“You’re cold.”
She pushed my hand away. “Leave me be.”
I stood almost mindlessly and headed to the wardrobe. “Have you a shawl in here?”
She took a half-hearted glance over her shoulder. “I believe I left it in the connecting room.”
I made a move for the interior door, and she screamed, “No!” My feet went numb as my hand flew to my chest.
“Just hand me the blanket there on the bed and leave my presence. I shall send in due course for my maid.” She pressed the handkerchief to her forehead.
“Piers is—”
Her eyes flashed and my breath caught.
“You and Piers.” She erupted into a coughing fit, but when I came close to assist, the venom in her eyes chased me away. “It was always you with him, or he never would have permitted the scandal that tore this family apart.”
I did my best to ignore her insinuations, but I knew the truth.
Her eyes widened with triumph. “That’s right. I see you’ve worked out all the details at last. He made me swear not to tell you at the time, but I had no idea what would happen then.” Her tongue skirted across her dry lips. “He was out all night, you see, worrying about the upcoming duel. He’d acted rashly in calling out Lord Kendal, but he knew his duty. He would not disappoint his family.”
“And then?” The tone of my voice fell flat. I knew very well where the story was going, but I needed to hear it once and for all.
“And then he found you, alone, lying in that ditch with an injured leg. He could no more leave you than he could cut off his right arm. At first he thought he might come about somehow, explain things to Lord Kendal, but he couldn’t. He’d made Kendal look a fool, and that would never be tolerated. You were a reckless, headstrong girl to set out so late in the day from the coaching house on horseback.”
Mrs. Cavanagh ran her finger along the embroidered letter on her handkerchief. “Piers told me he meant to bring you to Loxby Manor at first, but during the long, arduous trek, he realized all too clearly that none of the servants would believe for one moment that the two of you had not been out all night together. So he took you to the empty gatehouse where you waited until the sun rose into the sky and your very respectability was less in question. Then you told everyone you had just arrived, the day they had all been expecting you.
“Things happened rather quickly after you left for Ceylon. Lord Kendal demanded an explanation, but Piers had none to give. He could not tell him or anyone else the two of you had spent the early morning hours together alone—not if he meant to spare your reputation.”
My eyes clouded with tears as a swirl of emotions rattled my chest. I had been right. He’d risked it all for me.
Mrs. Cavanagh flicked her hand in the air. “Go on now. You’ve done enough here already.”
My heart pounded like a blacksmith’s hammer, slow and painful thumps. Eventually I uttered a whispered, “As you wish,” and fled the room.
* * *
I escaped straight to the garden where I was afforded an hour alone, but even then tears stung my eyes and my heart lay open before me like the final pages of a book.
I never dreamed Piers would find me in such a state.
He was slow to advance, wandering a bit before taking a seat on the curved white bench at my side, his gaze questioning me. “I’ve been searching for you for some time. Has something happened?”
I gathered myself as best I could. After all, I didn’t want to burden him before the duel. Anything might affect his performance, and I was determined not to be the cause of something dreadful—again.
I attempted to rid myself of the shroud of turbulent emotions with a light shake of my head. “I went to see your mother, although I don’t think she was too pleased to see me. She said some things that needed pondering is all.” I glanced up. “Like my leaving Loxby as soon as possible.”
He breathed in a sharp breath. “She said that?”
“Demanded, more like.”
He perched his elbows on his knees and lowered his head into his hands. “I fear her mind is not what it should be since Seline’s death. She’s barely eating or sleeping these days. All this while I’ve been worried about my father’s frail health when I should have been equally concerned about my mother’s. Avery has always been better with her. His being at Rushridge is no doubt taking a toll.” Piers looked down at his hands before splaying them wide. “She and Avery share something I will never understand. It doesn’t help that I’ve been gone these last five years.”
“Piers, I . . .” Trapped by the knowledge of how my own actions had played an integral part in Piers’s removal from Loxby, I wasn’t certain how to proceed. “You and I have shared nearly everything over the years . . . even when we were children.”
He smiled. “Do you ever wish you could go back to those days, where the world was small and our dreams unequally big?”
I fell motionless as the garden buzzed to life around me. The sweet scent of flowers on the breeze, the warm sun on my back, Piers sketching before me. The vision almost felt real. Slowly, I lifted my eyes. “With all my heart.”
He stared off into the rosebushes, silence settling on the bench between us. I daresay we both mourned the loss of what might have been, packaging up those dreams into crates that will never be opened again.
But it was what he said next that caught me by surprise.
“Strange how indulging in the idyllic world of yesterday can make living in the present so terribly unfulfilling, particularly when something happened that changed the course of life.” He folded his hands in his lap, his voice dipping lower. “Over the last few weeks, I’ve come to realize something, Charity. That rosy picture of the past is just an illusion.” He sighed. “And a dark one to lose oneself in. Over time those happy memories grow sweeter, the edges soften, the images blur. They become the fragrant scent of remembrance that remains forever out of reach.
“I don’t believe God made us to be looking back all the time, calculating every mistake we’ve made, measuring our worth by actions we can no longer change, particularly when such a practice comes at the expense of our future.”
I leaned back against the cold iron of the bench, the emotions I had fought so hard to keep at bay bubbling to the surface, playing with the twists and turns of my beliefs. Was I, too, guilty of painting an unrealistic picture of the past, holding it up as the ideal?
I had come to Loxby to escape my present pain, to lose myself in a happier time and place. But Piers was right; my doing so had turned out to be nothing but an illusion. In the end I had not been able to run away from me.
I felt his touch on my hand, and I looked down as he slid his fingers through mine. “I never meant to lecture. In fact, I came here to say something quite different.” He took a deep breath. “I don’t know what will happen on that field tomorrow morning.”
“Please don’t say that.”
“Say what? The truth? We both know all too well that life is short, and I’ve done a fine job of wasting what I’ve been given thus far.”
He shifted his position on the bench, the honesty in his eyes betraying the thoughts he wanted so desperately to string together. “Charity . . . I need to tell you something.”
I had a moment of cringing anxiety deep within my core, but as we sat there staring at each other, the feeling ebbed away.
Then his words spilled out. “I’ve spent the last five years trying to forget you. I told myself it was noble I stayed away, that I was sparing you the awkward moment of refusing me, but I was a coward to do so. This thing between us has never been simple, and I know now it will never go away, not for me at least.”
A gust of wind came so unexpectedly over the garden wall, rushing through the plants, that I pulled away from him, my father’s words echoing in my mind. “A sign of things to come.”
He held out his hand. “Please don’t go, not yet. Regardless of what you think of me when I am finished, I know in my heart I cann
ot leave for the duel without saying everything on my mind.”
I nodded, and he closed his eyes for a long second.
Silently I watched him fight the intense vulnerability I knew so well, and my heart shifted. It wasn’t only that I had finally grasped the depths of his compassion; it was the stark realization that I had been given a rare gift—a man who understood the intertwining layers of guilt and shame and hope and pain. He was my equal in every way.
He glanced up. “The incredible truth is, I thought I loved you back then. I know now I had no concept of what that meant, what life would bring to the both of us. You’ve shared with me your unspeakable nightmare. We’ve mourned my sister together. We share a history no one on this earth can understand but us. This is love, Charity, not what society dictates or some fluttery feeling in my chest, which I assure you is growing inside me with every word I speak.”
He took my hands again. “Love is you and me deciding to stand at each other’s side to face whatever comes.” He trailed his thumb along the lines of my hand. “It’s thinking about you every second, aching to see you when we are not together, knowing each other’s faults and choosing patience time and again. It’s forgetting the past, all the terrible details that weigh us down. It’s forgiving ourselves and each other over and over again.”
My heart felt unfamiliar, a remnant of another time and place, my muscles tightening and twisting throughout my body, but I knew without a doubt I had no intention of moving one inch away. I loved Piers Cavanagh with all my heart, and he was right. I wanted everything he’d said. Fear of the past or even the future could not steal the hope I felt stirring in my chest, not anymore.
He ran his finger around my hairline and rested his hand at the back of my neck. His touch was familiar yet terrifying and captivating all at once. The very intimacy I’d run from for five long years turned out to be so utterly different from what I’d expected. A tint of embarrassment warmed my cheeks, and my hands quivered beneath his touch.
He dipped his head. “I promise you I’ll not take one step for granted. I can wait forever if that’s what it takes.” He gave me a rueful smile. “After all, there’s nobody waiting to marry me.”
I lifted my chin. “That’s where you are wrong . . . I am.”
A smile transformed his face, his eyes brilliant in the afternoon sun, the tendrils of his hair fluttering in the hands of a spirited breeze.
“Charity.”
I wasn’t certain if he’d spoken my name aloud, for it felt more like a soft whisper on my skin.
My heart pitched forward, and I can’t say I know exactly what happened, but I know it must have been me who moved first. Piers never would have done so.
All at once my lips were pressed to his. And slowly, cautiously, deliciously, his arms wrapped tight around my shoulders, inching me closer and closer still. My head swam as my hands felt their way up his back. I’d dreamed of such a day for so long, but I could not have anticipated the overwhelming freedom that one simple kiss wrought about in my soul. As I melted into his arms, I was lost in the stirring moment of hope. I knew without a doubt I’d taken the first step in overcoming that which I never thought I could.
The wind curled once more around the small garden, and I yearned for Piers never to let go, but we could not stay there forever. Gently he pulled back, holding me at arm’s length.
“I am sorry, but I have to go.”
Fear numbed my arms, but my fingers curled tighter on his arm. “Do you indeed plan to delope?”
He gave me no sign of emotion. “Of course I do. I’ll send word as soon as the duel is complete. Avery is bringing Dr. Knight. I’ll overnight again in Eastward, but only if I need to.”
I gripped his arm. “What about Lord Kendal?”
“Don’t fool yourself, Charity. Lord Kendal has been waiting for this duel for five years, and he always shoots to kill.”
Chapter 27
Piers and Avery left an hour later to little fanfare. Mrs. Cavanagh chose not to emerge from her room to say goodbye, and Piers was forced to visit her in her chamber. I only prayed she said nothing of our prior conversation.
Thus, the secluded evening ushered in the first supper since I’d arrived at Loxby Manor where I dined completely alone. Baker seemed to sense the tension in the house and did his best to ease the strange, palpable quiet of the dining room, but he could not do so completely, not when I sat alone at the large symmetrical table.
With dinner disposed of, I decided to forgo any time in the drawing room and made my way upstairs to my bedchamber where I flopped on the bed. A part of me wanted to revel in Piers’s and my newfound connection, but the duel tainted everything. I could not allow myself to dream, not yet.
The hours grew stagnant, the room suffocating, and I rose to see if I could find Snowdrop. She’d been missing from my room the last few days, but I’d seen her near the stables when I watched Piers leave. Though I enjoyed her presence many of the nights I spent alone, on this one I needed her.
I began my search on the ground floor, scouring the house, the front portico, and the back terrace. I dared not go too far in the blustering night, but I had to try, meowing as I liked to do to get her to follow me. But there was no sign of the little white cat.
It wasn’t until I scaled the central staircase that I heard a faint meow on the still air. So she had found her way into the house once again. I started for my room, but I realized all too quickly that the sound had not come from my hallway at all, but rather from the family wing.
I crept from one room to the next, straining to hear another call. It was near Seline’s room where I was finally rewarded by Snowdrop’s sweet meow. But all too quickly my heart turned cold. The sound was coming from Mrs. Cavanagh’s room.
I inched forward, hoping I had misheard the cat, certain I would never enter Mrs. Cavanagh’s domain again. My heart could not take another lashing from Piers’s mother, not after what she had said to me earlier.
But as I reached Mrs. Cavanagh’s closed door, I realized the cat’s plea was coming from somewhat behind me.
In Mr. Cavanagh’s room . . . Not again.
Surely not. I made my way closer to his door and a similar deflection of echoes resulted. I stood there a moment in confusion until the answer came to my mind.
The connecting room between Mr. and Mrs. Cavanagh’s bedchambers.
Somehow Snowdrop had found her way in there. I might have a chance to recover her after all, and if Snowdrop had got herself trapped, Mrs. Cavanagh would not react kindly. It was a wonder she hadn’t heard the cat already, but if she was asleep, it was possible.
I stood there for several seconds debating my next move. Both bedchambers connected into the shared room, which was likely to be an intimate space. I could be discovered at any moment. But with any luck, Mr. and Mrs. Cavanagh would already be sound asleep, and I could tiptoe my way in and out without anyone the wiser.
I held my breath and cracked open the slender door. The dressing room lay dark within, and slowly, carefully I tiptoed into the drab, motionless interior. The back drapes were drawn tight, leaving me little to no light to work with, and I was forced to stand still in the entryway, my back pressed to the door until my eyes adjusted to the gloom.
The door to Mr. Cavanagh’s room stood ajar, and through the opening, I could see his curved silhouette highlighted by the moonlight on the bed. His nasal breathing surged in and out of the transient silence.
A chill roamed the small chamber, which appeared to be more of a dressing room for Mrs. Cavanagh alone than a shared space. A portable hip bath stood to my right and a dressing table filled with feminine luxuries to my left, flanked on the far end by a large painted screen.
“Snowdrop,” I whispered, moving at once to locate the cat.
The room was eerily quiet, the shadows far more menacing. I knelt and tried again. “Snowdrop.”
Then I heard it, a small pitiful meow, coming from the far side of the screen. Carefully I inched around
the partition, the feathered moonlight playing tricks with my vision. First I thought I saw her in the corner, then beneath a small cushion bench, but it was behind the slim wardrobe that she’d managed to wedge herself.
I attempted to coax her out of the slit between the furniture and the wall, but she would have none of that. I gave her a faint meow and was pleased to see her start my direction only to stop, her hind legs caught up in some clothes that had slipped behind the wardrobe. All I needed to do was grasp her middle and pull her toward me, the piece of clothing still hooked by her back claw.
I cradled her to my chest. “You silly little kitty. I wonder how long you’ve been sleeping back there. You’re lucky Mrs. Cavanagh hasn’t found you before.”
As I reached to disengage the piece of clothing, something shifted in the dim light. Slowly, carefully I lifted the heavy fabric into the threads of moonlight and gasped.
My cloak. The one Seline had borrowed that fateful night. Snowdrop had been using it as a bed.
I felt dizzy and fell onto the bench, my hand pressed to my forehead. How in the world had the cloak made its way into Mrs. Cavanagh’s dressing room? Thoughts stormed through my mind, each far more unsettling than the last. Was Mrs. Cavanagh somehow involved in her own daughter’s murder?
I thought back through each painful detail of the night Seline went missing. I’d heard someone in the hallway, someone I’d never identified. Could it have been Mrs. Cavanagh on her way back to her room? She had been awake that night, and I had been surprised to find her dressed when I entered her room.
But what possible motive could she have had for killing her own daughter? Surely Seline’s scandal could not be the inciting incident that brought about something so horrific. My heart lurched. Mrs. Cavanagh had been at Whitecaster Hall when Miles was found dead, and her behavior was certainly odd at the time.
I heard the floorboards creak in the adjoining room, and my heart snapped to life. Mrs. Cavanagh was not asleep as I had supposed, and here I sat in her very dressing room. My cloak felt like lead in my hands as I thrust it back behind the wardrobe. If Mrs. Cavanagh had killed before, she wouldn’t hesitate to do so again. If only Piers and Avery hadn’t left when they did.
The Vanishing at Loxby Manor Page 24