IN THE MORNING, Colin brought Amy breakfast in bed, then refused her offer of help again before disappearing into his study.
She sighed. Nothing had changed there.
After eating, she quickly bathed from the washstand and donned her old gown, then decided to see if she could find clean sheets to change the bedding before she left the room. She hadn’t noticed anyplace linens might be kept in the unrestored portions of the house, so she looked around the bedroom. The chamber held no cupboard, only the chest at the foot of the bed. She lifted its heavy wooden lid, and Colin’s scent wafted out.
She breathed deeply, a smile teasing at her lips. Inside, his clothes were neatly folded. The suits were darker colors than were currently in fashion—hunter green, deep blue, rich brown—the fabrics fine, the decorations simple and tasteful.
One was black velvet with glinting gold braid…was it the same one he’d worn for the coronation procession, or had he grown taller since then? His shirts were very white, sewn of gossamer cambric that felt smooth and expensive beneath her fingertips. She shook one out and held it up to herself, giggling when it fell well below her knees.
Carefully she folded and replaced it, then delved beneath lace-edged cravats, tall boot stockings, and more handkerchiefs than a man could possibly use in a lifetime. To her vast relief, she found extra sheets in the bottom. And atop them, a small leather-bound book.
Gold lettering on the red cover identified it as Hesperides, or The Works Both Human and Divine of Robert Herrick, Esq. Inside, the front page was inscribed in beautiful, flowing script.
“March 1651. Poetry, for my son the dreamer. Your loving Mother.”
Colin, a dreamer? Amy’s lips curved at the thought.
She opened the book to a random page.
Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old Times is still a-flying:
And this same flower that smiles today,
Tomorrow will be dying.
Words to live by, were they not? Smiling, she replaced the book and changed the sheets, folding the used ones and leaving them atop the chest. Anxious to explore the castle, she hurried to finish getting ready.
A survey of the ground floor revealed nothing of interest. Narrow slits through the curtain wall let in little light, rendering the unrestored chambers dank and dark. What was left of the furniture was draped in cloth, encrusted with layers of dust sufficient to discourage her from peeking underneath.
She paused at the closed door to Colin’s study, picturing him inside hacking away at his ledgers. She hoped he was suffering mightily, although in truth she had no idea whether he had an aptitude for such work. There was a lot she didn’t know about him, she admitted to herself.
Squaring her shoulders, she made her way to the entry, where the beautifully restored oak staircase renewed her hopes of finding something more intriguing upstairs. She trudged slowly up, then stopped when her gaze lit on her trunk downstairs, still sitting against the wall where Colin had shoved it. What was left of her family lay locked inside.
She closed her eyes, rubbing her temples. Months had passed since the fire. What would her father think of the way she’d put off getting on with her life, put off reestablishing the family business she’d promised would continue?
”Oh, Papa!” Her hoarse whisper filled the entry as she lifted her skirts and bolted downstairs for the trunk, then dragged it scraping along the stone floor to the bedchamber. She reached to pull the key from her hem even as she shut the door behind her.
Falling to her knees, she worked the lock with unsteady fingers, then threw open the lid. The tray on top was lifted and dropped to the floor, the box of loose gemstones discarded without a thought. For underneath lay the real treasure: bits of her father wrapped in small squares of white flannel, pieces of his soul etched forever in his exquisite works of art.
She thrust her hands into the trunk, filled both fists with jewelry, then moved to the bed and allowed the pieces to sift through her open fingers…remembering.