Chapter 24
It was a stunning revelation.
Victoria read the words her father had written so long ago, now in faded ink, over and over.
She flipped a few more pages and halted when she found a crudely drawn family tree.
It looked as though someone had drawn it while thinking, trying to work out how Lenore was connected to the man who built Ravenfell Manor more than two centuries ago.
Someone—perhaps her father—had scrawled the name Lord Alaric Ravenwood.
He had several children, but there appeared to be two main branches.
One leading down from his son. The other from his daughter.
Over the next three generations, the family line split. Titles and property passed down to firstborn sons or closest male heirs. The secondary line went in a much different direction with one word and a question mark written there—Mystic?
Her father suspected, but did not know.
As her gaze slipped down the page, she saw her grandfather’s name, Lord Thomas Ravenwood, followed by her father’s Lord Abner Ravenwood. On the other side of the branch, Lenore married to Gabriel.
The two lines had split and then managed to converge again…in her.
Lenore was a distant cousin.
And Victoria had both her blood and her father’s.
That seemed significant somehow, but she wasn’t sure how, yet.
She peered into the cabinet to see if there was anything else, but it was empty. Then she once again flipped through the loose letters and pages on the floor. Perhaps she had missed something.
Her hands halted when she came upon a copy of Lenore’s death certificate.
She stared down at it for a long, quiet moment, her heart lodged in her throat.
Before she could stop them, the tears came.
Mourning the loss of the woman who must have been drowning in grief over the tragic and untimely death of her daughter.
She blinked them away furiously and set aside the death certificate.
There was nothing left to find. She’d gone through all the papers, the journal.
She remained there on the floor, her legs numb beneath her, as she processed everything she learned that night. Certainly, Gabriel knew of this, but was unwilling to tell her anything. And if he didn’t know, perhaps it was time for her to tell him.
Victoria stacked the papers in a neat pile, picked up the journal, and then closed the cabinet door. Cradling them all in her arms, she pushed herself to her feet. Then she grabbed the candle and headed for the door.
When she opened it and stepped into the hallway, she sensed a shift in the air. Something she couldn’t quite discern. She heard the muffled sounds in the kitchen. Heading down the hall, she paused in the foyer listening to the tick-tock of the grandfather clock.
Gods. Morning already. The darkness hadn’t lifted inside her, but the light had returned outside. She’d spent the entire night in the study reading her father’s journal and the papers she now held.
And in the kitchen, Gabriel was preparing the morning meal.
She glanced down at her wrinkled gown smudged with dust. But she wasn’t willing to waste precious time changing. It was now or never, if she meant to confront Gabriel.
Inhaling slowly, she headed into the dining room. He’d already set the table, preparing for her arrival. She heard him in the kitchen, doing the final preparations for breakfast. She smelled the soft aroma of Darjeeling, which was a warm comfort to her.
As she stood there, rooted in place, clutching the book and the papers, he exited the kitchen carrying a silver tray. He froze when he looked up and saw her standing there.
His keen gaze took her in, looking her up and down. Then his eyes landed on hers and paused there. His brows drew together and for a moment, he looked confused. As though he was uncertain what to say to her.
Finally, he managed, “You’re up early.”
“I never went to bed.” Her words were tight and firm.
It was time to stop pretending he knew nothing. It was time to find out the truth about how Lenore died. It was time to make him talk to her.
“Must have been that long nap you took yesterday afternoon.” He placed the silver tray on the table, avoiding her gaze.
“Perhaps. I wasn’t tired.”
If he noticed the items in her arms, he didn’t acknowledge them. He poured tea into a porcelain cup, then placed it on the table. He turned to leave.
“Gabriel, we need to talk.”
Her voice stopped him, his body rigid as he stood tall, his back to her.
“About?” The one-word answer was as taut as a bowstring.
“I think you know,” she said, keeping her voice steady. She was not going to let him out of it this time. She steeled herself, determined to be strong.
“I do not wish to discuss that.”
He punctuated that with his hasty exit back into the kitchen.
Saints preserve her, he wasn’t making this easy on her.
She charged after him, pushing the door open. It swung closed with a snap behind her. His back was to her as he placed scones on a serving plate. Their thick aroma permeated the air.
“Gabriel—”
“No.”
“Yes,” she insisted. “I’ve been patient.
I’ve waited for you to come to me, to tell me the truth while all these things happened around me.
Around us. The tree falling on the greenhouse.
The cold mist. The piano. Everything. But I know now.
I know Lily drowned in a pond. I know Lenore was so distraught with her grief, she did something horrible. Something irreversible.”
The last part was a guess. A gamble. But judging by the way he stiffened, she had guessed correctly.
Then she lowered her voice, gentling her tone. “I know, too, something happened to you to keep you tethered here.”
He remained where he was, not moving. Not wanting to look at her. “You know nothing.”
The accusation was a gut punch. How could he say that to her when she had proof in her hands? She huffed out a frustrated breath.
“Gabriel, I found my father’s journal. I read it. He was searching for answers, too. And I know why he was searching for answers. Lenore was my distant cousin three times removed. We share the same blood. That’s why the house—why she—calls to me, isn’t it?”
He spun toward her, his face ashen, his eyes wide and glassy. “That cannot be true.”
So, he didn’t know. Or if he did, his act was convincing.
“My ancestor, Lord Alaric Ravenwood, built this manor. His children split the bloodline in two. One was on my father’s side. The other was on Lenore’s side. The side that dabbled in dark and dangerous things.”
Color returned to his face as he realized what she was saying. His lips thinned as anger pinched his expression. “I don’t believe you.”
“Then tell me. How did she die?”
An unintelligible whisper sounded through the room. Cold tendrils danced up her arms to the nape of her neck. She had come to understand that when that happened, Lenore was nearby.
“I don’t want to speak of this,” he said.
He started to flee toward the door but Victoria stepped in front of him. “I know you don’t. And you don’t have to tell me. But I’m asking you…please…Gabriel. Please, tell me what happened to her. To you.”
His gaze found hers. And in them, she saw the regret, the grief, the torment burning through them.
She saw that he did not want to tell her anything.
He was unwilling to share with her those last moments he had with Lenore, when she was alive and breathing.
His gaze flickered to the papers and the journal in her arms, pausing there for a quiet beat.
And then his shoulders sagged, as if the weight of the truth could no longer be withheld.
As though he was ready to share with her what happened so long ago.
“You were right about Lily. She drowned in a neighbor’s pond during a summer barbeque.
We thought she was fine with the other children.
Then we heard the screams.” Slowly, his gaze lifted to hers and in them, she saw the pain still lingering there.
“It was too late to save her. Lenore…she was…heartsick. I could not console her. She refused to bury the girl. Said she was afraid of the dark and would never put her in a pine box, alone, in the dark to rot away forever.”
He paused here, swallowed hard. “Then Lenore—I tried to stop her. I tried to tell her not to do it, but she wouldn’t listen. She was driven mad with grief. She…tried to reverse Lily’s death. And…”
“Oh, gods,” Victoria whispered. She pressed cold shaking fingertips to her lips. Was she ready to hear the rest?
“It all went horribly wrong.” Then, suddenly, he was overcome with his emotions and reached for her.
His hands gripped her upper arms, his fingers clutching her tight.
He gave her a little shake out of frustration.
“Don’t you see? She’s trying to pull you in with her.
I couldn’t save her then. I can’t save you now. ”
“Gabriel, I—”
He jerked her toward him, wrapping his arms around her in a sudden, fierce embrace.
Victoria gasped. The movement was so swift, so unexpected, it knocked the air from her lungs. Her father’s journal and loose pages were crushed between them, pressed awkwardly against his chest, but he didn’t seem to notice. His body trembled. His grip was unyielding.
What was this?
He was warm and cold all at once. Solid, real. Not a ghost. Not a vision. Gabriel.
Her thoughts scattered. She didn’t know whether to push him away or bury herself against him. Her hand hovered, unsure—until she found his back, lightly, hesitantly, as though touching a wound she couldn’t see.
Was he trying to protect her? Or apologize for failing Lenore?
Or was he afraid he might fail again?
Her heart ached at the thought. That he carried all of this inside him—the sorrow, the guilt, the curse. Alone.
He couldn’t save Lenore. He believed he couldn’t save her, either.
But maybe he didn’t need to save her.
Maybe…she was here to save him.
The window over the sink frosted over. A cabinet door opened and slammed shut. Just as quickly as he pulled her to him, he released her and stepped back, raking a hand through his dark hair.
She wanted to go to him, to comfort him. But she sensed Lenore’s agitated presence lurking, swirling, moving around them and between them. As though she were desperate to keep them apart.
“Go back to the city, Victoria. Forget about Ravenfell and me.” He turned, tortured eyes meeting hers. “Save yourself.”
And then he was gone.