Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
His servant nodded. “As you say, my lord.”
“I appreciate you telling me what was overheard. Dinner was a rather uncertain affair.”
Marston crossed to August’s bed to turn down the covers. “Can I bring anything else for your comfort, my lord?”
“No, I’ve a full belly and a glass of whiskey in me. Go get a good night’s rest and let me tend the fire.” He sighed. “I’ll be up a while longer.”
“Yes, my lord.”
August dug in his trunk for his small pouch of woodworking tools and took up the hunk of alder he’d found on the morning’s outing. Over the years, he’d developed a hobby whittling random objects: whistles, ladles, bowls, small toys for his nieces and nephews, and all manner of miniature figurines.
Tonight, he set about making a hawk in flight, leaning closer to the firelight to carve the finer details. Wings, beak, curved talons with sharp nails. He’d seen such a hawk earlier, soaring over the frost-laden fields. Woodworking quieted his mind when he was troubled, and it had been a troubling day.
After nearly an hour at his labors, the hawk was taking fair shape, but he decided he’d do better to finish it in the morning. He wrapped it carefully in cloth, oiled and cleaned his tools, and stowed the bundle away. The shavings he swept into the fire, to curl into hot ashes.
He undressed, washed, and put on his warmest nightshirt, for it was the coldest night they’d weathered by far. He climbed into bed, propped up against some pillows, and stared at the fire, wondering how Elizabeth was doing.
What a nightmare it all was, love, betrothals, and marriages. The risk of disappointment was great, and the risk of heartbreak and misery too possible. He’d always imagined he would have been happy with Felicity if he’d won her. But perhaps, somehow, there would have been heartbreak. How was one to know?
He fell into an uneasy dream, where he wandered through a freezing blizzard, trying to avoid stumbling off the edge of a cliff. Snow and ice blew against his face, obscuring his vision and imparting stinging cuts. No matter how he batted at it, he could not clear his sight—
He woke with a start, having heard a tapping sound. “Marston?” he murmured, sitting up.
The fire had gone low. No one answered, but the tapping came again. If not his valet… These old castles and churches were haunted as the dickens.
“Come in if you will,” he said, rising from the bed.
The door opened a crack, then more. “August?” said a soft voice.
It was not a ghost, but a young woman huddled in a dark red velvet cloak. He blew out the breath he’d been holding.
“Lisbet. My God.”
“August.” She entered and closed the door, leaning back against it.
“What has happened?” he asked, reaching for his robe. “What are you doing here? Is there trouble at the house?”
“No. Oh, I’m sure I should not have come.” She eyed him in his nightshirt as he pulled on his robe. “I couldn’t sleep, and Mama and Papa are so exhausted from everything today, and Hazel and Rosalind are with their husbands…”
He could see she’d been crying, that she was not quite herself. It was wildly improper for them to be alone together, even if he was her friend and piano teacher. She was a young unmarried lady, and he a bachelor of questionable character. They’d been alone during lessons, but that was different. It was the middle of the night now, dark and quiet.
“How can I help you?” he asked as she stared at him. “Are you quite awake? Have you sleepwalked here?”
“I’m awake,” she said, lips trembling. “I suppose I should go. It’s just…” She walked toward him, clutching her cloak closer about her. A pale pink sleeping robe peeked from underneath. “Papa is not pleased with Lord Fortenbury. They had a row in the library.”
“Yes. I heard.”
“Everyone’s talking about it, aren’t they?”
He sighed. “Well, there are some who are saying…” He moved away from her, to add another log to the dying fire. “There are some who believe Fortenbury may not be the best choice of husband for you.”
“He’s an upstanding man in society,” she said. “A respected person.”
He turned from the fire. “Are you pleased with him? I suppose that’s all that matters.”
She looked forlorn. He wished to hug her, to hold her, but it wouldn’t be proper. “I’d rather have him than be alone forever,” she said.
“Alone forever? Dear girl, you’re too young to talk that way.”
“Young?” Her green eyes flashed. “I’m nearly twenty-two. On the shelf. And now, after three failed engagements, practically untouchable!” She began to pace, her slippered feet quiet upon the ancient stone floor. “If Fortenbury turns me off because Papa scolded him, that will be four failed engagements, at which point there shall be nothing left to do but throw myself from the most convenient mountaintop. The worst of it is, it’s all my fault.”