part0010

T he traps were empty the next morning and the next, much to the dismay of Preston and Mr. Hubert. So on their third night of trapping, the gamekeeper tried a simple net trap near the pond. Instead of the predator, they caught Lucifer.

“Forgive me, old friend.” Hubert laughed as he cut the rope, freeing the hissing goose. “You are not who we are looking for.”

“What else can we do?” Preston was teetering on the line between frustration and anger. He knew neither Mr. Hubert nor the gamekeeper was inept. What were they doing wrong?

“It’s been three nights without a sign, Mr. Blake. Perhaps we scared the thing off for good.” Mr. Hubert wrapped the rope from the trap around the length of his arm and shoulder.

“What if we didn’t?” Anger was winning.

“Whatever it is cannot be too great a threat. Nothing is dead, and quite frankly, a lack of tracks is not necessarily a bad sign.” Mr. Hubert bowed. “If the Averys need anything further, I am sure they will direct me.”

Preston raked a hand through his hair. There was nothing further he could do.

He’d made another promise to Caroline he couldn’t keep.

Not that they were on speaking terms anyway. Since dinner three nights ago, she’d appeared for every meal, but vanished directly after, leaving him no time to speak with her alone.

What would he say, anyway? I am sorry for disappointing you again. I’m sorry I cannot be the man you wish me to be. I want to go back to before, but I cannot.

His days at the pond and the evening spent checking on the traps had eased his mind in the sense that he could at least soothe Caroline’s heart in another way.

But he could not argue with Hubert. Romeo and his family were happy. And alive.

Instead of his usual day out of doors, Preston retreated into the house alone, stressed and uneasy. Mother’s voice, mixed with Mrs. Avery’s, carried from the drawing room, so he continued walking. The library down the hall would suffice for a temporary hideaway. He needed a moment to breathe.

Curtains were drawn open at full scale, setting the room ablaze with sunlight. Preston nodded to a maid dusting the shelves and, after retrieving a book on horticulture—every man’s estate needed to look its best, after all— he fell into a chair and tried to relax.

But the sun was too bright. His book was shadowed, and his eyes were pained from the piercing light in his peripheral vision. He closed his eyes and laid his head back. The insides of his eyelids were painted red from the sun, and Preston instinctively thought of fire.

Preston jumped up. The sound reverberated in the room, coming from the corner of the library. The maid.

A loud crash sounded, followed by a boom that silenced the screaming. The room moved in circles in Preston’s mind and transformed into a house. A small house with one room.

It was happening all over again. Smoke filled Preston’s nostrils, drying his throat into a desert. His mind went black, his vision clouded, and his legs were leaden as he lunged forward desperately to find the woman.

She is hurt. She is hurting. He could see no fire, but his body burned, and his throat ached to breathe. He dropped to his knees, pulling wildly at his cravat.

“Help,” croaked the small voice. “My legs.”

Crawling, Preston reached out to find her, but his limbs were failing him, shaking with both desperation and fear. “I’m coming . . . I’m . . . coming.” He couldn’t stand the heat. He fingered the buttons on his shirt. His skin would burn again. He’d not recover this time. He couldn’t save her.

“Preston?” Mother’s voice filled his ears. She did not belong here.

“Go,” he told her. “Get out of here.”

He felt her arms wrap around him.

“Oh, Winifred!” Mrs. Avery squealed from a distance. “You poor thing, what happened?”

“No.” Preston’s voice was a whine. Could they not all see? They would burn alive in here.

“I fell from the ladder,” the small voice said. “And it followed me. My legs are stuck.”

Mother held Preston’s face between her hands. His eyes were focusing, but she wasn’t real. She couldn’t be. Not here. “You are all right, darling. There is no fire. Breathe. I am here.”

Another hand grabbed his. A smooth, perfect hand.

“What is happening?” came her soft voice.

“He’s confused,” Mother whispered. “It happens occasionally. It must’ve been the maid’s fall. You stay. I’m going to fetch him something to drink.”

“Preston?” Caroline’s heart was racing as her trembling hands searched for something to do, some part of Preston to hold and fix. She thought of what Mrs. Blake had said and repeated the words. “Everything is all right. There is no fire here.”

Preston pulled away from her and covered his face with his hands. Mama and another servant were helping Winifred out of the room. Caroline searched Preston for any sign of exterior wounds. His shirt was hanging open, unbuttoned. Why?

She knew asking questions would be of no benefit yet, but she also didn’t know what to say that might help him. He was as still as a board, taking deep breaths. Caroline’s heart ached to be near him. Gently she touched his arm. He flinched but did not pull away. So she inched closer, until she could fit her arm along his back.

His breathing grew even, and Caroline rested her chin on his shoulder. After a moment, he leaned in beside her, and she wrapped her arms around him fully. Preston leaned his head upon hers. He wiped his eyes with the palms of his hands and cleared his throat.

“I’m here,” Caroline said as calmly as she could. “I cannot imagine your pain, but I am here.”

“I’m sorry,” Preston breathed. “I’m so sorry you’re here.”

Caroline reared back to face him, though he would not see her. “I am not sorry. I am glad to be beside you.” Her eyes fell to his chest and to his left side which was more badly scarred than his jaw, and her face felt as hot as tea. “However, if you’re going to take off your clothes, we really should consider getting you to your bedchamber.”

Preston looked up suddenly, then back down to his shirt, and Caroline forced a weak smile. “Here,” she said, straightening his shirt and buttoning the top few buttons. She reached behind them for his jacket while he finished the last few buttons and helped him into it.

Preston’s stiff movements told Caroline that he likely wanted to escape. And for good reason. How had she gone so long without realizing the fire lived on in his mind? She knew he was uncomfortable, but now more than ever she wanted him to know how much she cared. How dear he was to her.

Preston stood and helped Caroline to her feet.

“Would you like to join me on a walk to the pond? Or on a ride?” she asked, squeezing his arm.

He averted his gaze, taking a step backward. “I—um. No, I think I should rest.”

“Of course. Whatever you need.”

Preston rubbed the back of his neck, holding his loose cravat in the other hand. His voice was low and thick. “You must think me mad.”

“Preston, no. Not in the least.” Caroline took a step closer.

“Did you see . . . everything?” His eyes were the most vulnerable she’d ever seen them.

“Just the very end,” she answered. She’d seen him tugging at his shirt, begging in a broken voice for his mother to leave him there.

Caroline thought for a moment. She didn’t know what it was like to experience something as horrific as what Preston had, but she knew the shock of seeing something difficult and wishing she could unsee it.

“Did you know I watched Romeo hatch from his shell?” Caroline rushed, trying to get the words out before Preston thought her insensitive. “It was a beautiful morning, and I’d ran out without my pelisse when Father told me the ducks had hatched. All but Romeo, that is. I made it just in time. And instantly adored him.”

Preston offered her a half smile, so she continued, “But the morning I found him hurt was entirely different. I can remember exactly how the grass smelled—a bit musty and sharp, like metal. The air was chilly, almost wet, and I remember the birds weren’t singing. If I close my eyes, I can still see him there in the middle of the grass. His feathers were everywhere. His body was bloodied and torn. I had never seen such a sight, and it was entirely shocking.”

Caroline took Preston’s hand in hers. “Even sometimes now, when I am out walking, I look out among the grass and my mind tricks me into believing I’ll see him there. That I’ll see feathers or worse. So I can only imagine what you see when you close your eyes. When you hear a sound or smell a scent.”

Preston squeezed her hand, looking down.

“You are not mad.” Caroline lifted his hand to her lips and kissed his knuckles. “You are brave and strong and resilient.”

“Sometimes I wonder if the fire made me less brave.” Preston gave a weak smile. “I didn’t think twice when I realized the family was trapped inside with a fire burning out the front room. The mother and four children were trapped in the back room without a window to escape from. The father was already working in my orchards.”

Caroline stilled, listening. She wanted him to go on, so she stroked his hand with hers.

“The door was locked, so I tried to shield my face and rammed through with my left side. I fell right into the flames.” Preston’s eyes were distant. “But I couldn’t stop. Not knowing the family was trapped inside. We covered the children in blankets and I carried them out. Their mother wouldn’t wait. I begged her—” he cleared his throat. “I begged her to wait. My boots were thick and offered some protection against the hot floor, but she wasn’t wearing shoes. She made it out, but . . . not long after, infection set in, and the doctors had to amputate.”

Caroline’s eyes closed tight. She could hardly bear to hear of the accident. But Preston lived it again and again. How did he bear it?

“You did everything you could,” she whispered. “You saved them. To live through all of that . . . you are the very definition of bravery, Preston.”

A bustling sound came from the corner and Caroline turned to see two servants lifting the ladder back into place upon the bookshelf.

“Thank you.” Preston’s voice was soft. He bowed over her hand and paused a moment before releasing it. “I hope to believe you one day.”

Caroline’s shoulders fell as Preston crossed the room to the door. His mother stood waiting with a glass of tea in her hands. After whispering something to Preston and kissing his cheek, she let him pass her by before walking into the room.

“Are you shaken?” she asked Caroline, directing her to a nearby settee. “I was the first time I found him like that.”

Caroline took her seat. Her mind was whirling, trying to make sense of what she’d just witnessed. “How often are his episodes?”

“Much less than they were. It’s been . . . three months? More, since he thought he was back in the fire.”

“I had no idea . . .” Caroline swallowed.

Mrs. Blake shifted toward her. “Why do you think Preston keeps to his estate? And distances himself from everyone he cares about?”

Caroline shrugged her shoulders in a rather unladylike fashion. “I suppose he is uncomfortable with what others think when they see him.”

“I think you are right,” Mrs. Blake said warmly. “And worse, I think when they speak, he believes them. Any time Society tells him he is ugly, or unwelcome, or unworthy of their time, instead of brushing them off like he normally would, Preston accepts their judgements. Seeds have taken root within him, and he does not believe he is deserving of the happiness he, like we all, wishes for.”

“That is absurd.” Caroline’s eyes widened, her head shook in disagreement. “No one of any substance would hear his story and speak ill of him.”

Mrs. Blake tsked. “You’d be very surprised.”

“I cannot fathom it,” Caroline said. “He is too good a man.”

“I agree wholeheartedly.” Mrs. Blake smiled and stood from her seat. “I think he often worries that his life is too difficult to share. He cares very much for you, you know.”

Caroline looked up. A familiar aching in her chest resurfaced, and she wanted to tell Mrs. Blake that she’d tried to make amends with Preston. She’d spoken out of turn, brashly even, to hear his explanation so that she could give hers. But nothing had come of it.

After Mrs. Blake took her leave of the room, Caroline stayed. She sat alone in the library staring at the spot where Preston had leaned into her. He hadn’t lied; he was a broken man. But he was still Preston. And if he cared for her as his mother suggested, if there was even a chance they could sort out a future, Caroline would try.