“You’ve Miss Ailesbury to thank, I’m afraid.” Mr. Lovell’s voice was gentle, yet I sensed his embarrassment. It fueled mine.
“I only hope she didn’t tell everyone present that night,” I said, unable to look elsewhere but at my hands on my lap. Shame was a painful, poisonous feeling. I felt as though I were being devoured alive, my insides rotting and falling away.
“If it reassures you in any way, it was to me and her brother—”
“Vincent?”
“Yes. We were in the gardens—that was nearly an hour after you left—and she came upon us there. Her spirits were agitated. She complained about your mother, which—I assumed—was her way of opening the subject. When Ailesbury asked her to stop speaking in riddles, she told us everything.”
“If Vincent knows, it might be a matter of time before the rest of the Isle of Wight does,” I said.
“Your cousin was too shocked and—forgive me—too embarrassed to continue the conversation. He refused to listen to any more of Miss Ailesbury’s accounts.”
I nodded, my face burning. “I appreciate—Papa and I appreciate your discretion, sir.”
“I can assure you, Nathaniel, that proper measures have been taken to avoid a scandal. The family was forced to take me in their confidence once they discovered Miss Ailesbury’s lapse in judgment.” Mr. Lovell sighed tiredly. “I can’t say the same regarding any gossip that might arise from this incident, but the least we can do is to prevent such talk from turning into something far more hideous than it really is.”
How could he say that? My family had been shamed. Papa—a respectable man of God—turned into an object of mockery, insult, and heaven knew what else. Mama—a woman known for her piety and strength—now a blot to the family name. Once my parents recovered from the embarrassment and the pain? We’d no choice but to live the rest of our lives as a lie before the world and before God, Papa had said. I, however, kept a tenuous hold on hope—reconciliation, forgiveness, a willingness to start over, our little family content and more devoted to each other than before. I loved Mama no more, no less, and I desperately missed her presence in the vicarage.
“Nothing can be more hideous than this, sir.”
He hesitated before speaking. “Of course.”
I braved a look in his direction, and he met my gaze with an uncomfortable little smile. The relief I felt being in his company again—this time alone, our connection shaped by something far more private than a mere holiday in Somerset—was difficult to describe. I wished then I were older, that we’d crossed paths much sooner and so had developed a deeper, more sympathetic affection than what we now had. I even wished, however guiltily, I were born into privilege. Then I’d have enjoyed his friendship with greater assurance of a life spent devoted to each other.
“I’m sorry you have to be involved,” I added. “Had I been you, sir, I’d have regretted my connection to the family.”
“Thank heaven you aren’t me, then. I regret nothing at all,” he replied, his smile softening. “Especially my connection to your family.”
My embarrassment took on an entirely new meaning, and my distress was temporarily forgotten. I forced myself to look out the window instead, forced my attention to the familiar discomfort of the carriage’s rough progress through quiet roads that took me closer and closer to Shepley Abbey.
I also forced my attention back to the miniature I held on my lap—secure and protected from Mr. Lovell’s view.
Against my damp palm and lifeless fingers it felt disconcertingly alive. I clung to it, grateful the journey to Somerset wasn’t darkened by any unwanted presence.
Perhaps, I thought, the dead perceived the thoughts of the living. If I wasn’t haunted throughout my journey back to Liscombe, it might be because the ghost—such a childish fancy!—somehow saw into my mind and knew my plans to return the miniature to the church where I’d first discovered it. I’d long convinced myself simply throwing it away wouldn’t have helped. I truly believed such an act would likely anger the dead, not appease it because its hauntings were attempts at making me understand that it wished to be returned to its proper place, where it shouldn’t have been disturbed. I still couldn’t fathom how it found its way to the island, but I did know that it remained with me for a reason I didn’t understand.
I felt the gouged surface of the miniature against my fingertips. How odd, I thought, that an object with strong supernatural connections would offer me a measure of comfort and familiarity at a time of confusion and distress.
* * * *
The family welcomed me to their circle with the warmth I could only expect from my superiors. Lady Lovell was indifferent, and the Hon. Richard Lovell and Miss Camilla Lovell were politely curious. Once I’d satisfied their inquiries regarding my age, Papa’s occupation, and my place of residence, they thanked me and turned their attention elsewhere.
Lord Lovell, however, didn’t forget me. He welcomed me back with his usual noise and bluster, shaking my hand and clapping a hand against my back with so much force that I coughed, much to his delight.
“A mere child!” he bellowed, his body shaking. “Well, you look like one. Yet here you are, alone, as though you’re about to take on the world!”
“I’ll be eighteen soon, my lord,” I offered between coughing fits, my face burning.
“Yes, of course, you will be. I’d take you with me to my favorite lake, but the weather’s been atrocious lately.”
The gentleman indicated the window with a sweep of a broad hand. Outside the rain clouds gathered. Indeed, it had been gray and dreary throughout my journey, the chill winds reducing me to a shivering, blue-faced wretch despite my traveling-coat.
“I know no card games, I’m afraid.”
“Card games?” he echoed with a derisive snort. “Who said anything about card games, pray? I’ve no interest in those! Young man, when the weather turns foul, it’s always in one’s best interest to read, read, read—not pass the time staring at bits of decorated hard paper!”
I stole a glance in Mr. Lovell’s direction and found him busily scanning his father’s shelves, running his fingers over weathered spines as he read their titles. Every so often, he’d pause and pull out a book, inspect the cover carefully, open the volume to the first few pages, and then return it to its shelf. I marveled—a good deal more than I perhaps ought to, given such an idle, mundane moment. I couldn’t help myself, though.
“Yes, my lord,” I said, turning my attention back to my host as he poured himself more drink. He sat back in his chair—a monstrous, puffed-up thing that looked like a giant, cushioned mouth that held Lord Lovell between its lips, ready to swallow him alive.
I took great delight in that it was only three of us in the warm, cheerful room—Lord Lovell’s sanctuary. Everything seemed so far, far removed from my world that I clung to it with as much energy as I could. When Lord Lovell thought to embarrass me with blunt questions about my aspirations—both regarding work and marriage—I didn’t care.
What did it matter, after all? He offered much more to me in a mere hour than the vicarage had in weeks. I took what I could get, selfishness or no.
“I wish to teach,” I said in answer to his first set of questions. To his second, I replied, “I must confess to not giving it much thought. Not yet, at the very least. It’s always been my desire to seek work first before considering marriage.”
“Considering marriage,” he chuckled, slapping a hand against his knee. “One might mistake you for choosing between occupations, young man. ‘Considering marriage,’ indeed.”
“Papa, do stop your bullying,” Mr. Lovell called from the other end of the room.
I suppressed a smile, but my host was quick to read my amusement, and he laughed despite his son’s chiding.
“Well, I suppose such is the thing with young folks these days,” Lord Lovell sighed, waving his free hand dismissively. “Choose, choose, choose—as though they had all the time in the world, with no thought to their obligations.”
I surprised myself with my boldness that evening. “Perhaps, my lord, it would be a wise move for those who might not be in the best situation. Had I any brothers or sisters, I wouldn’t be so cautious, knowing the family had other chances through them.”
“And your father knows of your schemes?”
“Yes, my lord. He suggested I wait before making a decision.”
“Did he now?” Lord Lovell’s eyes widened, but he didn’t seem offended or outraged. “A liberal gentleman, your father.”
I nodded. “He is in his own way.”
“You’re always welcome to explore the countryside, of course,” Mr. Lovell offered as he joined us, two books in hand. “I do believe an occasional walk—even in dreary weather—suits your nature far more than endless hours with your nose between the pages of a book.”
“And I suppose it also suits the boy to catch something incurable out there,” his father snorted before swallowing his drink in two great gulps. He proceeded to pour himself more wine.
Mr. Lovell laughed and took his place beside me. “I don’t believe in such nonsense, Papa. Fresh air, however cold it is, will serve him much better than confinement.”
He looked at me with a broad smile, and I couldn’t help but return it.
“Should the boy take ill and die, Miles, it will be on your head.”
“I’ll take the blame, only because I know it will never happen.”
“I’d like to see St. Bertram’s church tomorrow, actually,” I said. Lord Lovell blinked, looking bewildered.
“Tomorrow?” he echoed. “Good God, boy, do you wish to succumb this soon?”
“Peace of mind, my lord. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
Lord Lovell looked askance at me. “And you believe a walk to that pitiful pile of stones will give you that?”
“Yes, I do.”
He now turned to give his son the same doubtful look.
“Miles, you really ought to choose much more promising sights for our guests. Never in my life had I expected St. Bertram’s church to be referred to as a cause for someone’s peace of mind.”
Mr. Lovell, as always, apologized to me as he led me to my bedroom. As always, I didn’t mind and tried to convince him his father gave me a much-needed respite from my current troubles.
He looked unsure at first. Then he nodded, running a hand through his hair. “You’re either brave or foolish.”
“I’m one more than the other,” I replied, turning to face him as I stepped inside. He regarded me in silence for a moment.
“I suspect we disagree on which one it is. Good night, Nathaniel.”