Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 51855 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51855 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
“Lady Wraye.” He turns to his daughter with a frown. “Aubrey, have you forgotten you promised Lady Sumner that you would spend the evening with her daughter?”
It’s plain to see from Aubrey’s face that she did forget. She glances at her watch. “I’m going to be late. Sorry, Wraye.”
Devrim stands back to allow his daughter to pass. “You go. I’ll see Lady Wraye out.”
Aubrey looks at me as if to ask if that’s okay, and I smile and nod.
“Thank you, Daddy. Bye, Wraye!” She waves at me as she hurries back toward the house.
Devrim and I look at each other. Alone together. It’s an unexpected treat. He sits down in Aubrey’s chair and draws in a deep, satisfied breath.
“How was your day?” I ask him, admiring his handsome profile in the golden light.
He takes a mouthful of Aubrey’s lemonade. “Hot and dusty. But the new recruits have improved a lot.”
As he gazes at me, a smile spreads over his face. My heart beats hard. It’s sweet and yet painful to look at him when he smiles. He makes me long for impossible things. “What are you so happy about?”
“Oh, nothing.” As he gazes across the garden, he reaches beneath the table, and his warm fingers curl around my own.
“You shouldn’t do that here,” I whisper, but I don’t draw my hand away.
“But I want to. It’s wonderful sitting here in the sunshine in my own garden with you.” His thumb brushes my knuckles. “You’re wonderful.”
So are you, so are you, so are you.
I want to say it, but too many feelings are dangerous. They can’t take us anywhere good. All the same, I hold his hand as tightly as I can.
When we finish our lemonade, he says, “I have that book that I promised your mother upstairs. Shall we fetch it?”
I should say no. Should, but we might not be alone together again for days. Just fifteen minutes. We can enjoy ourselves for fifteen minutes.
“Oh, the book,” I say. “Mama will be delighted.”
We turn toward the house, walking side-by-side, but three feet apart. The flags of the stone path are arranged, in such a way, that they look like hopscotch. Because the day is so lovely, I hop into a square. The old jumping rhyme from the slums comes back to me, and I sing it under my breath as I hop.
“Down in the valley where the green grass grows, there sat Aimee, sweet as a rose. Along came Gunvald and he kissed her thrice. He shot himself once and he shot Aimee twice.”
I realize Devrim has stopped walking, and when I turn around, I see that he’s turned chalk white. His eyes are suddenly blacker and more haunted than I’ve ever seen them.
The smile drains from my face. “Dev—Your Grace. What’s wrong?”
He seems to be having trouble getting the words out. “What did you just say?”
“I asked if you were all right. Do you need to sit down? There’s a bench over here.”
I try to take his arm, but he shakes me off. “No. Those names. Whose names did you say?”
“Gunvald and Aimee.” I stare at him in confusion. “It’s just a skipping song that I learned as a little girl. Everyone used to sing it. Not that we were supposed to, but…” I realize I’m rambling and stop talking. “Please tell me what’s wrong.”
He passes a shaky hand over his face. A cold sweat has broken out on his brow. “I’m fine. You should go.”
He’s far from fine. He looks like he’s been informed of a death in the family or seen a ghost. I watch him, silently, for several minutes, hoping he’ll pull himself out of whatever dark thoughts have overwhelmed him.
I reach for his hand and try and coax him toward the house. “I don’t want to leave you alone like this. Let’s go inside and have tea.”
He rounds on me angrily. “I said, I’m fine. Can’t you just go?”
I reel back as if he’s struck me. Even in his most furious moments, he’s never shouted at me. Before I can say another word, he marches toward the house and disappears through the French doors.
I stand on the path, shocked and confused. When I enter the house, I see no one as I head for the front door and let myself out.
All the way home, I go over and over our conversation together, but I don’t understand what happened.
Mama has made soup and potato dumplings for dinner, one of my favorite meals, but I can’t make myself eat much. Perhaps something upset Devrim at the palace? But that can’t be it. He was his normal self until I sang that rhyme.
“Mama, do you remember that skipping song we used to sing as children?” I recite it for her, watching her face, carefully, for any of the horror I saw in Devrim’s.