“You do?” Was her cursed ability to see the departed detectable by others? Even if they could not see ghosts themselves, a lifetime of derision had taught Win that her physical oddities were noticeable. “What sort of energy?”
“A pleasant one.” His directness stole her breath, sending a flare of heat through her body from her forehead to toes. He didn’t stare at her odd hair or recoil at the pale shade of her eyes. He looked deeper, as if he could see inside, as if he wished to know all the dark broken places in her heart.
Septimus. The name rang in Win’s ears. Not her voice, but the specter’s. An old man’s hoarse cry for his son.
“Did you hear that?” Win prayed he had. With his observatory and experiments, his love for the truth, perhaps Septimus would be open to perceiving what so many others could not.
“To be honest, I can only hear my blood thrashing in my ears.” He dipped his head before casting her a rueful look. “That tends to happen when you’re near too.”
Win backed away. Septimus said he sensed an energy from her, but she felt a magnetic pull toward him. A pull so fierce it frightened her more than any unearthly sight she’d ever seen. Her heart knocked against her ribs as if it was trying to jump from her chest.
“Forgive me.” He clenched his fists before putting his hands behind his back. “I’ve spoken too freely.”
“No.” She liked the way he looked at her. Spoke to her with an interest and sincerity she craved. “I value your honesty.”
“As long as I don’t offer you compliments?”
“Exactly.” Win chuckled and the sound rippled through her, easing the emotions the specter had invoked. “Septimus, I wish to be honest with you too.”
“Good.” He let out a long breath. “Do your worst. Tell me the truth.”
Could she? Had she finally found someone to share her secret with? He was a man of science and intellect. He studied natural phenomena. Would he shrink from the unnatural creatures she saw?
“What I tell you may be difficult for you to believe.”
“Very well.” He nodded. “I will still hear you out.”
Win chewed the edge of her lip. Lifted a finger and nibbled at her nail. Unbidden, her foot began tapping a quick tattoo, and she stared at the carpet and the open books on the floor and still couldn’t bring herself to confess. What if he laughed at her? Scorned her? Told her aunt she was given to ridiculous flights of fancy?
“While you fret, I have a proposal to offer.” Septimus’s deep voice interrupted her ruminations. “I must make a trip to Castle Keyvnor. Come with me? If you like, we can ask Cornelia and your aunt to join us too.” His tone had cooled.
She hadn’t mean to spurn him, and she wanted nothing more than to trust someone. To trust him. To believe he was different than every other man she’d met.
“Shall I go and ask them?” He bolted toward the door, as if his body craved action and movement, rather the pointless waiting she’d subjected him to.
Win rushed after him and reached for his arm. “I see things.”
“What sort of things?” He wrapped his long, cool fingers around her wrist and pulled her closer. “Do your eyes trouble you?”
“I see ghosts.”
“Pardon?” He tightened his grip on her wrist as he tipped his head in confusion.
Win longed to reel the words back in, but they were out now, and she could think of no word that rhymed with ghost to cover her claim. “Specters, apparitions, spirits of the deceased.”
A look came into his eyes. One she knew all too well. The admiration and interest had gone, and doubt swept in. Confusion. Uncertainty.
“There, you see.” She pulled until her arm was free of his grasp. “All truths are not equal, are they, my lord? Now you know why I prefer to keep my secrets to myself.”
Win swept past him and out of the library, choking back tears, forcing her legs to keep her steady until she reached her bedchamber.
Dr. Johnson’s definition was spot on. She was a dolt, a blockhead, an idiot. What she’d kept to herself for years—from her siblings, her parents, her dear aunt—she’d blurted to a virtual stranger because he’d shown her a sliver of kindness.
He wouldn’t be kind now or spare her an ounce of admiration. That little library room was likely ringing with his mocking laughter.
Win changed direction. Rather than return to her room, she headed out Penwithyn’s front door. She longed to see the water and let the song of the gulls drown out the recriminations ringing in her head.
5
Sep fought the impulse to follow Win.
Surely he’d misunderstood her. She was an intelligent, reasonable young lady. Wasn’t she?
Ghosts.
With all the seriousness with which he spoke of galvanism, she spoke of impossibilities.
He knelt to examine the dictionaries splayed out on the floor. What had she found so fascinating about those particular entries? And why were the books laid out on the carpet?
After closing both dictionaries, Sep returned them to their spot on the shelf, taking care to align each volume with the books on either side. Order soothed him. He was a methodical man. Symmetry appealed to all the systematical aspects of his mind.
Yet from his first sight of Win, nothing in his life had proceeded in an orderly systematic way.
“Septimus?” Cornelia entered the library, her cheeks flushed and the damp hem of her cloak trailing across the carpet. “What’s happened to Winifred? Did you say something to upset her?”
“Not intentionally.” After her admission, she hadn’t given him a chance to say much at all.
“Then you must explain why Elinor and I spotted her rushing off across the heath.”
Sep stalked to the room’s single window and yanked the curtain aside. Near his observatory, he spotted Win, her back to him as she continued toward the cliff’s edge.
“We called to her, but she did not seem to hear us.” Cornelia drew closer, until she could examine his face. “Whatever happened between you, will you not go after her? I hate to think of her making her way down the cliffside path unaccompanied.”
“Of course.” Sep patted his godmother’s arm. He’d confided in Win, and she’d tried to do the same. Accepting her claim was out of the question, but he could at least see to her safety.
“I did ask you to take care with her.” Cornelia injected a rare hint of chastisement in her tone.
“I have. I will,” Sep promised. What he couldn’t admit was that Win hadn’t been out of his thoughts for a moment since meeting her. He started for door, eager to catch up to her.
“Septimus,” Cornelia called. “Elinor may not wish me to confide this, but with your knowledge of medicine, I thought you should know. I thought perhaps you might help.”
Seeing the concern on his godmother’s face, Sep braced for the worst. “What is it?”
“She thinks Winifred may be ailing.”
“How?” Sep’s gut clenched. Win was full of life and spirit. He hated the thought of her being unwell.
Cornelia gestured toward her face. “Something to do with her eyes. She suffers megrims.”
“They are not uncommon.”
“Elinor says Winifred sometimes sits and watches the corner of a room for hours, as if her eyes trouble her too much for reading or needlework.”
“Perhaps she’s simply contemplative.” And didn’t wish to be drawn into inane chitchat. He was much the same. “Has she been examined by a doctor?”
“She insists she is well whenever Elinor inquires.” Cornelia glanced worriedly through the window, but Win had gone far enough to be out of sight. “Her father was ill for much of his life, and Winifred has apparently developed an aversion to medical men.”
“And yet you touted my knowledge of medicine to her?”
His godmother seemed to think that he’d inherited his father’s talent for healing others, but Sep’s interests had always been more experimental than practical.
“M
ight she confide in you?” Cornelia turned to face him. “Someone her own age who is of a similar nature.”
“Are we of a like nature?” Sep couldn’t agree. Win wanted to fly. He merely wished to harness a bit of lightning.
“Based on Elinor’s descriptions, yes. You both keep a great deal to yourselves.” Cornelia sighed and lifted her hands in frustration. “Couldn’t the two of you be friends?”
Sep nodded before heading off to find Win. He didn’t give her an answer, because the one that filled his mind unsettled him far more than Win’s claim of seeing specters.
The truth of his feelings struck him with the force of a northern gale, and there was no shelter from it. No room for doubt or prevarication.
He didn’t wish to say goodbye to Win when the Banfield weddings commenced in a few days, and he did not wish to merely be her friend.
Frigid water enveloped her. Win bit down hard to keep her teeth from chattering and held her ground as seawater sloshed up her ankles. A few icy drops snuck as high as her knees. She lifted the skirt of her dress, but the fabric was already wet.
She didn’t care.
The shock of cold distracted her. Kept her from revisiting the horrible moment in her head.
I see ghosts.
Regret threatened to swallow her whole. She would take back every syllable if she could.
Every member of the Gissing family had learned to be guarded. To keep family secrets and protect their father. No matter how much they suffered his cruelty, Mother was determined he would never go to Bedlam. She’d always spoken of the place on a whisper, smoky low, so that it took on an evil cast in their minds. Win and her siblings came to fear Bedlam more than the madman in their attic.
They protected their father, though the man would turn out to be the greatest danger in their lives.
Now Win feared the madhouse anew. What if Septimus told Aunt Elinor about her ability? Would they wish to send her to such a cursed place?
“You’ll catch your death.”
Win started at the sound of Septimus shouting to be heard above the rolling tide. Rather than turn at his call, she braced herself and waded another step into the waves.
“You’re going to make me come in after you, aren’t you?”
“You wouldn’t dare.” Win looked over her shoulder. “You’d ruin your boots.” He loomed like an angry crow at the water’s edge, his black greatcoat flicking out around him, his pale hands braced on his hips.
“Unless I remove them as you did yours.” He nudged his chin toward the pile she’d left on a rock.
She’d only planned to remove her boots, but what was the point of soaking her stockings through?
“You won’t.” He was far too well-groomed, and struck her as the sort of gentleman who did not appreciate disarray.
Win turned back to the sea and closed her eyes. She imagined sailing off to someplace new. A city where she could start again. Perhaps dye her hair a different shade. Wear dark glasses to hide her eyes. Ignore the shadows lurking in the corners, and do a better job of pretending to be like every other young lady. Never ever dropping her guard and revealing her secrets to anyone.
A wave pressed at her legs. Win opened her eyes to find the tide had risen. Water splashed behind her and she turned to see Septimus wading into the water. He’d tucked his trousers into his boots, but she knew the moment the water slipped past the black leather. He hissed and arched one dark brow.
“Come out of the water, Win.” He was at her back in two long strides. Though he did not touch her, she could sense him behind her. He blocked the wind that threatened to chill her straight through.
“Did my aunt send you to fetch me or did you come on your own?” The answer mattered far more than it should. Win held a breath, her chest pinching tight, until he spoke.
“Cornelia asked me to bring you back to Penwithyn.”
Win closed her eyes again, but she couldn’t pretend anymore. “Did you tell her what I said to you?”
“Of course not.” He laid a hand on her waist, just at the arch of her hip. “I wanted to come find you.” He spoke quietly, his voice rough and raspy. “I want to hear whatever you wish to tell me.”
“But you don’t believe me.” Win turned and Septimus immediately drew her closer.
“May we speak someplace less frigid?” He dropped his hand into hers and edged back toward the shore.
Win followed, and though she had endured the cold water well enough, a chill set in the moment she stepped onto the beach. When Septimus noticed her shivering, he removed his overcoat and settled the heavy garment around her shoulders.
“We should head back.” He took her hand again as they approached the rock where she’d shed her boots and stockings, as if he feared she’d rush back into the sea.
No doubt he thought her the strangest lady he’d ever met. But Win let herself enjoy the warmth of his touch. He wasn’t content to merely hold her hand in his. He threaded his fingers with hers.
Reluctantly, she pulled away to retrieve her stockings and slip them back on.
He looked out at the water, up at the sky, then down at the pebbled sand beneath his soggy boots.
Anywhere but at her bare feet and ankles.
The minute she tied the laces on her first boot, a gust of wind swept her second stocking off the rock. Win scrambled down just as the fabric filled with air, a beribboned balloon lifting on the breeze.
Septimus caught the fine slip of silk in his hand. He lifted the stocking out to her and their gazes locked as she drew the soft garment from his hand.
“Come closer and shelter me from the wind?” Win asked him.
He said nothing but drew nearer, once again turning his gaze out toward the sea. But he wasn’t unaffected. As she bent to pull the stocking up above her knee, she watched the muscles of his throat work as he swallowed hard. She cast her gaze down to tie the ribbon at the top of her stocking and when she looked up again, she found Septimus had lost interest in the sea and stood watching her every move.
“Are you finished?” he barked after she’d slipped on her boot and tied a bow with the laces.
“By all means, lead the way, Lord Carwarren.”
He narrowed his eyes at her use of his title before pivoting on his heel and stalking off across the beach. But he didn’t head for the path that led up toward Penwithyn. “Are you coming with me?”
Win followed him to a rocky outcrop at the edge of the beach. The formation hid a cave entrance. The opening was narrow but tall enough for Septimus to step into its mouth without ducking his head. A tide pool in the center indicated the sea splashed clear up the beach, but a ledge surrounding the collected water made for a convenient walkway.
Win edged past Septimus to explore more of the cave, but he caught her arm in a gentle grip. “Let us continue our discussion.”
“You don’t wish to return to that topic any more than I do.” All the mortification and regret welled up in her again and when she swallowed, her throat felt raw and ragged. “I shouldn’t have told you.”
“I don’t want you to have regrets.”
Once again, it was his sincerity that unraveled her. The warmth in his gaze, the comforting weight of his touch. A few words in that deep, rich voice of his and she was ready to trust him again.
“Tell me the rest,” he whispered.
“There’s no more to tell.” Win twisted the key, trying to stuff all of her secrets back in their hiding place. “I-I was jesting, my lord. Did you think I meant it?”
A flash of disappointment shadowed his eyes again and he released her arm.
“We should return to Penwithyn.” Win flattened herself against the cave wall to sidestep past him. “Aunt Cornelia will be wondering if we got lost, and Aunt Elinor will fret. She always worries about me.”
Emerging from the cave, the edge of his overcoat caught on the rock’s sharp edge. She was warm and juniper-scented, and she’d almost forgotten that his thick woolen overcoat was the reaso
n.
“Win, I can help you.”
She slipped her arms from Septimus’s overcoat and returned the garment to him. “You’ve helped me enough. Thank you.”
“What do they look like?” He asked as he took the garment from her. “Ghosts?”
“I told you, I didn’t—“
“Win, you’re a terrible liar. I admire you all the more for it.” His grin caused her to feel the pull again, the magnetic undertow that made her want to do foolish things.
Touch him. Trust him. Kiss him.
“They are shadowy,” she heard herself say, “like gathering smoke.”
His brows drew down as if he was giving due consideration to her every word. “A spot of darkness in your periphery?”
“Yes.” That was how it had begun. “But when I look toward them, I see more.”
“Shapes? Light?”
“Yes,” Win said wonderingly. He described her ability as if he’d experienced the same himself. “How do you know?”
“My father was a physician. I considered becoming a doctor too and studied with one for a time.”
“I don’t need a doctor.” Panic set her nerves jangling. A fluttering took hold in her chest, as if a bird was trapped there, desperate to escape.
“Perhaps not, but would you…” He drew a step closer. “Would you allow me to examine you?”
Win laughed, choked, gasped all at once and the sound she made was anything but ladylike. “No, of course not.”
“I must sound very forward, but I’ve never been terribly concerned with etiquette. Or very good at it, to be honest.”
Win didn’t doubt his honesty, but she couldn’t quite fathom an earl who cared nothing for propriety.
He stepped out of the cave into the warm glow of afternoon light and began pacing in a tight circle in the sand. “As a man of science, I am in the habit of testing theories. Challenging every hypothesis. Empirical facts are what I seek. What I can see and record and repeat again and again. That is what I know to be true.”
“And if you cannot see, you will never believe.” Ghosts could not be measured in his experiments and tests. She couldn’t give him proof of what she’d seen.
Love for Lady Winter (Secrets of Gissing Hall Book 1) Page 5