Page 13 of The Rumpled Gentleman

Chapter

Thirteen

T he morning grew later, and Elara stood at the back of the duke’s property, where a road separated the garden wall from the mews where horses and carriages were kept while the duke and his wealthy neighbors were in London.

The bales of flax fiber were being unloaded with an efficiency that sent waves of panic through her. Each bundle that passed through the gate felt like a tightening noose, a reminder of the impossible task at hand. Preparing dried straw, turning it to fiber for spinning, could take weeks.

But bundles of prepared flax fiber? The tow and line, short and long fibers, in big fluffy bundles, were taken directly to her workroom.

Her mind raced with worry, her thoughts a tangled mess of what-ifs and if-onlys. The mysterious visitor, her cloaked and masked confidant, had left her with a blanket tucked about her and her table much tidier than when he’d come. She’d found his hastily written—really, his penmanship was atrocious—draft of a report for the duke. She’d copied it out in her own handwriting. Yet the knot of fear in her stomach grew tighter with each passing moment.

She felt like screaming, right there in the road.

Then, as if summoned by her panicked thoughts, Orion appeared at her elbow. “Elara,” he said, her name spoken with a calm that wrapped about her heart. “Good morning.” He pushed his spectacles into place at the bridge of his nose.

His appearance was a stark contrast to her night visitor, yet somehow more reassuring. His hair was tousled, his attire rumpled, and there were dark shadows under his eyes that spoke of a night spent without rest. Yet the sight of him caused a warm, comforting sensation within her.

Orion stood close enough that their shoulders brushed. “You look better rested today,” he said, his eyes sweeping across the rest of her face. “I am glad of it.”

“Orion,” she breathed out. “I didn’t expect you so early.”

His gaze moved to take in the bundles as the servants took them indoors. “I wouldn’t leave you to face this alone,” he assured her, tone resolute. “Come inside. I know you haven’t eaten. We can take breakfast with your father in his sitting room.” He didn’t take her arm. Instead, he held out his hand. Already bare of gloves, the simple gesture held an intimacy that made her briefly hesitate.

Then she slipped her hand in his, and he entwined his fingers with hers as he tugged her along toward the house. She stared at their joined hands, her heart racing with awareness more than anxiety for the first time in days. Where his presence had been comforting, it was suddenly something more.

No. Not suddenly. The feeling that raced from her fingertips up her arm, through her veins and to her heart, had been there for a time. Yet she’d been so overwhelmed by all other sensation and thought that she hadn’t stopped to examine it properly. Hadn’t dared to, really.

Falling in love was the last thing she had expected, especially now. Indeed, it was foolish to entertain the thought—the feeling—for even an instant. Yet, as she listened to Orion speak, his voice steady and reassuring as he laid out a simple plan of organization for the day, she couldn’t deny the truth that unfurled within her as beautifully as a rosebud.

He had become her reason to hope, a source of light in the darkness that threatened to engulf her. But more than that. He was as the spring sun, warming the cold earth and encouraging the flowerbeds to awake, to shake away the frosts and let their bright petals unfurl to the waiting light.

“We can spend all of today cataloging everything,” he reassured her again as they came to the door of the chambers she shared with her father. “Organizing. Making lists. The flax is from at least half a dozen different farms and crops, and we will need to take care in noting all the qualities of each variety.” He grinned broadly at her. “We must be thorough, of course.”

“Of course,” she murmured, hardly aware of what she was agreeing to. He gave her hand a squeeze before he released it, the absence of his touch immediately jolting her back to an awareness of their surroundings. He opened the door and she followed him inside, a half step behind in body and a world away in her thoughts.

He greeted her father, who sat at a table with his nose buried in a book about the phases of the moon. Mr. Millstone put aside his reading and smiled broadly at the other man. “Mr. Fitzmartin, you are most welcome. Have you come for breakfast? Are you to help Elara with her project today?”

As Orion sat next to her father, speaking with animation of Mr. Millstone’s studies regarding the implications of astronomical influences of alchemy, Elara ordered breakfast and bustled about the room, trying to order her thoughts. They were no less tidy than her workroom had been the evening before, and her emotions were in an even greater tangle.

The fear remained, as did the hope. But weaving through it all, like climbing roses up a stony wall, were her feelings for Orion. And they climbed all the higher as Orion spoke with respect and kindness to her father, not discounting the man for what he had become, but seeing and honoring the knowledge he’d acquired and managed to hold onto through his change.

There was a tenderness in his actions, a genuine concern for her well-being and her father’s that went beyond their shared goal. In the soft light of the sitting room, with the weight of the world pressing down upon them, she swallowed back tears when her father laughed at a joke Orion made about a mineral and a miller.

When had she last heard her father laugh?

“Excuse me a moment,” she said abruptly, rising from their makeshift dining table and hurrying through the door to the bedroom. Bess was inside, tidying the bed and the cot where Elara slept at night in case her father had need of her. Sometimes, his dreams disturbed him.

“Miss.” Bess curtsied then went back to fluffing a pillow. The maid, oblivious to his distress, said lightly, “I spoke to my mother yestereve.”

Elara swept her hands down her skirt, then clutched at it, adding wrinkles where there hadn’t been any before. “I hope she is well.”

“Very.” Bess took a step forward. “And she had a message for you. If you’ll hear it.”

Elara’s attention sharpened. “Really? Why? She doesn’t even know me.”

“She’s more Fey than I am,” Bess said with a shrug. “And I’ve learned to give heed when she offers a word I didn’t expect. Will you hear it?”

Again, the phrasing of Bess’s question seemed important. “I will hear it.”

The quality of Bess’s voice changed when she spoke again. She sounded like herself. But also…not. “No matter what is asked of you, listen to your heart. It will guide you true.”

She swallowed. “Thank you. And thank your mother for me.”

“Oh, you oughtn’t do that, miss.” Bess’s smile turned more feline. “Thanking a Fey for something freely given is almost as bad as making a bargain with one.”

Elara blinked. “I thought you said to only worry over that for High Fey.”

Bess’s head tipped to one side. “Not ‘only.’ I said ‘especially.’” She grinned, a friendly sort of expression. “Now, you’ve work to do. And a heart to listen to.”

The only thing her heart had told her recently was not so much dangerous as distracting. How could Elara trust that? Falling in love with Orion—it was the worst possible time for such a thing. Now was not the time for declarations of affection or the exploration of budding emotions.

She had flax to catalog. A full day of work ahead. Work both meaningless and desperately important to keeping her father safe. And it threatened to undo her.

In the shadow of impending failure, Elara held onto the glimmer of hope that Orion represented. Love was a powerful force. Could it sustain her through the duke’s wrath, if it came to that?

“No matter what is asked of you, listen to your heart. It will guide you true.”

Everything had already been asked of her that possibly could be. The advice was horribly vague, yet she couldn’t resent Bess or her mother for giving it. Bess’s help and unexpected friendship had been a relief. Orion’s willingness to aid her was an even greater risk on his part. Whatever the outcome of this trial, at least she would not face it alone.