Chapter 3 #3
“I have always thought,” she said quietly, “that romance clouds the senses, rather than enhances them. Marriage is formed as a contract, and we blind ourselves to the fact that in many cases, there is little heart and almost no real emotion at all.”
Sir Moses raised an eyebrow. “You have seen some loveless marriages in your time.”
“‘Tis rare that I see the opposite,” Chloe confessed with a wry smile. “And yet I do not believe that romance is necessary for a successful one. It is possible, surely, for two people to come together with a mutual understanding for the betterment of both without the entanglement of romance?”
Her words seemed to hang in the air between them for a moment, and her eyes caught his, and her stomach lurched.
What did she mean – what was she saying, she barely knew herself except those eyes kept drawing words from her, and she believed them to be true, and she felt the truth within her, and yet …
“Perhaps you are right,” Sir Moses said lightly. “I have certainly avoided human companionship for so long now, I barely know what I am missing. ‘Tis the reason that I have hidden myself away for the past twelvemonth. I have not seen anyone, bar a few close friends, and I have not wished to.”
Chloe’s mouth broadened with a smile. “Do you mean to tell me that you have been here, in this house, all year? When all from Leeds to London have been attempting to guess where you have hidden yourself on the continent? My word, the truth is nothing like the rumours!”
As soon as the words had left her mouth, she regretted them: how coarse, how callous had been her thoughts and they had just tumbled out!
But instead of bitter anger, it was a smile that came from her companion as the storm raged around them.
“Rumours?” He said darkly. “What rumours?”
Despite her best efforts, Chloe could feel a blush tinging her cheeks as she took in Sir Moses’ gaze. Glowering or not, he was a strikingly handsome man.
“I took no part in them,” she said hastily, trying not to think of the feeling of his fingers on her back when he had carefully laced up her dress.
Sir Moses did not reply, instead leaning back in his armchair and staring at her expectantly, almost as though he was amused.
Chloe swallowed. “Well,” she said, curling her feet up onto the chaise longue in the unladylike manner that she was usually scolded for. “There are there who believe that you have immigrated to the continent, because of ill health. The lakes of Italy, you know, or somewhere in Switzerland.”
No matter how closely she regarded his expression, it was impossible for her to read it accurately. Was he censuring her for speaking, offended by her words, shocked, perhaps, at the wild imagination of society at large?
As he did not stop her, Chloe continued, “Of course, there are others with more fanciful ideas. My favourite is that you have sent out expeditions to America looking for gold – very Christopher Columbus, you know – and actually found some.”
Sir Moses laughed, and this time it was a natural, hearty laugh, that seemed to start from his stomach and rise up into his shoulders, rocking them slightly.
It was the first true laugh that Chloe had heard from him since she had stepped into this strange, dark house, and it seemed to wash her in a warm glow that settled somewhere lower than her stomach.
“Are you disappointed with the truth?” He chuckled.
She returned his laugh with one of her own. “No, I am no chit of a girl who expects a great mystery behind every unexplained fact. ‘Tis true of science, I think, to find a rational explanation behind something that is previously unknown.”
He nodded, and Chloe found herself hoping that he would speak again in that deep voice. It had a strange power over her: at once calming, and at the same time exciting.
“And to tell the truth,” she added more seriously, “I cannot think any less of you for feeling so bitter and heart worn, after your experience. No one would.”
He said not a word. Rain fell harshly on the windows, and a roll of thunder a little way off told her that the storm was, at least, moving away from them – but it was nothing to the storm that was starting to grow in her heart.
This man, this strange man: part lover, part bitter, part collector, all man.
She liked him. Despite herself, and despite every effort it seemed from him, she liked him.
Chloe looked down at her fingers in her lap, and then asked tentatively, “Do … are you still in love with her? Charlotte, I mean?”
For a moment she thought that she had gone too far; that the impertinence always under the surface of her conversation had sprung up once more.
Sir Moses sighed deeply. “I will admit that her memory lingered on with me for much longer than I would have thought. I expected to see her each time I opened a door. Every foot on the stairs had to be hers. Each letter I received a note from her brother saying that it had all been a mistake, and she had been revived, and she was asking for me …”
Chloe watched as his gaze became unfocused for almost a minute, and then it snapped back to attention, and he gave her a look that she could not decipher.
“You cannot be in love with a memory,” he said finally. “What emotion I have for her now is more like sorrow than love. I mourn what could have been.”
“‘Tis only natural,” Chloe said quietly.
Sir Moses shrugged. “If I were to be as honest with you as I try to be with myself, I would say … I would say that the idea of loving again terrifies me. Of not being able to keep someone that I care about safe in the future. It paralyses me, and so I have come to accept, bitter as it is, that I will probably die completely alone.”
Somewhere deep in her heart, Chloe ached for him – this man who had so much to give, and had yet had that opportunity ripped from him so cruelly. Without thinking, she reached forward and laid her hand on his, and felt his warmth.
“Surely, ‘tis better to live alone,” he said, voice dark, “as that is my fate.”