Boy of Chaotic Making (Whimbrel House #3)

Chapter 18

March 5, 1847, London, England

The hairs passed out of sight, color blending with the surroundings, and the vision ended. And Hulda ... Hulda had stopped breathing. She stared at a spot just past Merritt’s shoulder. Her back and shoulders were so erect, so tight, they began to ache.

“Hulda?” Merritt waved a hand in front of her face. “What’s wrong?”

Slowly, like her eyes were pestles grinding in their mortars, she met his gaze. His face began to blur as though painted on a wet canvas. Then she blinked, and a tear rolled down her cheek.

Too good to be true, a quiet thought creaked.

Merritt blanched. “Hulda, what?”

She still wasn’t breathing. She didn’t know how to answer. She couldn’t answer. This ... why did she have to see this ? Why couldn’t the magic just let her be happy a little longer?

Merritt reached for her. His fingertips grazed her sleeve just before she turned from him and stalked back through the hall toward the stairs that led up to the rooms. Long, desperate strides that finally demanded she inhale or pass out. Her shoes clacked loudly on the floor, or perhaps that was just the sound of a slow-breaking heart.

“Hulda!” Merritt ran after her and grabbed her elbow. She tugged it free. Grabbed her skirt and rushed up the stairs.

But damn that man, he was faster than she was. Hulda had made it only halfway up the flight before Merritt swung in front of her, blocking her retreat. She tried to step around him, but to no avail. Her skin heated with embarrassment as another tear escaped. One would think she’d be tough as iron by now. Heaven knew she wanted to be tough as iron, but that awful image of him and her had tattooed itself on her eyelids.

He grasped her shoulders, locking her in place. “Damn it, Hulda, what’s wrong? What did you see?”

“The future,” she spat, hating the way her throat constricted the words. “Because that’s how it works, Merritt. I see the future as it is , not how it might be. Always .” She wrenched free, but gained only a stair before he snatched her wrist.

“Did someone die?” His voice took on an edge. “Did I do something? What did I do? For heaven’s sake, Hulda, at least tell me the crime before you punish me for it!”

Gingerly trying to dab her eyes with her free hand, Hulda attempted to respond, but a sore, hard lump had formed in her throat and forbade it.

A voice downstairs—one of the servants—neared.

Releasing a sigh but certainly not his grip, Merritt said, “Let’s go somewhere private.” When he led her upstairs, she followed, each step zapping her strength, turning her into little more than a rag doll.

Hulda’s room was closest, so they went in there. Merritt shut the door with more force than was necessary. She fled to the far window when he did, grabbing a handkerchief off her dressing table and desperately trying to dry her eyes, but the tears wouldn’t stop. She pulled off her glasses and set them on the windowsill.

“Talk.” His words were much gentler now as he crossed the room to her. “ Please , Hulda.”

It took her a good minute of deep breaths and biting the inside of her cheek to manage anything coherent. “I saw you.”

“I figured as much.”

“In the forest.”

Merritt’s brow ticked. “All right ...”

“With a woman.”

He waited.

Hulda drew in breath until her chest threatened to pop. “With a naked woman draped over you like she was a sinner and you were the Madonna of Bruges !”

He reeled back at that, his features slackening. “Pardon? What? Who?”

“I don’t know!” she snapped, hiding her face with the handkerchief. “I’ve never s-seen her before.”

“Hulda, I would never .” He touched her shoulder. She wanted to lean into the weight of his hand and rip away at the same time. The latter won out. “I mean,” he went on, “in a forest ? I think I’d be a little more circumspect than—”

She glared at him over the cloth.

“Right. Not a great time for jokes.” He ran a hand back through his hair again. “Okay ... how old was I? What was I wearing? I was clothed ... wasn’t I?”

Hulda sniffed. New tears pressed out. She waited a moment to speak. “Y-Yes, but I don’t recall in what.”

Merritt stepped forward and clasped his hands around her upper arms, forcing her to look at him. “Hulda. I love you. I love you . I would never be unfaithful to you. I’ve waited my whole life for you!”

The sweetness of the declaration fought against the utter sourness overtaking her.

“Surely you trust me by now. You know me.”

She did. Admittedly, it had never once crossed her mind that Merritt would leave her for another. But she’d seen what she’d seen. For the moment, her shattered mind couldn’t come up with another reason for it.

He smoothed loose hair from her face. “I mean ...” He hesitated. “The future is the future for your visions, yes. But surely you’ve seen something of us as well?”

The heat in her skin changed temperature and flooded her face. She hadn’t seen their wedding yet, but she had seen intimacy. Graphic intimacy. On more than one occasion.

A lopsided and mischievous grin formed on Merritt’s mouth. “Well, that’s good, at least. If the future is set, you must forgive me for this eventually.”

She swatted him with the handkerchief. “Really, Merritt.” But he had a point. Anything she did now contributed to the future she’d seen. She knew she married Merritt. Or at least, slept with him. But she certainly would never do that outside the bounds of marriage. So she would marry him. In some way or another, she would conciliate what she’d seen in the vision and say her vows.

But what if this happened after ? Did Merritt grow tired of her? Would she not be ... adequate?

His hands caressed her face, bringing her attention back to him. He was close enough not to be too blurry without her glasses.

“I’ve made mistakes before,” he murmured. “I will not repeat them. And I will never make the mistake of leaving you. I will marry you right now if you want to find a pastor. I will also wait as long as you need. I will take a vow of celibacy and simply worship you until I draw my last breath.” He kissed the tip of her nose.

A shuddering exhale escaped her. She believed him. She did. Or at least, she dearly wanted to. Throat closing up again, she managed a nod.

“Though apparently I won’t need to.” That grin returned.

She swatted at him again. “You really are impossible, Merritt Fernsby.”

He kissed her chastely. “I’ll do anything you want to prove it to you, Hulda Larkin.”

Anything she wanted. The problem was, Hulda didn’t know how to feel better. She didn’t know how to prove or disprove anything, not with the way her abilities worked. If only she could revive the vision and force it to play out a little longer, or start a little earlier, she might have the answers she needed.

It seemed what she needed was another meeting with Professor Griffiths. If she could control the magic, perhaps it would stop controlling her.

Merritt embraced her. Letting go of all of it, she buried her head in his neck and sunk into the embrace. She loved him. She couldn’t bear losing him. Please, she prayed. Please let me keep him.

They stayed like that for a long while.

“This might not be the best time,” Merritt tried, grasping her shoulder, “but time isn’t on our side today.”

She waited.

He sighed. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea for us to stay here any longer ... after what happened in the breakfast room.”

Her organs shrunk. “That ... is probably wise. But Owein ...”

“I want to give him time to acclimate.” He spoke softly, as though any volume might shatter her. And it very well might. “To the culture of this place, and to Cora. But we still don’t understand what’s going on with these ... very purposeful destructions of rooms I occupy. It might do to just sign the contract and leave.”

She nodded. “I believe it’s been redrafted to my specifications.”

He rubbed her upper arm. “Let’s ask for it, then. Let’s sign it and then go home.”

She bit her lip. “All right.”

Perhaps she wasn’t meant to get a handle on her augury. And thinking on the vision, perhaps she wasn’t meant to have a happy ending, either.

Still, looking into Merritt’s sincere eyes, she believed everything he’d said to her.

That would have to be enough.

Owein waited with Merritt and Hulda in one of the drawing rooms—a funny name for the space, really, since he’d yet to see anyone draw in it. He himself hadn’t had the opportunity to draw in a very long time. Had he been good at it, in his life before? He couldn’t remember.

Lady Helen sat in a blue chair nearby, her spine stiffer than Hulda’s, her hands working and reworking in her lap. She smelled like lilacs. Lilacs and worry, which were scents that didn’t mix well. Perhaps she wore the lilac to mask the worry. And perhaps it worked ... on human noses.

After a long silence—they’d been discussing the virtues of a game called cricket—Lady Helen said, “Are you sure you won’t stay? I will post a guard on the grounds and move your room right next to mine, even. Owein and Cora hardly know one another still, and you did suggest a fortnight in the beginning, Mr. Fernsby.”

Merritt smiled. Not his normal smile, but his I’m trying to look friendly but I’m tired smile. “I did, and I would love to, but the situation ... it’s not a comfortable one. To put it lightly.”

He clasped one of Hulda’s hands in both of his own. Hulda seemed ... distracted. Owein found that interesting, since she usually seemed very attentive whenever one of the Englishmen was around. And Lady Helen was right there.

Owein would ask about it, later. He didn’t think Merritt would tell him much if he asked now. But what was really important was that the contract would be signed, and Owein would get a body ... hopefully ... and then they would be going home. There was so much more left to explore here, and part of Owein yearned to do just that, but he missed Whimbrel House, too. He missed Beth, especially.

He didn’t recognize heavy footsteps outside the door and was surprised when Prince Friedrich entered. Owein knew Prince Friedrich’s steps. He never walked that quickly. It was the tempo that had thrown off Owein. Behind him, Mr. Blightree approached as well.

Lady Helen stood, her scent of worry pungent.

“It’s gone.” Prince Friedrich shook his head, flabbergasted. “We can’t find it anywhere. The contract is gone.”