Chapter 8 #2
Her parents’ relationship had been different. Each morning, they’d discussed their plans for the day. Her mother had neither sought approval for her actions, nor had her father granted it.
How did she create a marriage like that, especially when she knew so little about the man she’d married?
She pushed thoughts of her new husband aside for another task, that of locating the mirror.
A series of bookshelves occupied the far wall, filled with leather-bound books. On the wall beneath the windows sat a long credenza.
The third cabinet, Mrs. Gardiner had said.
The light from the lamp didn’t extend to the corner, so she was forced to bend down to peer inside but could see nothing.
She knelt and stretched out her arm to reach into the back of the credenza.
Her fingers felt fabric and she pulled it out.
Sitting back on her heels, she opened the heavy drawstring bag and withdrew the mirror.
She laid the mirror facedown, stroking her fingers over the cool surface of the gold. One by one, her fingers measured each diamond positioned around the edge.
Perhaps it would be wiser not to look into the mirror again. What if she’d been wrong? Mrs. Gardiner had seen something, however, so her vision couldn’t be an aberration.
Slowly, she raised the mirror, pressing the glass against her chest, holding it there, before bowing her head and saying a short but earnest prayer.
Please, let me see something. Something hopeful.
Would God decree her a sinner if she wanted to see something better than the life she was living now? Was it wrong to want to be happy instead of lonely?
The lamp sputtered. Perhaps that was an answer.
She looked into the mirror. The glass was brown, flecked with spots, indicating its age.
When nothing happened, disappointment surged through her.
She was in the process of lowering the mirror when the color lightened.
Hands trembling, she gripped the handle of the mirror and raised it so she was staring directly into her reflection.
She was surrounded by people, their faces too blurry to recognize. Her own face was clear enough, her expression filled with such joy and animation, she stared at herself in wonder. She was laughing, the image so real she could almost feel joy bubbling up in the middle of her chest.
“Another example of your intellectual inquiry?” a voice asked from behind her.
Startled, she pressed the mirror against her chest and glanced over her shoulder at Montgomery.
He was standing in the doorway, leaning back against the frame, his arms folded over his chest. His hair looked tousled as if the wind had played with it.
Raindrops glittered on his shoulders, dampened his clothing.
He glanced at the lamp she’d lit.
“At least you didn’t attempt to hide your activity, Veronica. Perhaps that’s a credit to your favor. Theft, however, is not.”
“I wasn’t stealing it,” she said. “I was just looking.”
She slipped the mirror back into the drawstring bag and replaced it in the credenza before standing. His gaze dropped. Her robe had come open, revealing the silk of her nightgown.
“You’ve seen me naked before,” she said.
“The last time I saw you naked, you looked rather pitiable. You don’t now.”
Oh.
She pressed her lips together, then forced herself to relax. Her heart, however, was beating so quickly she felt breathless with it. She stared at the carpet before, annoyed at her cowardice, she forced herself to look at him.
“Were you outside?”
“I felt the need to take some air,” he said. An excuse so like the one she’d devised a few nights ago that she smiled.
“Do I amuse you, Veronica?”
He had a way of looking at her intently, as if he wished to peer behind her eyes to see the soul of her.
Perhaps it was the intensity of his look or her irritation at his desertion that sparked her answer. Instead of demurring, instead of saying something polite and noncommittal, or instead of simply excusing herself and leaving the room, she gave him the truth.
“No,” she said. “No, Montgomery, you fascinate me. You confuse me. You worry me. However, I wouldn’t say the emotion I feel in your presence is amusement.”
She stored away his startled look to enjoy at another time.
“Go to bed, Veronica,” he said, stepping out of the doorway so she could pass. “Now.”
She stood, clasped her hands together, and walked toward the doorway. As she passed him, she looked up. A muscle in his jaw clenched. She almost raised her hand and cupped her palm around his jaw.
He looked as if he would flinch if she touched him, but that wasn’t what she was feeling from him. He was angry and disturbed, but something else was there, something dark and powerful, an emotion she’d never felt.
Perhaps this moment was not unlike the night at the Society of the Mercaii. She felt as if she were drugged, subdued and silent, her surroundings swirling around her.
“Good night, Veronica,” he said, his accent coating the words with honey.
The look in his eyes, measuring, and a little dangerous, didn’t make her afraid. Instead, she felt warmth spread through her body.
“Will you come to me tonight?” she asked, congratulating herself for her courage in asking.
The seconds ticked by, and he said nothing. Evidently, the absence of an answer was an answer.
“You won’t forget to extinguish the lamp?”
He frowned but still didn’t speak. After a moment, he nodded.
She walked down the hall, only too conscious of his gaze. At the base of the stairs, she stopped and looked back at him. How handsome he was and how mysterious.
Montgomery grieved with such ferocity that the emotion was almost a living thing, hunkered down on all fours between them like a creature from a nightmare. He stood silent and alone, embraced by shadows.
She wanted to draw his head down so it could rest on her shoulder, enfold him in her arms and hold him, and tell him that grief had a way of becoming more bearable each day.
She’d never forgotten her parents. They were always with her, their loss like a wound leaving an ugly scar.
She would never be without the scar, but the wound was beginning to heal.
Montgomery, however, would not allow her to comfort him. She knew because he turned and entered the study, closing the door softly behind him, a repudiation without words.
Very well, he wouldn’t come to her tonight.
What a fool she was to be disappointed.
She was an innocent yesterday; she would be an innocent tomorrow. For how long? The length of Montgomery’s grief?
How long would that last?