Chapter 16
MARIANNE
The building that rose up before them was truly impressive. Marianne looked up at it, craning her neck. It was ruined—that much was clear. The stone facade still stood, but the inside appeared mostly gutted. Some of the walls had crumbled, and the wall was blackened.
“It was almost palace-like,” she murmured, “at least it must have been once, when it stood in all its glory.”
“You seem quite taken with it,” Lucien said with a smile. “Perhaps you are an explorer. And you didn’t even fall off your horse once.”
“That is because we moved at a snail’s pace. I do believe I heard that this property was only a twenty-minute ride, yet it took us almost two hours.”
“Well, you can try galloping back if you like,” Lucien said with a wink. A jolt went through her as he did it. There was something so roguish, something so beguiling about the way he winked at her.
She forced her attention back onto the ruin in front of her.
“You said a fire happened here?”
“A fire, yes. And then a storm and a lightning strike, I believe. My grandfather used to take me here and tell me all manner of terrible stories—to frighten me. He said it was haunted by the lord who used to live here.”
She shivered, but this time it was not a pleasant shiver. “Do you think it is haunted?”
“I used my grandfather’s example and told Henry it was haunted, also.
so he wouldn’t wander off in this direction,” he said.
“But I doubt it is truly haunted. The gentleman who owned this place died during a sea voyage to France more than a hundred years ago. There were no descendants, I believe, which is why it fell into disrepair. Much of the stone was carried away to build a small village near our home.”
The words our home sent a rush of comfort through her.
“Goodness,” she said, “so that’s why it looks the way it does. Can we go inside?”
He nodded and walked forward. There wasn’t a front door to speak of anymore. The front facade was still there, but where a door had once hung was only half an archway and crumbling stairs. She hastened forward and stepped up, pausing when she felt his hand on the small of her back.
“Careful. These rocks are very unstable. You could easily fall. I’ve done so more than once.”
“You come here often?” she asked.
“I used to. I haven’t been here for several years now, but I used to come almost every week. I built myself a little library in the back—a small shelf with a few books and a comfortable chair.”
“A hiding place,” she said, looking up at him. “I wonder if it’s still here.”
“I imagine so, although some vagabond may have taken whatever was worth taking. I wouldn’t imagine much. I kept some glasses here and bottles of wine—nothing of quality. I usually drank ale.”
“That is not exactly the drink of a nobleman.”
“That’s what my father used to say,” Lucien replied. “My grandfather drank it, though, and I always strived to be like him. Although I believe the last time I came, I brought whiskey.”
The interior of the building was light because there was no roof and most of the walls had fallen in, but Marianne could still see the marble flooring that once upon a time must’ve been beautiful.
“This must’ve been a great entrance hall,” she said, looking up. “You can still see the staircase over there.” She pointed to two pieces of wood sticking up.
“You can tell that from here?”
“Well, yes,” she said. “You must only imagine it as it might’ve been at one time.
I think there was a grand winding staircase right here.
” She walked over to what she thought must have been banisters, pleased to find herself correct in her assumption.
“There would have been a landing up here leading to more rooms. And to the right here, you can still see the doorway. I am certain this used to be the dining room.”
He crossed his arms and watched her as she walked around the space, announcing where she believed each room had been.
She had not been so animated in quite some time.
But picturing how this house had been long ago filled her with a sort of joy she hadn’t known in a long time.
There was some nostalgia there, too, for what had been lost, but the predominant feeling was excitement.
“You truly are a voyager,” Lucien said. “I suspect perhaps your particular interest lies within old ruins. Is that possible?”
She spun around. “I did always enjoy looking at abandoned buildings. My mother did too. When I was younger, still just a child, my mother would sometimes take me to an old, fallen-down church near our country seat. I adored it, as did she. My father never liked it. He said we ought not to waste our time on things like that—things that are gone. But I loved it.”
“Then I dare say you shall enjoy exploring. There are many buildings such as this, not just around this country but around the world.”
“Well then, I ought to thank you,” Marianne replied.
“Well, if I had known that it was going to be so easy to awaken your passion, perhaps I would’ve done it sooner.”
She laughed. “But you did not know about my lack of passion until I told you about it.”
“I suppose that is true,” he said.
They looked at one another for a moment, and Marianne’s heart beat a little faster.
They were all alone here in this abandoned building.
She should be frightened. She should think of Juliet’s words, of all the things she did not know about him.
Were he and his wife really so unhappy? Or was that talk from below stairs, nothing more?
“So, have you brought Henry here?”
“I have once or twice, but then he attempted to come on his own and thus was forbidden. He’s too young. I prefer to keep this as my secret place. Well. Not so secret now.”
Marianne smiled. “Pray, do not flatter me. I am certain you shared this place with others before—certainly your wife.”
Lucien let out something that was a mixture of a grunt and a groan. “Certainly not. If anything, I came here to—” he waved a hand, “it does not matter.”
He didn’t want to talk about his wife—that was clear.
She wondered why. The more she got to know him, the more it began to look as though it was no love match.
She had noted that there were no paintings of his wife anywhere, that Henry never spoke of her—though of course he was too young to remember her—but neither did the servants.
It was most irregular; one would imagine there would be remembrances or something of that nature. But there wasn’t.
“When did you discover this place?” she asked.
“Years ago,” he said. “I used to ride aimlessly because it was peaceful. One day, I was trapped in the rain and found this place.”
Lucien paused and watched her for a moment, then, to her surprise, he took her hand. The sensation of his fingers curled around hers was so overwhelming that for a moment, she didn’t even know what to do. But then he tugged on her hand, and she simply followed him.
“Come. I shall show you the place I spoke of.”
They walked out the back of the house through what had at one point been a grand courtyard. As Marianne climbed over a boulder, Lucien placed one hand on her back.
“It is just through here,” he said, letting go of her hand. They ducked underneath the fallen branch of a tree that rested precariously between two parts of a ruined wall, and then they were in an alcove of sorts.
Two of the walls at the back of the house had survived, as had a part of the flooring above, giving a sort of shelter from the elements.
“Goodness,” Marianne said.
An old wooden rocking chair stood in the corner, and Lucien pushed it, only for the back to fall off as soon as it hit the wall.
“Wood rot,” he said. “I brought this here myself from the house. I took a carriage that time,” he said with a smile. “I should’ve known it would be ruined.”
He sighed and pulled the chair aside, revealing a small cabinet behind it.
He bent forward, his hair swinging forward to graze his cheek as he did.
He opened the cabinet and grinned. “Well, some things do survive,” he said, and took out a glass bottle along with a couple of glasses.
Then he bent forward again and peered inside the little cabinet.
“And some things do not,” he said as he withdrew a book that looked swollen with water. He sniffed it and then tossed it across the room. It landed with a loud thud. “It smells dreadful.”
“I can smell it from here,” Marianne said, wrinkling her nose.
“I forgot about the book. I was reading it at the time, and I do not think I ever reached the end.”
“What was the book?” Marianne asked.
“It was the story about a man named Gulliver who traveled to strange places. An explorer — as you hope to be.”
“I have read it,” Marianne replied. “It was quite entertaining. You should finish it sometime.”
The two exchanged chuckles, and then he withdrew a napkin from his pocket and wiped out the glass.
“I will. Would you care to have a glass?” he asked. “You really ought to gather your strength before we return.”
Marianne nodded and watched as Lucien opened the bottle and splashed the amber liquid into the glass. Then he handed it to her. Their fingers touched once more, and a jolt went through her. She gasped and moved slightly back, and the glass sailed through her fingers toward the ground.
She didn’t even have time to yelp before Lucien dashed forward and caught it with one hand, the whiskey bottle still in his right. Some of the liquid splashed over and onto her shoes before she could step out of the way.
“Gadzooks!” he hissed. “Marianne, are you well?”
“I beg your pardon,” she gasped. “I did not mean—”
“No, no,” he said. “I am not upset. Not with you anyhow—just that your riding habit has acquired more stains on it now.” He nodded his chin towards the bottom of her dress, where droplets of whiskey had fallen. “Your maid will think I’m doing it on purpose.”
“I will tell her it was an innocent accident this time,” she replied.