Everleigh watched the clock on the mantel. Vivian was still abed and it was early morning. He’d heard a maid take a tray to the room, but he thought Mavis had received the food.
The night before, when he’d realised Vivian had fallen asleep while he read, he’d stood over her, intending to speak her name and awaken her.
But he hadn’t been able to. She reminded him of a tale of a sleeping princess. Shadows flickered over her, and her lashes feathered against her delicate skin. He watched, expecting her to wake and ask why he stared. An overwhelming urge to take care of her rushed over him.
He’d had trouble breathing and returned to his chair, calming himself with brandy and shutting his mind against thoughts of Vivian.
He regretted the truths he had told her. Vivian deserved soft-scented lies that caressed. Words he didn’t know how to give and ones that dried up before they left his mouth.
He must ask Ella Etta what cures she had given Vivian and what she’d determined about Vivian’s health.
In his room, he donned his heavy coat and noticed the quietness of the house. The home was never filled with noise, but he’d not heard anyone stirring. He wondered if the house was a tomb and none of them had realised it yet.
He hurried out of the doorway, preferring the clouded skies to the sombre walls.
He didn’t have to think of the path, or fight any overgrowth. Animals, or people, kept the path travelled and his strides quickly covered the distance.
At the edge of the camp, he smelled the smoke and heard voices before he could see the inhabitants.
Ella Etta sat at her stump, plucking a chicken, saving the downy fluff in a bag. The other feathers fluttered around her, but she kept them from the fire. He knew why—the aroma of burning feathers had a stench that stuck in a person’s nostrils.
He saw her brighten when he came into view. ‘Ah, you finally remember where your spirit lies and visit your old friend.’
‘Some friends do not have to see each other often to stay in the thoughts.’
‘No matter how hard we try to forget.’ She laughed to take the bitterness from the words. ‘Sit. Let me tell you why you are here.’
‘I know you are aware that a carriage stopped at my house yesterday. The children would carry the news.’
She shrugged, and threw some feathers in his direction, but they scattered as they left her fingers. ‘Nonsense. I see it in the stars.’
‘It’s cloudy and the stars hide from you even at night.’
‘Makes my sight more impressive.’ Her voice dropped, became frail. ‘But do you truly think of your old friend when you are living away?’
He nodded his head towards the chicken. ‘Why do you think I have my servants raise so many fowl, leave fruit in the orchard, and not notice what disappears—because I forget you? Do not tell me you are unaware. You always return.’
She raised a finger, pointing, downy wet fluffs sticking to her fingertips. ‘We return because I miss my memories of you and your brother as children. I miss him. He was lightness and you are...not lightness.’
‘I miss him, too.’
He frowned, thinking of Vivian. ‘What herbs did you give Vivian Darius? She’s very ill.’
‘Again you come to me, when you need me.’
Then he took a step closer and softened his tone. ‘I truly do need some healing tonic. For Miss Darius. She’s at my father’s estate—I cannot believe she will live much longer. I saw her some days ago and she is much more delicate now than she was then.’
Ella Etta spoke as if the words were delivered to her by way of a righteous chariot, not merely stars. ‘Baron’s daughter. The girl you mentioned.’
He nodded. ‘She’s ill.’
Her shoulders dropped and her words lost pretence.
‘Everleigh.’ She held the chicken in both hands, but studied him. ‘The girl stopped here yesterday. I have already given her all that I have and now we will have to see if it is enough. I have given her a potion and a promise, and now we must wait.’
‘What did you give her?’
She pursed her lips. ‘Honey.’
‘Honey?’ he gasped. ‘No herbs?’
She scratched her ear. ‘Honey. It might work. It does about half the time.’ She kicked a few feathers away that had fallen at her boots.
He almost whispered, ‘She was so frail last night. You must give her some of your medicinals.’
‘You know nothing about curatives.’ She glared at him. ‘I do.’
‘She’s too thin.’ Her frailness bothered him, causing a tremor of worry within him. Vivian had had no chance to experience life. Had only been kissed once and his arms could have folded twice around her. She was more delicate than a candle flame in a draught and he wanted her to stay alive. To dance the waltz she’d dreamed of and do more than collapse after a kiss.
‘If she lives, she will fatten.’ Ella Etta beamed. ‘She has long length, fine bones and too much expression for her own good. She will be able to bear a large man’s children.’ She tilted her head and studied him. ‘Everleigh.’
He stared back, censuring her words with his frown.
‘You need the babies.’ She snapped her chin up. ‘Alexandria is a leech and has taken what remnants of affection you had and stomped them. She was not right for you. I told you.’
He didn’t speak or change his stance.
She dropped the chicken into a water-filled bucket at her side and pulled the remaining wisps away from her ringed fingers. ‘You must.’
‘I won’t.’
She took a breath. ‘I know what is in your thoughts, but you must regain the heart that died inside you.’ She reached for a knife from her sash and assessed the carcase. ‘Although this bird’s heart is more alive than yours.’
‘I have no wish to hurt anyone, or be hurt.’
She grimaced, pulling the chicken from the bucket. ‘One day this old hen ran in the woods. It preened with the others. It gave us eggs, then clucked in pride when leaving the nest. It had more knowledge of how to live than you do.’
Then she spoke again. ‘Marry. Or you will live as Rothwilde does. You will be cursed. Just as he is. Perhaps he did not deserve such a fate. Perhaps he did.’
He would not abide such nonsense. ‘You know I am not scared of your words, your threats or your curses. You and Grandfather taught me not to be easily gulled.’
‘I am not scared of your words or threats or any curses, and...’ She showed her teeth and then she raised her hand, giving him a gesture that would have shocked most women.
‘Now you see why I do not visit.’
‘I do not care. Just keep the orchards and gardens plentiful, and the fowl fat.’
He waited. ‘As long as we understand each other.’
She examined the chicken carcase, then pulled away one last pin feather. ‘We do. I am telling you as a mother would have told you...a mother not like yours, but one with more than a dollop of perfume in her head. You need to get married.’
He paused. ‘Should I send more food your way?’
‘No, but tell your servants to put out another rose bush like the one that died. Picking the roses was nice.’
He gave her a deep bow, preparing to leave.
‘Everleigh.’ Her words halted him.
He waited.
‘You need a wife. You are doing yourself no favours by not marrying. You’ll just grow older. Not better.’
Giving a sharp nod, he strode back to his house, making quick work of the path, especially after he heard a carriage—a carriage going to his father’s house. Not away.
When he got to the front of Wildewood and saw the second vehicle, he increased his stride. He had not expected this.
Alexandria.
The words he had told her had left no room for doubt. He heard her scream of rage as his hand touched the door. Pulling the latch open, he saw Alexandria, the tip of her fan at Burton’s neck.
Burton stood, board like, his glare locked on the guest, speaking. ‘Miss, you will be removed if you do not take yourself away.’
Everleigh tensed and didn’t flinch from the anger.
Alexandria snapped around. Her blonde hair pulled up on her head in perfect order. Her day dress no worse for the travel. She glared.
‘I was told you were not at home,’ she snarled out the words. Evidence of tears glistened, but he assumed they were indications of rage more than distress. Her maid stood near the wall, almost flattened into it, staring.
‘I wasn’t. But now I’ve returned. However, I am not here for you. Never again.’ He wished he’d ignored the first post she’d sent him and wished he’d known her true nature.
She whispered, glowering, ‘I do love you.’ Her lips shook on the words.
He didn’t know if he should shout or whisper, so he kept his tone emotionless. ‘The more you’ve pressed your love for me, the more I have realised I have no wish to marry. I told you the first time I took you for a carriage ride that I was uncertain about marriage and I have never said anything to change that. In fact, the opposite is true.’
Burton—and the maid—and probably every servant in the house—listened, but Everleigh didn’t care. He knew, from the contempt Burton exhibited, that the butler would gladly sweep Alexandria into a rubbish heap and even the maid would applaud.
Then Alexandria stalked forward and slapped him. The sound cracked into the room. He didn’t flinch.
‘You told me you cared for me.’ She flashed rage.
‘I said I cared for you. I do. I wish you the best. But I will not marry you, nor continue to visit.’
‘You have to.’ Her words were quiet. ‘You have to. I love you. I cannot live without you. I’ll tell everyone you led me on.’
‘Say what you wish, if you don’t mind being ruined in society. But nothing will make me marry you. Nothing. It would be a mistake for you to marry me, you just don’t realise it.’
Her back straightened. She raised her arm, ready to strike again. ‘I haven’t told anyone yet that you have done this to me. But don’t think this is over.’
He didn’t speak.
She lowered her arm. Her tears had faded, but her stance hadn’t changed. ‘I have nothing to lose.’
‘You’re not ruined by my connection to you and you do not have to be, if you don’t go shouting your love from the rooftops. That would ruin you. Loving someone who doesn’t love you is a mistake. Changing the course of your life because of it is to truly be ruined.’
‘Oh, I am not hiding this.’ Her voice grew stronger. ‘If I cannot have you, then it doesn’t really matter that I can’t marry.’ She took a step backwards. ‘You will not toss me aside and march on without a backwards glance.’
She whirled around, jerked open the door and left, her maid following. Burton took a step, grabbed a key ring and locked the door, muttering under his breath.
Everleigh noticed his father watching him from the top of the stairs.
‘If she wants you that badly, wed her. She’ll come to her senses then.’ Then he relaxed. He moved his hand over his chin, checking to see if the valet had missed a whisker when shaving him. ‘And do try to keep your pets from following you home. They’re taking over the house.’
Vivian heard muffled shouting and sat up in bed. Her head felt stuffed with handkerchiefs being trampled by horses.
She noticed the dark walls and the overpowering wardrobe.
Mavis stood at the door, opened just a little, with her ear at the crack.
They both listened to the female screeches, but at this distance, the male responses were no more than a mumble.
‘Your sweetheart has a problem,’ Mavis said when they heard the visitor was leaving. Mavis shut the door.
‘I have no empathy for her. I fear I’m following in her footsteps. I don’t have a choice in the matter. Ella Etta’s orders. Curse and all. But I won’t scream at him in front of servants.’
Mavis snorted. ‘You say that now. But you’ve not married him yet.’
‘Mother never raises her voice at Father. She shouts at his valet and tells him to give Father the message.’
‘And how did your night with the young man go? The young man who has just thrown a female out of his house because she thinks to marry him.’ Mavis tapped her forefinger to her cheek.
Vivian stretched. ‘I fell asleep.’
Mavis put a hand over her mouth. ‘You need new courting methods.’
‘May not matter anyway.’
‘You’re worse without your medicinals.’ Mavis clasped her hands in front of herself, then crossed her arms. ‘I should never have brought you to the area.’
Vivian let out a deep breath and realised Mavis wouldn’t let her rest. ‘Get me the thorns.’
‘Very well.’ Mavis’s lips firmed over the words. ‘You’re worse—and only one day without the curatives.’
‘No. I didn’t take them the last few nights either.’ She challenged Mavis with a stare. Vivian pulled up her elbows to push herself from the bed, but found no strength. ‘Mavis. Get me the thorns. I’ve been sick for long enough now. I refuse to take any more of the physician’s cures. It makes me feel as if my head is wobbling on my neck. My hands shake constantly and sometimes I can hardly feel my fingers. I refuse to drink any more of the apothecary mixtures that smell like the insides of a chamber pot. At least the old woman’s potion has an interesting appearance. I’m tired of being treated with blistering ointments and mixtures that I can barely swallow.’
Mavis pulled the bottle from the reticule, turning the thorns, examining the points and tied bits. ‘I will never forgive Mrs Rush if this ends up hurting you.’
‘Pull out the stopper. If I’m going to die, I’m sick of waiting for it.’
Mavis picked up the mixture and sat it on the bedside table. ‘I’ll get a spoon—though how I’ll pour around this mess is anyone’s guess.’
‘No.’ Vivian lay back on the pillow. ‘Drop a bit of it on my lips.’
Mavis shook the potion, then twisted the stopper and held her hand under the coated glass to keep a drip from escaping to the floor. She raised it over Vivian’s lips and a drop settled on Vivian’s tongue. She tasted it.
‘Really not bad, Mavis.’ She licked her lips. ‘Pleasant, actually.’
‘It could be poisoning you. We’ve got to get you home.’ Mavis put the stopper in the bottle, and tucked it back into Vivian’s reticule. She rubbed one of her fingers, frowning. ‘The points are sharp. I suspect Ella Etta fancies the world to be her Drury Lane.’
‘I’m in no hurry to get home.’ Vivian assessed the room. ‘At least the surroundings are different here. More like a dungeon designed with all the bars hidden.’
‘We’ve got to go. The driver is waiting and I’ve a bundle of food given to me by the cook so we can feast on our way. Your mother will have the physician called for her own needs if she discovers what you’ve been up to. She’ll not be able to handle the shock.’ Mavis looked at Vivian. ‘I might marry Everleigh if you don’t. Just to keep you from sacrificing yourself. Surely the old witch won’t mind the change. To think, he held me in his arms and I don’t even remember it.’
‘He’s just a man, Mavis.’
But he wasn’t, to her. The way his voice rushed over her when he spoke to her—when it was unguarded—she’d never heard a man speak so. He had a tone she’d never before listened to. It wasn’t just what he said, but the way the words moved around her, like air trying to brush her from all directions and touch her all over. She felt a surge of envy that anyone else might hear that sound and a small measure of pride that he’d talked to her of his feelings.
But it wasn’t just his words. The huskiness of his voice, especially when he talked quietly, was almost more than she could bear.
Mavis snorted. ‘That old trickster. I bet she saw him a few times, felt pity on you and decided to give you something to dream about.’
‘You’re so kind, Mavis.’
‘How are you feeling?’ She squinted and examined Vivian.
‘No better.’ She pushed her hair from her forehead, fingers threaded in the locks.
Mavis opened her reticule and pulled out a length of cloth. ‘His cravat. He left it in the library after you both came out.’
Vivian stared, garbled her words as she spoke, then gasped. ‘You took his cravat? You were spying?’
‘I found it in the library this morning.’ Mavis examined it, then quirked a brow. ‘Are you sure nothing happened.’
‘Nothing.’
‘This does smell good. Very nice shaving soap.’ She handed it to Vivian.
Vivian held the cloth to her nose and breathed in. The scent of a man’s strength.
She heard the rustle of Mavis’s skirts and saw a grin as she darted out the door. ‘I’ll tell the servants we need the carriage.’
Vivian went to the library. She tried to remember where he had left the cravat, but decided anywhere would suffice.
She dropped the cravat when she heard footsteps. Everleigh walked into the room. He had none of the openness she’d seen the night before. His hair didn’t hang straight and perfect as it might have had a valet been at his shoulder. Instead the ends hung with a dash of an unkempt air which gave him the manner of a man who didn’t care much about his appearance—at least not as much as nature did. Nature must have taken extra care and precision when sorting him into a form.
In that instant she understood he was bidding her farewell—she could see the goodbye in his expression and a certain finality.
She asked, rushing the words, ‘Might I borrow the martyr book?’
He examined her and she forced herself not to babble. She needed an excuse to see him again. Returning the book was the best she could think of.
‘Of course.’ He walked to the bookcase, lifting the weighty volume. ‘I’ll take it to the carriage for you.’
She knew he didn’t think her strong enough to carry the large volume and she wasn’t sure she could manage.
He let her precede him and she thought he kept himself ready in case she might fall.
When they stepped into the sunshine, she looked up at him, ignoring the carriage as it pulled to the front, wheels creaking.
‘At the risk of speaking what is on my mind—will you be returning to London soon, or has your last visitor made the thought unpleasant to you?’ she asked.
‘I must return. I have some architect friends whom I help further their projects in London. The city needs to move forward and, with patronage and introductions, these men can change our world.’
She pulled her head back. ‘That sounds ambitious.’
‘Merely practical. Much of the most important works they do is not with the façades which impress people, but with the small, and sometimes large, things to improve lives. In the past people did not want their kitchens attached to the house because of fire. Now we feel comfortable with our chimneys and our food is delivered to our tables warm. Some day, gas lights will be commonplace in homes.’
‘I cannot imagine.’
‘You do not have to. Architects and engineers imagine for us.’
She paused and he almost bumped into her. Her reticule bounced against him.
‘What is—? Is that a parcel of thorns?’ He shifted so he could peer into the bag.
‘Mementos.’ She spoke quickly.
‘You often collect thorns?’ Curiosity sounded in his voice. Then his brows narrowed. She could have sworn she saw distrust in him.
She kept her chin high and used her hand to cover the top of the brambles. ‘As you are not of a mood to speak with frankness and I am not willing to be the only one doing so, I suggest we do not discuss my collections.’
‘Did you find the thorns near here?’ he asked, raising a brow. ‘Near a person called Ella Etta?’
‘Possibly.’
‘Thorns?’ he asked. ‘She must be—’
Vivian carefully lifted the bag so he could see inside. ‘They’re wrapped around a bottle, with a medicinal inside.’
He shook his head. ‘I cannot believe she would give you thorns.’
‘Do you not think I should take it?’
He put his hand over hers. The touch spiked through her body, reaching deeper than even the thorns could have pierced. ‘If she told you to take the liquid, you should. Do exactly as she says. She’s wise.’
‘Oh. My.’
They stopped at the door of the carriage and he tucked the book under his left arm, easily balancing the large tome there. A breeze ruffled his hair, bringing more coolness to the air and a contrast to the rays of sunshine warming her. She shivered, though she wasn’t sure if it was from the air, or his regard.
She dreaded the journey home, fearing what she was returning to.
The driver had already arranged the steps and now had the door open.
Mavis bustled from the house and moved to the carriage door. She gave a long glance at Vivian, then a brief peek at Everleigh before moving inside.
Everleigh waited for Vivian to step into the vehicle.
‘It has been an eventful trip,’ Vivian said. ‘The most eventful of my life.’
He took her glove in the same way he might if he were intent on pulling her hand to his lips for a kiss, but only raised it chest high. ‘I must apologise for your awareness of the disastrous visit from Alexandria earlier. The frankness I had with you. Please forget this happened.’
‘I suspect I won’t easily forget these past few days.’ She pulled her hand from his and put her fingertips to her temple. ‘You do tend to linger in a woman’s notions.’ She tapped her forehead, but her upturned lips took the seriousness from the words.
‘You may keep the book.’ He again took her hand to guide her on to the steps. ‘I hope that while you are reading it, you do not feel that our time together has been more of a trial for you than the misfortunes mentioned in the pages.’
She contemplated his serious manner. Then she moved into the carriage. He stepped inside enough to place the volume in her hands before exiting and shutting the door with a quiet snap.
She stared at the tome and the carriage lurched forward. He’d ended the one excuse she’d had to see him again by giving her the book. And the regard he gave her said he understood what he did.
She hoped he did not regret telling her to follow Ella Etta’s instructions—because if she lived he would have to marry her.