Page 17

B ella stayed in her room the remainder of the night. She didn’t go downstairs for dinner, either. And when Emmaline knocked on her door, she feigned sleep so she wouldn’t have to talk to her.

She understood the calamity of the situation with her father far too well. For the moment, she wanted to remain in solitude as she tried to collect her spiraling thoughts. It wouldn’t be long before the money ran out and the debt collectors came calling.

Her sleep was fitful with haunting dreams of burning ships and cursed books. She awoke several times to the mournful howl of the wolf in the distance. The howl that seemed to grow closer and closer with every passing moment. She was relieved she was in her bed, safe behind her closed bedroom door.

When dawn broke through the lace curtains at her window, she pushed aside the blankets and sat up, staring at the day as though it were offensive. She was still no closer to an answer than when she fled to her room leaving Lord Vincent in the parlor.

A tentative knock on her door sounded. She pushed her hair out of her face, swung her legs off the side of the bed, and took a deep breath.

“I suppose I can’t hide forever,” she said on a sigh. “Come in.”

Emmaline pushed open the door and peered through the crack, looking timid and almost afraid to enter. Bella waved her inside.

The girl entered and shut the door, pausing there with her hands clasped in front of her and worry creasing her face.

“I’m all right, Em,” she said at least. “Just…weary. Thank you for seeing to Lord Vincent yesterday. I didn’t have the strength.”

The girl remained mute and for a moment, it looked as though her face might collapse into tears. Bella stood and reached for her.

“Are you all right? Was he unkind to you?” she demanded.

“N-no, miss. It’s just that…well…”

Her shoulders slumped as she dropped her hands to her side. “He told you, didn’t he?”

Her bottom lip quivered as she nodded.

Fury boiled through her as she turned away from the girl and stepped to the window, staring down at the mess of thorns and vines that had overtaken the garden. How dare he tell her. The mess she, herself, created. Somehow, she would have to find the strength to clean it up.

“He didn’t tell me to be cruel. He told me because he wants me to look after you, to make sure you have someone to lean on.”

Was that true? What she knew of the man was that he had a fabulous library in a lovely manor in port. He was a widower, possibly looking for a new wife. He was never unkind to her. Always pleasant. And there never seemed to be gossip about him. Perhaps he was concerned about her and wanted only the best.

“After you left, I walked him to his carriage. That’s when he told me. It was nothing more than a mention that your father is in a bit of trouble with the Port Authority.”

Perhaps, then, the girl didn’t grasp the tragic situation. Best not to tell her yet. She would find a way to continue with the household and make sure everyone was taken care of. Emmaline included.

Finally, she turned from the window and plastered on a smile. “I’m glad you told me of his concern, but there’s really nothing to be worried about. All will be well. You’ll see. Now, I think I’m ready for some morning tea.”

She sounded far more confident than she felt. Emmaline nodded and headed to the wardrobe to select a fresh gown for the day. Bella’s discarded gown was in a heap on the nearby chair under the window. Her slippers remained in the middle of the floor. But she ignored all that as they moved about the day as though it were any other ordinary day.

As Emmaline finished helping her dress, she said, “There is one more thing about Lord Vincent, miss.”

“Oh?” She slipped on her shoes and turned to face the girl.

She flushed, her cheeks turning pink as she cast her eyes downward. “He asked if he could call again to see me.”

Bella was not surprised. A part of her was glad he had taken an interest in her. She was a lovely young girl and would do well in high society with the proper preparation.

“What did you tell him?” she asked.

“I didn’t tell him anything,” Emmaline replied, lifting her gaze to hers. “I wanted to speak to you first about it.”

A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. She hooked her arm with Emmaline’s. “I think it’s a fine idea. Write to him and have Gerald post the letter. We can have him for tea one afternoon if that suits.”

Her face lit with beaming joy. “That sounds wonderful.”

Bella left her to tend to her room as she headed downstairs to the dining room. Her stomach rumbled since she had skipped dinner the night before. After breakfast, she decided, she would return to the garden and clean up the mess she left behind the day before.

As she was finishing breakfast, Gerald appeared at her side.

“Miss, there is a gentleman caller in the parlor. He asked to see you.”

Surprise edged through her as she glanced up at the butler. “Lord Vincent?”

“No, miss. He said his name was Thornhurst. He brought this valet.”

She froze.

Her heart slammed against her chest in a wild, wicked beat. Her breath caught in her throat. Her breakfast immediately turned sour and threated to rise but she swallowed hard, keeping it down. What the devil was he doing here?

She hadn’t even thought of going into town. Hadn’t thought of the carriage, or the return to his shadow-drenched castle. Gods, she hadn’t even thought of the book. The cursed thing still sat on the writing desk in the library like it belonged there.

How had she let herself forget?

No—she hadn’t forgotten. She’d buried it deep down in the dark recesses of her mind. Ignored it. Pretended for one blissful moment that her life was normal again.

“Shall I bring refreshments?” he asked, blissfully unaware of her inner turmoil.

With precise movements, she folded her napkin in half and then in half again trying to keep her hands from shaking. “Yes, Gerald, and thank you.”

She pushed back from the table, rising on shaking legs, and took a deep breath. Gerald went on to the kitchen while she forced her feet to move, one step and then another, from the dining room to the parlor. The parlor where, only a day ago, Lord Vincent gave her the news that made her world come crashing down.

Leopold stood near the parlor hearth, too still for someone merely waiting. One hand rested lightly on the back of a chair, the other tucked behind his back, as if forcing himself into patience. The morning light cast sharp shadows across his coat—a deep charcoal gray, tailored close, with subtle embroidery along the cuffs and lapels. Silver thorns stitched in black thread. His cravat was simple, loosely tied, as if he’d dressed in haste—or with distraction.

He looked entirely out of place in the cozy, well-kept room. Not because he didn’t belong, but because he brought the weight of something darker with him. A shadow trailing behind polished boots and noble bearing.

Dickens stood inside the door, hands folded in front of him like a statue carved from stone. His eyes, that unnatural, ancient stillness in them, moved once to track her arrival. Then not at all.

Neither man spoke.

But Leopold’s gaze fixed on the doorway as she arrived. Expectant if a bit tense. Like he’d rehearsed what he meant to say and still didn’t trust himself to speak it aloud.

When she entered, she put on her best smile. “Your grace, this is a surprise. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

He moved from behind the chair and reached for her hand. She placed it in his gloved one, her heart skipping as he bent over it and pressed a soft, warm kiss there. His lips were featherlight against her skin, sending a tingling sensation through her to the top of her head. When she pulled it back, she clasped her hands in front of her doing her best to pretend he had not affected her.

“Apologies for the early morning calling. I do hope I’m not intruding on your day?”

“Not at all.” She moved to the nearby sofa and sat, perching on the edge and crossing her ankles.

Leopold’s gaze flickered to Dickens. Silent communication passed between them. His valet gave an almost imperceptible nod before glancing at her.

“Pleasure to see you again, my lady.”

And then he slipped out of the room on silent footsteps. The front door opened and closed as he waited outside for Leopold.

“What brings you to Hawthorne Hall?” Bella asked, trying to sound pleasant and cheerful.

She was glad to see him, but she was not glad he had come to the estate to see all the overgrown foliage that seemed to want to take over the manor house. Or the drab exterior that begged for a fresh coat of paint.

“We missed you yesterday.” He kept his keen eyes on her.

Bella dropped her gaze to her clasped hands as her palms suddenly turned cold and damp. She had to tell him the truth. She did not want to translate the book, though she needed the money. She did not want to return to his wondrous strange castle, either. She did not want to spend one more moment in his presence, for he affected her in ways she refused to acknowledge.

“Yes, well, I should have sent a note.” She lifted her gazes. A shiver of delight shuddered through her at the intensity of his eyes. “I must remain here where I’m needed.”

“I see,” he said, looking thoughtful.

Before he said anything more, Gerald entered the parlor with his tea cart. He paused in the center. Sensing the tension in the room, he glanced between the two of them, then gave her a brief nod before backing out of the room.

“Would you care for some tea?” she asked, rising.

“No, thank you. Bella, there is no need to fear the library.”

She remained where she stood, her hands still clasped in front of her to keep them from shaking. Her nerves were on the edge of snapping. She didn’t want to break in front of Leopold. She had to remain strong and sure and confident. She lifted her chin.

“It’s not the library I fear.”

“Oh, then me?” There was a twinkling of mirth in his pale brown eyes.

She shook her head. “No. It has nothing to do with you or the library. It’s—”

Catching herself, she pressed her lips together to keep from saying more. She dare not tell him of her father’s troubles. She shouldn’t have told him about the ships in the first place.

“Forgive me, your grace—”

“Leopold, please. I insist.”

He seemed to bristle at the use of his title. Nodding, she said, “Leopold, then. Unfortunately, I cannot return with the book. It’s simply that I’m needed here.”

His face remained impassive as he gazed at her. “May I speak freely, Bella?”

It looked as though he had something on his mind. She nodded, a sick feeling creeping through her.

“I was sorry to hear about your father’s ships,” he began.

She cringed, wishing she’d kept that to herself. Fear sprinkled through her. “Go on.”

“You said he was a merchant. I know what happens to a merchant without his ships. I know it could lead to the total collapse of his business.”

She clenched her jaw. “Yes.” The word came out in a hiss of ice. She said nothing more and allowed him to draw his own conclusions about the situation she was in.

“I can offer you double the amount we agreed upon if you will return tomorrow to translate the rest of the book.”

He was serious. She gaped at him, uncertain how to respond. Certainly, she needed the coin to make sure the household didn’t fall into ruin while her father was dealing with his troubles. But could she really leave the manor to spend her days in his library with enchanted candlesticks and books that spoke and sang?

But that wasn’t the only thing that bothered her. In his offer, she sensed a hint of desperation. He’d told her he was cursed. Perhaps that was why she was desperate to keep her distance from him. He hadn’t elaborated about the curse, and she hadn’t asked. All she knew was he’d been searching for a book. A book that could break the curse? She assumed that’s what he meant. That book was unreadable by anyone—except her.

“Is that not enough?” he asked when she didn’t respond. “I can triple it.”

“Oh,” she gasped. “That’s far too much.”

“Then double it is.” He grinned, his face lighting with joy and perhaps a touch of smugness. He got to his feet. “You’ll return tomorrow morning with the book?”

Before she realized what she was doing, she nodded. “Yes.”

“Wonderful. I’ll tell Dickens to expect your arrival. I’ll see myself out.” He bowed low. “Until then, my lady.”

He left her standing there in the parlor, stunned to the soles of her slippers. When she finally shook out of her numbness, she hurried after him to see him off. But he was already out the door, his ornate carriage rattling down the gravel drive.

She paused there a moment, soaking in the late morning sunlight, when she noticed something odd. The brambles, the overgrown vines, the wild foliage was gone from the front of the manor. The exterior looked as though it was recently painted in a muted green. The abandoned fountain was back in working order, the water bubbling through the decorated stone structure. Sucking in a sharp breath, she picked up her skirt and hurried around the side of the manor to the back.

She halted at the end of the footpath where, yesterday, she left a mess of thorny cuttings. It was cleared away as though they had never existed. The sweet scent of pink, yellow, and white roses filled the springtime air.

The rose garden, which thrived for years when she was a child, was restored to its former beauty. And so was the manor.

The carriage ride back to the castle was silent. Dickens said nothing but Leopold was acutely aware of what he’d done. He wasn’t sure how to chastise him for doing something so kind and thoughtful.

When they arrived, Leopold remarked at the sorry state the manor and grounds were in. But he knew, due to Enzo Rinaldi’s current troubles, there was no way for Bella to afford a gardener or anything else. Even when he intended to broach the subject with her and offer help, her reaction was one that said she was too proud to accept it.

Her face had fallen into misery when he mentioned the ships. He hadn’t the heart to mention her father, the inquiry, or the fact he remained in a port jailhouse awaiting a trial with the magistrate.

“You wish to scold me, my prince?” he asked, almost as though reading his thoughts.

Leopold was aware his stiff demeanor indicated his internal thoughts. He and Dickens were together for a long time and, by now, he was able to read him without much effort. He expelled a deep sigh.

“How can I, Dickens?”

“My apologies, my prince. I thought it was the right thing to do, given the state of the manor and grounds.”

“We could have sent a gardener and a painter,” he suggested.

“I have my doubts the lady would have accepted such an offer,” Dickens retorted, though it was not meant to be unkind.

He was likely right. She was headstrong and wanted to do things her way. She wanted to find a way to support her household without having to resort to handouts or returning favors. Hence the reason he offered to double her pay for the translation.

“It was kind of you, Dickens.”

“Kind?” He sniffed derision. “The gardens were absolutely ghastly. How one could let such beautiful roses grow out of control is beyond me. Not to mention the dull, peeling paint on the exterior.” He punctuated that with his best harrumph.

Though Dickens sounded disgusted by the unruly gardens and the dilapidated exterior, Leopold knew it was merely for show. He concealed the smile that wanted to tug at his lips. Deep down, the crusty valet was a sucker for thriving, fragrant roses in full bloom.

“Will the lady be returning?” Dickens asked then, as though putting the thought of magicking the gardens out of his mind.

“Yes.” As he said it, his heart fluttered. A reaction for which he was not prepared.

“Ah, so you were successful then.” His valet sounded well pleased. “Will she be staying with us?”

“I don’t think so.” A pang of disappointment went through him.

“Pity. The hallways seem more cheerful with her in them.”

Leopold cut him a curious glance. “My dear friend, it sounds as though you’ve taking a liking to the lady of Hawthorne Hall.”

“And why not? She loves books, doesn’t she?”

He grinned, amused at his valet’s response. “Indeed, she does.”