felt another strange feeling. An almost gleeful cackle in her mind.
CHAPTER THIRTY−THREE
CHOLERA MORBUS
Cettie was not alone when she left Gimmerton Sough. Both Sera and Lady Maren deserted the ball in order to comfort her and keep her company. Cettie had paced the deck of the tempest, anxious to be away, while Mother made arrangements with Phinia and Stephen to bring Anna home. Then all three returned to Fog Willows together.
As they departed, the feelings of mortification began to subside, but she still felt terrible about what had happened. What had Rand done to deserve such treatment from her? He would be upset by her actions—he deserved to be. She’d wounded his pride for no rightful cause, all because Joses hadn’t been able to keep the news to himself. Cettie covered her face in her hands and then felt Sera’s comforting palm smooth her back before her arms enfolded Cettie.
Looking up at her mother and her friend, Cettie felt calm reassurance. She was still loved by those who mattered most to her.
“I can’t believe I did that,” Cettie whispered.
Lady Maren sat on the other side of her. “The heart is a strange and fickle thing. There’s no need to talk about what happened tonight. Tomorrow will be soon enough.”
When they returned to Fog Willows, Cettie wanted to go to sleep, but she waited until the other Fitzroy siblings had returned, needing to know they were all safely in their beds. She did not listen to their conversations. She didn’t trust herself to at that moment. It was well after midnight when the estate finally went dark and quiet. All was silent and still. All except her heart.
Deep into the night, Cettie sat in her chamber, gazing out at the star-swept sky.
The next day at a late breakfast, Cettie learned there would be no repercussions from the previous night. Though there had been some nasty gossip about Cettie after her abrupt departure, Joanna had refused to accept such talk. She’d quickly scolded all the naysayers, reminding them that Cettie of Fog Willows was one of her greatest friends. If the lady of the manor had no harsh words for Cettie, then no one else would be permitted. That was such a relief to her.
The household business needed to be conducted, a welcome distraction, and Cettie spent most of the day answering correspondence and giving directions. The Control Leering alerted her to the arrival of a zephyr, and when she gazed through its eyes, she recognized Mr. Durrant as the visitor. She closed the books and went to the front door. Kinross had arrived ahead of her, and she asked him to inform Sera, who was in her guest room, of the man’s arrival.
“Yes, ma’am,” Kinross said with a bow and went to perform her request.
Cettie opened the door as Mr. Durrant reached the threshold. He’d changed in the last few years. His hair was grayer and sparser, but he had the same look of cunning in his eyes, the glint of always being privy to a secret.
“Ah, Miss Cettie,” he said, doffing his hat and bowing to her. “The keeper of Fog Willows. It’s a pleasure to see you again, my dear.”
“Hello again, Mr. Durrant. Welcome.”
“Am I welcome?” he asked with a self-deprecating grin. “Miss Fitzempress sent for me?”
“She did. Please, come in.”
Mr. Durrant nodded and kept his broad hat tucked in the crook of his arm. He gazed around the entryway. “I’ve not been to a sky manor in quite some time. If I start to wheeze, it is because the air is thinner up here, and I’m not used to it.”
Cettie smiled as they walked to the sitting room, which she knew was already empty. The others were outside strolling the grounds. When they reached it, Cettie directed Mr. Durrant to a chair, but he replied, “No, I’ll stand, thank you. As you can imagine, I have some trepidations about this interview. I may not be staying long.” He fingered a small decorative globe on the nearby mantel, then lifted it up with one hand to gaze at it before putting it back down. “Do you know why she summoned me?”
“I do,” Cettie answered. “But it’s not my place to say.”
“And your expression is guarded, as befits a true friend.” He pursed his lips in resignation.
Mr. Kinross came through the open door and announced Sera.
Mr. Durrant set down his hat and clasped his hands behind his back. A sheen of nervous sweat had risen on his brow.
Sera entered and brightened when she saw him. “Mr. Durrant! I didn’t get a return letter from you. You came right away.”
“You summoned me, ma’am,” he replied, bowing. “Of course I came.”
She gave him a warm, welcoming smile and then hurried to shake his hand. “Well met, sir. I have need of your services in many matters. I was hoping to engage you as my advocate.”
“Y-your advocate?” he said in astonishment.
“That is what you are, Mr. Durrant, is it not? You still run your firm on Kayson Street in the City?”
“W-well, I do. Of course I do. I do not have many clients at the present. Mostly small jobs. Criminal work has been the majority since your father banished me from Lockhaven.”
“I’m certain that can be remedied,” Sera said with a wave of her hand. “There’s a new prime minister now. He and I see things along the same lines.”
Mr. Durrant smiled and rubbed his eyebrow. “I imagine that you do. Forgive me, but I’m still rather astonished to be here. That you are even speaking to me.”
Sera looked at him in surprise. “Why should you be surprised, Mr. Durrant?”
“The last words we spoke together were not . . . kind. At least on my part. I’ve been fairly confident, up until now, that you hated me.”
“Oh, Mr. Durrant,” Sera said, shaking her head. “I was the one who blundered, not you. You have always given me sincere and excellent advice. And I need that, now that I don’t live with eith
er of my parents. I have an allowance, and—”
“I know,” he said, interrupting. His voice was thickening. “I was there at Parliament Square, my dear. I heard your little speech.” He shook his head. “I was thunderstruck by it. The people . . . you don’t understand . . . the people were ready to seize you and proclaim you as empress then and there.”
Sera smiled at his words and shrugged. “Well, they don’t have the authority to do that. Only the privy council does. And with your help, Mr. Durrant, I would like to change their minds about me.”
He seemed impressed by her answer. Cettie saw his mind begin to crank as the reality of his new situation settled into place. “I have some ideas on that front, Miss Sera.”
She beamed. “I knew you would. But first, I need you to find me a suitable place to live in the City. Not too grand. But very visible.”
“I’d be honored to arrange that for you,” he answered. “And anything else you may require.”
“Oh, I am counting on that, Mr. Durrant. You and I are not finished yet.”
Another storm was beginning to brew in the west. Cettie consulted the readings again to be sure and saw that all the storm glasses situated in Pry-Ree indicated the change. The severity of the storm would depend on how drastically the quicksilver dropped, but the overnight readings alone had been remarkable. She unrolled one of her maps so she could study the tiny area where the readings had come from. She’d never been to Pry-Ree before, but it put her in mind of Rand. It had been two days since she’d snubbed him at the ball. He still hadn’t come to visit yet, to see what was wrong. She would not be able to put off seeing him forever. But she wasn’t looking forward to it.
The sound of approaching steps on the rugs in the hallway told her someone was coming, but Fitzroy was in Lockhaven, and few people ever ventured into his study. She waited for the steps to walk past, but they did not. She felt someone standing in the open doorway and turned, expecting to see Mr. Kinross or one of his underlings. She was not prepared to find Adam Creigh standing there.
There had been no warning. She hadn’t even noticed an incoming sky ship, other than the one that had brought Mr. Durrant.
“Adam!” she gasped, rising from the chair. He still wore a uniform, and the faded stains she saw on it were likely blood. His face looked weary, but it still emanated his usual self-confidence and courtesy. And he was smiling at her.
He glanced at the implements in the room, the books and glass vials and various instruments Fitzroy had gathered over the years.
“May I come in?” he asked.
“Of course you may,” she answered. “Did you just arrive? I’m so surprised to see you!”
“Old Kinross was surprised you didn’t beat him to the door,” Adam said with a smile. “I came on the zephyr post. I wondered if I might stay a few days before I must leave.”
“Of course you can,” she said.
He entered the room and examined a series of stoppered vials. “I’ve always loved the smell of this place,” he murmured. “It brings back many memories.”
She could hardly speak through the thrill of seeing him. There were no questions left for her. Though she couldn’t deny she’d felt something for Rand, it would never be comparable to this. Her admiration for Adam was not changeable. Neither time nor weather would alter it—she could not say the same about the feelings Rand had stirred. She rose from the chair but leaned back against it, feeling some measure of comfort in its bulk. On his previous visit, he’d come bearing news of Fitzroy’s death. That had all changed, and he’d learned that she was the true harbinger and not her guardian.
“And w-what brings you here?” she stammered, feeling flushed. “You said you were leaving?”
He nodded, picking up one of the vials, examining it, and then putting it back. “I’m heading to the court of Kingfountain.”
Her wildly beating heart suddenly shoved itself into her throat. “Truly?” she asked, feeling a sense of dread.
“I’m afraid so,” he answered. There was a resigned look on his face, another dashed hope. “It’s not with the Ministry of War. I’m back in my own place again, the Ministry of Wind. I plan to change out of this uniform promptly. Lord Fitzroy told me that some of our soldiers brought the cholera morbus there. They have no idea how to treat such an epidemic. I’ll be joining some other doctors to study it and hopefully find a cure.”
It made sense that he’d been chosen. He’d always hoped to study it. So why wasn’t he more excited?
“You don’t seem very pleased by the new assignment?” Cettie offered.
He shook his head. “I had hoped that by the end of the war, I would be able to open a practice in the Fells. I’ve learned so much about being a doctor these last three years. Why not put it to good use? But duty calls . . . again.” He gave her a dejected look. “And Kingfountain is so far away. It’s on another world.”
Cettie nodded, feeling her hopes begin to fade. “I’m sorry for your sake. But I know you will do well wherever you are.”
He stepped closer to her. “Am I too late, Cettie?”
She wrinkled her brow. “What do you mean?”
“My prospects are still pretty bleak, but I’ve been promised a substantial reward for willingly going to Kingfountain. I . . . I don’t want to lose you. I’m afraid I already have, that I came too late.”
The bleakness in her heart began to stir with more excited emotions. “Lose me? Am I lost, Adam?”
A look of hope kindled in his eyes. “You aren’t engaged? You aren’t promised to that young man from Gimmerton Sough?”
Cettie flinched and bit her lip, unable to believe this was happening. “No, I am not, Adam. I’ve made no promises to anyone.”
He looked as if a great burden had been lifted from his shoulders. His eyes closed in relief and he sighed, the sound loud and prolonged. “I’m not too late,” he whispered.
Cettie felt tingles shoot down to her feet. She stood by the edge of the desk still, only then realizing she was gripping the edge of it hard enough to hurt.
“What is your intention, Mr. Creigh?” she asked, feeling the giddiness swell inside her.
“I don’t know how I should ask it of you, but it seems I can hardly help myself,” he said, shaking his head. “I want to marry you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I cannot bring you with me, but I could not leave without telling you how much I love and care for you. I did not declare myself before the war because we were both still so young. We were practically children. But I’ve thought about you every day since I left. And you kept writing back to me and sharing the details no one else thought to share. Your letters meant so much to me. I’ve saved each one. If you could wait for me, for this assignment to end, you will make me the happiest of men ever to live.” He clenched his fist. “I know it’s not fair to ask this of you, to implore you to wait again, but I had to ask, even if the answer is no.”
“Yes,” Cettie answered, feeling as if her heart would burst.
“What?” he asked in confusion.
“Yes, Adam. Yes to all of it. However long it takes. No matter what happens. I will be faithful to you. I want to be your wife.”
His smile was like a ray of sunlight bursting from a cloud. He’d obviously come because he’d heard rumors about her and Rand. But he’d come nonetheless—and he’d bared his heart to her. While she knew Anna would be heartbroken and disappointed, she could not let that stop her from choosing the man she’d always loved. Not when he loved her too.
He stood sheepishly, suddenly uncertain. And then he came forward and embraced her, pulling her into a hug that was possessive and tender. She held him back, claiming him in return. It felt so good to finally be held by him. Perhaps it lasted minutes. Maybe it was only moments. She only knew that she had never felt so sure about something or so safe.
He finally pulled back slightly, but only enough to look into her face.
“So we are engaged? Just to be clear?”
�
��Yes!” Cettie said with a laugh. And then she rested her cheek against his chest and felt the tears start to fall. She couldn’t believe her good fortune. Or that the Knowing had granted her heart’s dearest wish. Had she done anything to deserve this happiness?
They had to tell the others. But for that moment, she wasn’t ready for everyone else to know. Especially knowing the pain it would cause Anna. It was a secret just between the two of them. And it was the most delicious secret in all the world.
EPILOGUE
PAVENHAM SKY
The zephyr glided down to the landing yard well after sunset. The moon hadn’t risen yet, but Rand could see the glimmering ocean beneath the majestic manor and its multilevel gardens. He was in no mood for finery or walks on flower-strung paths. He wanted to punch something. He felt like a miserable failure.
The yard was empty. There were no other visitors at Pavenham Sky, which was quite unusual. He dropped the rope ladder over the edge and watched it swiftly unravel down the side of the craft. Then he climbed overboard but quickly got bored of it and jumped, plummeting the rest of the distance. His face burned and itched, and he frowned in annoyance as he walked down the path, not pausing to look back at the zephyr. He passed beneath the arches into the courtyard. Master Sewell approached him before he even reached the door.
Sewell was an interesting chap. How much did he really know?
“Lady Corinne is expecting you,” Sewell said.
“She summoned me, didn’t she?” Rand said petulantly.
The steward frowned at the rude comment, but Rand was in no mood to be civil. His failure at the ball still chafed.
“Are we feeling a bit irascible this evening?” Sewell said.
“What does that word even mean?” Rand shot back. “Can we get this over with, man?”
Sewell frowned and shrugged. “I have a feeling your interview will be quite short. She had some questions for you about the ball that was just held.”
“Well, she should have come herself, then,” Rand answered. “Lead on. I don’t like standing in doorways.”