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Tristan was a success. As was I, though one newspaper had described me as “perhaps more aptly the errant Daughter Nature, with far too much darkness in her eyes to mother the world.” Yet that hadn’t deterred the leery and over-familiar men from the previous day from leaving flowers and calling cards all morning. I worried briefly that the reporter had seen me somehow for what I truly was, but only very briefly. If they knew, they would know that I wasn’t natural at all, and that would be the far bigger story. Time had made me worry less that people could read my face and see my secrets, yet I knew I would carry the fear with me forever. You are never safe, when you have killed. I would glance over my shoulder until I died, and then the world could do what it liked with my body and my memory.
I wondered, as I flicked through the calling cards, scowling at names I didn’t recognise – which were all of them - whether Damien would call. I hoped he would, I think. I wasn’t sure. I had grown used to life without him. To have him return felt a little like going back to the days after Gabriel’s death. I had grown. I didn’t want to feel so unsure again.
‘Darling, I’m just going to nip out to Tristan’s.’
Edwina popped her head round the door, resplendent in a wide-brimmed bonnet trimmed with lilac blossoms and a wide, wine-coloured ribbon.
‘I thought he was coming here,’ I said, wrinkling my nose as I squinted at a particularly perplexing double-barrelled scrawl. ‘Who on earth is Mr Smi-, Mr Smithery- Mr- Oh, never mind.’
‘He was, but he’s tied up with commission meetings. I said I’d bring him some lunch.’
‘One would almost think he didn’t have any staff,’ I said wryly, throwing the card away from me in disgust.
‘Oh, hush.’ Edwina twinkled at me as she lolled against the door, swinging a basket from her arm like Red Riding Hood. ‘You can come too. You know he’d like you to.’
‘I’ve too much work to do, sorry.’
Edwina pursed her lips.
‘Now Fleur, you know I let you do whatever you like, and it is your house, so I don’t like to tell you what to do, do I?’
‘Go on.’ I gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘Govern me. In my own home.’
‘Don’t be silly, dear. Just – as a special favour to me, don’t receive any of those strange men who’ve left you cards while you’re on your own. It wouldn’t be the thing, you know, and I think people get some strange ideas about artist’s models and might be prone to, ahem, take liberties, if you know what I mean.’
‘I solemnly swear that nobody will take any liberties. They wouldn’t dare, with you to return at any second. But no, I don’t plan on receiving today.’
‘You’re a good girl.’ Edwina smiled at me with the motherly fondness that never failed to make me feel warm inside. ‘I’ll be back in an hour or so.’
She skipped away and I rose and made my way over to the window to watch her leave. I saw Edwina bound down the steps, like a debutante with the spring in her step and that gay bonnet. She paused as she walked down the road, and I saw her talking to a man who doffed his beaver and didn’t seem at all put out when she embraced him. He had come to call, then. I supposed I was glad. I mean, I was glad, but I didn’t think I wanted to be. It made me feel indebted to him in some way, and at a disadvantage in his company. And terribly, terribly foolish.
Damien and Edwina spoke for a little longer as I rocked back and forward on my heels, biting my lip and furrowing my brow. I saw him glance up towards the house and automatically stepped back, although I think I was too far away for him to see me. Edwina pointed towards the door, and I started forward again, concerned that she was telling him I wouldn’t receive callers today. To my relief, and not little embarrassment, she waved him past her, and he climbed my stone steps and knocked.
I hurried back to my seat and buried my arms elbow deep in the papers at my desk, shuffling them this way and that so I looked busy when Peregrine tapped at the door politely.
‘It’s Mr Hudson, Miss.’
‘Hmm, yes. I saw him coming.’
‘You did say you weren’t taking calls, but I thought – what with him being – well, one of us...’
I smiled, and Peregrine grinned back conspiratorially.
‘You thought right,’ I said. ‘Is he downstairs?’
‘I sat him in the hall. Shall I bring him up?’
I pondered for a moment, hiding my face as I shuffled my papers this way and that for a moment.
‘No. I’ll go down. Tell him I’ll be there in five minutes, and bring us up a tea service in ten, if you wouldn’t mind.’
Peregrine left me, and I heard the murmur of voices as he passed my message on to Damien. They must have talked for a minute or two before I heard Peregrine’s footsteps. Then I stood, smoothed my gown, and went to greet him. It was my house, I reminded myself, and I was in complete control. All would be well. It was only Damien, after all. Grubby Damien, who lived in walls.
My soft-soled slippers didn’t make a sound as I padded along the carpet and out onto the landing that overhung the hall. He sat on the spindly-legged loveseat, drumming his fingers on the top of his beaver. He hadn’t seen me.
After the surprise of seeing him, face-to-face and almost larger than life in the brightly lit salon the previous day, it was a pleasure to observe him for a little while in the gently filtered light of my hallway. The sun came through the tall, high windows, highlighting the dust in the air. I felt more comfortable instantly. This was Damien as he was supposed to appear.
I allowed my gaze to rest on him, taking in all the details of his appearance, voyeuristically taking my fill. Other men, or at least, society men, didn’t look like Damien did. But they’d probably never slept in fields. He had, across England and back again, and while he didn’t precisely look like it, I felt as though I could tell. His coat, although well-cut, was rumpled, his cravat, a deep, claret red, was a few fingers too loose at his throat, and there were scuffs around the toes of his brown leather boots.
Damien tapped his hat again impatiently, then ran a hand through his cropped hair. Months in the sun had lightened it to a more sandy brown, and it caught the light in the hall. He sighed, and chewed on his lip. I realised he was nervous, and couldn’t stifle a smile. It was my house, and I was in control.
‘Good morning.’
I stepped forward and he jumped, dropping his gloves as he did so.
‘Fleur! You startled me. How long have you been standing there?’
I leaned over the balustrade and smiled coyly.
‘Why would that matter? Would you like to come up? Peregrine’s bringing tea.’
Damien frowned at me and scooped his gloves from the floor before bounding up the stairs like a big collie. He was beside me before I knew it, broad as ever, at least twice as wide as I.
‘Good Lord, you must have grown.’
He grinned and bowed over my hand.
‘It’s all the space.’
‘Shall we?’
I led the way into the sitting room, perching myself on the prettiest floral couch with elegance and grace. When I had bought the house, it was the first time I had ever had free reign to decorate anything. I had gone perhaps a little overboard with prettiness, and the resulting room was a mis-matched paradise of bright floral prints and ornately carved, delicate furniture. Damien frowned at the chairs and took the largest of the couches opposite me.
‘So, Peregrine, eh? He no longer valets then, I take it?’
‘He buttles,’ I said. ‘And he does it remarkably well. Although in all fairness, he’s more of a general manager than a butler. He looks after my charities, this house and sorts out a lovely couple who look after the Lincoln property when we’re not there. Which is most of the time, really.’
‘I’m a little surprised you kept him around. Doesn’t he remind you of bad times?’
I looked down at my hands.
‘I still don’t know if I deserve to forget. But it’s like anything horrible. You get used to it if you think of it every day. That is – I don’t really know what I mean. All I know is that Peregrine deserved better than he had, and not only for his loyalty to me during my marriage and after. So, I did what I could. I had the money after all.’
‘You’re still being too hard on yourself.’
I didn’t know what to say to that, but was saved from answering by the entrance of Peregrine, carrying a tea service.
‘Isn’t it ridiculous,’ I said after he had left us. ‘I don’t know how you take your tea. Of all the things we know about one another, I don’t know that.’
Damien leaned back, and the couch creaked.
‘Not a lot of milk and a great deal of sugar.’
I raised my brows and set to pouring.
‘Edwina says you can tell a lot about a man by how he takes his tea.’
‘So, Tristan is milky and sweet? And I’m strong and sweet. I always liked Edwina.’
I rolled my eyes.
‘Sandwich?’
‘Thank you. So, are you going to tell me if you’re marrying Tristan yet?’
I slowly chewed a ham sandwich to buy myself some time, all the while trying to stop myself from reaching up to check my lips for errant crumbs.
‘You could find that out from anyone – if you don’t already know. Why didn’t you ask your mother?’
‘I know what everyone else thinks. And it doesn’t matter a jot what anyone else thinks because only you know if it’s true. Tristan thinks he’s going to marry you, but I’d rather know what you think.’
‘I’d say that was my business, wouldn’t you?’
Damien shrugged and attacked his food with gusto.
‘I don’t want to talk about me.’ Despite it all, I felt that I owed him something at least. ‘I hate talking about me. I’m still scared, you know, that people will find out.’
‘What you did?’ he asked.
‘And what I am. That’s one of the reasons I tracked Peregrine down in the first place.’
Damien nodded, his sandy brows furrowed.
‘Keeping your friends close and your enemies closer?’
‘Something like that. And that I felt like I owed him something. Of course, he’s so helpful and kind, it didn’t take long before I’d grown genuinely fond of him.’
‘Do you hate me for leaving you?’
I shook my head.
‘No. I felt-’ I waved my hand as I searched for the right word. ‘Abandoned, I suppose. But I got over it. And I couldn’t blame you for getting away. I would have, I think, if I’d have known how. I didn’t know how to do anything after... after Gabriel died. It’s been over a year, but I think about it all the time. Well, not all the time, but it’s always there, like a shadow over my life. It’ll be there until I die.’
‘Perhaps.’ Damien leaned forward and reached over the little table between us, covering my small, pale hand with his big brown one. I stared at it for a moment, and decided he could stay there, for the moment at least.
‘I still hate myself a little for taking his money,’ I continued, finding great relief in simply telling somebody. It was Damien, he was the walls. ‘Which is why I’ve tried to sort out the charities. But every now and then I’ll do something almost entirely selfish with it and despise myself.’
‘Such as?’
His hand covered mine still, not moving.
‘Buying frocks and houses. All this decorating and furniture. I don’t know. I escaped. He died. That’s more than enough for me. Why should I have profited in any other way? Yet other times, I remember...’
I trailed off and shivered. I still had nightmares sometimes. Every few weeks, perhaps. Something like that. I’d stopped telling Edwina about them long ago.
Damien said nothing, just watched me with those kind eyes.
‘I wanted to thank you, actually,’ I said, all in a rush. He raised his brows, but stayed silent. ‘For being there. In the walls. I can’t tell you how comforting it was to me, during that time. I think it was like how people talk about guardian angels. Watching over me.’
‘I didn’t shoot him, though. And you wouldn’t feel this way if I had, would you?’
‘No.’
‘I’m sorry I didn’t do it.’
‘No,’ I said again. ‘Really. You were right. I should have killed him. He should have died for what he did, and I think it was a kind of natural justice that his own daughter did it. And his wife. It was like in that moment I was his own perversions, uniting against him. Isn’t that ridiculous?’
‘A little.’ He smiled. ‘But poetic.’
‘That’s it. Poetic justice. When I put it like that, it makes it easier to sleep at night.’
Damien squeezed my hand, and I smiled.
‘Perhaps I shouldn’t have gone,’ he said. His eyes crinkled at the corners, and I felt my lips twitch.
‘I did miss you,’ I breathed.
Damien was the world, in that moment. He was air and breathing. He was me, too. He knew me like nobody else, for all that he’d been away for over a year, for all that we hadn’t even got to know one another all that well before I killed Gabriel. He had killed too, and it was different but fundamentally the same, and it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered at that moment, and it was wonderful.
The door slammed downstairs, and I jumped. Damien smiled and squeezed my hand, dropping it slowly and trailing his fingers over the back as he moved away. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. The rough pads of his fingers grazed my skin so gently that it almost hurt. In a second, I was nervous to be alone with him. Then Edwina came in, and I felt a rush of annoyance. This repeated itself when I saw that she was closely followed by Tristan.
‘Damien!’ Edwina swooped forward and kissed him on the cheek. ‘I was hoping you’d still be here.’
‘Damien.’ Tristan gave a nod and threw himself into one of my little chairs. It gave a slight cracking sound.
‘How lovely – oh good, you’ve got tea, I’ll ring for some more.’ Edwina dropped her pretty bonnet on the table and crossed to the bell pull. ‘You’ll stay, won’t you, dear? We’ve the most wonderful haddock for dinner later if you’d like?’
Damien nodded, leaning casually back on my couch with a smile. He was so comfortable. I peered at him closely, wondering if I’d ever be that comfortable in my own skin again. I wasn’t sure if I ever had been.
‘I liked your picture, Tris.’
Tristan smiled in spite of himself, radiant as ever under the glow of praise.
‘Thanks, Damien. I did it all by myself. Well, Fleur helped, of course, by...’
‘Looking like Fleur,’ I put in. ‘It was terribly trying, I assure you.’
‘Glad I dropped in to see it, at any rate. Any luck selling it?’
Tristan shrugged.
‘Bit of interest here and there, but the commissions I’ve got from it – that’ll set us up for a good few years yet.’
Damien blinked at his nonchalant use of “us,” but let it pass without comment. I knew what he was thinking, and was glad. Let him worry, I thought. I had worried alone about him for the past year. Although not entirely alone.
‘So, what are your plans, Damien? And what have you been doing for the past – is it six months? No, it must be nearer nine, at least.’
‘Almost a year,’ Damien gave a wry smile. ‘Glad you’ve not been missing me too much.’
I dropped my eyes to my teacup. I didn’t know if he’d chance a glance my way, but didn’t want to risk it.
‘Good heavens, really? It’s fairly flown by – we’ve just been so busy, haven’t we? With Tristan’s work and Fleur’s charities and moving house. But she’ll have told you all that already – what have you been doing?’
‘Walking.’
‘Oh?’
‘That’s really all there is to it. I walked across England and back. Dallied a few places, explored a few more. But essentially, I walked about a bit.’
‘How lovely!’ Edwina clasped her hands in glee. ‘Very poetic. Did you write at all? Any verse?’
Damien laughed.
‘Not my sort of thing I’m afraid. Tris is your man for pretty things. I just walked about. Looked at things, but no poems.’
‘I should like to do something like that,’ Tristan said dreamily, shifting himself into a more poetic attitude on my little chair – his knee over one arm and his arm dangling down onto the floor, swinging gently.
‘Really?’ I was incredulous. I knew how long it took him to get ready to leave the house.
‘Oh, you know, camp under the stars. Sing ballads by the moonlight. To the trees, you know.’
Damien snorted.
‘And a bit of walking?’
‘Oh, I don’t know if I’d have time for that – with all the drawing I’d be doing. I’m not a man of leisure you know – got to work for my living. Of course, that’s why it’ll come to naught.’
Damien shook his head slightly, but left it alone. I smiled pleasantly, and wished I was somewhere else. The room was full of emotions, and emotions of any sort made me feel uncomfortable.
‘Do you know, I might be able to get sponsorship for such a thing, now I think on it,’ Tristan continued, clearly smitten with the idea of a great tour of Britain. ‘That’d be something, wouldn’t it? Might talk to my patron about it.’
‘As it happens, Edwina,’ Damien interrupted, ‘I’m afraid I won’t be able to stay for dinner. Promised I’d see a few fellows from the navy while I was in town. Actually, now you mention it, I said I’d see Guy – that’s one of them – a bit earlier so we could share a hack. Best be off, really. Thanks for the tea, Fleur.’
And he was gone, sudden as anything, and he left a space in that chair. For a moment, Edwina and I looked at the door as though we could see the echoes of his passing through it. She sighed, then rubbed her hands together and gave me an encouraging smile, before changing the subject entirely.
Tristan stayed for dinner, but he always did. While Edwina lived with me as something of a chaperone, he officially resided in lodgings on the other side of town, making much of his bachelor status and hinting at boisterous goings on, but he dined with us almost every night, and stayed in one of the guest bedrooms nine times out of ten. Sometimes I longed to be alone, but other times I was frightened by my own company. I was scared of myself, but I worried that I hadn’t given myself a chance. I still didn’t know who I really was, beneath those parts of me shaped by my upbringing and my parents.
That day I was listless. I grew quickly tired of Tristan prattling on about the walking tour I doubted he would ever take, and was glad when Edwina shepherded him out under the pretence of asking his opinion on the silk I had chosen for the drawing room. I stayed in my sitting room, and tried to stop myself thinking about Damien. I hated the turbulence he brought into my life, I hated how I both knew what he was thinking but also didn’t understand him at all. And how he seemed to be the same with me.
It was chilly, and the maid lit the fires, and I gave her a smile and thanked her, because I knew it was important to be nice to those who looked after you. I was content, I supposed. Edwina mothered me, and Tristan gently wooed me, and I kept myself busy, and we carried on. It was calm and quiet, and I daresay unremarkable. But I had missed Damien. I had missed him a great deal, particularly through the first few months.
I was stronger now, though. I resisted the urge to sit on the couch he had sat in. I wouldn’t be weak. I didn’t want anyone there; I didn’t need any men to complicate my life or tell me what to do or lie to me. That was what men did – lie and ruin other people’s lives. But not Tristan, merely a good-natured, gentle soul, and perhaps not Damien, for all that he was war weary. I just didn’t know.
Peregrine tapped lightly on my door – there, another man who I could trust.
‘Is dinner ready? Sorry, I lost track of time.’ I made to leave the room, but he detained me with a little bow of the sort I’d asked him not to do, because it pretended he was inferior. I sighed, but he was smiling, and looked remarkably boyish.
‘It’ll be half an hour yet. I’ve a letter for you.’
‘Oh?’
He grinned even wider and handed it to me. ‘Let me know if you want a response delivering.’
It was a thin square of folded paper, sealed with a blob of wax, into which was pressed a dried leaf. I pursed my lips.
‘Damn your impudence, George.’
He grinned again and gave another little bow as he backed out of the room.
Staring at the letter in my hand, I backed onto the couch and laid it on the cushions beside me. I should probably open it. But I didn’t want to do it straight away. It was delicious, the feeling of anticipation. Perhaps I had missed having a little excitement after all.
Closed, the paper could say anything. It could declare his undying love. I bit my lip. I wasn’t sure I wanted that. But it was nice to pretend, just for a moment. Like I used to pretend I could marry Tristan. I frowned, and before I could change my mind, reached out and split the seal.
I’d never seen his writing before. It was more like a print than anything else, but there was a beauty in his penmanship, for all that it lacked the finesse of some men’s that I had seen.
Fleur.
I’d like it if you’d meet me. Away from the house, so nobody can hear us. Not beneath the stars, I’m afraid, but somewhere it will only be you and I in the world, with no obligations and nobody to judge us. And you can just be the girl who wasn’t Alice. If you can get to the museum gardens tomorrow afternoon, I’ll be there from two, at the statue of Apollo. You need feel no obligation to come, if you don’t want.
Orlando.
I stared at the paper in my lap, gently tracing my fingers over the letters of his signature. I wanted Orlando back. I think that was all I had ever wanted; to live eternally in that carefree idyll between the wood and the walls. Yet I knew that could never be. I didn’t want Damien like that.