Chapter 27
August 13, 1851, Blaugdone Island, Rhode Island
Baptiste tied careful knots around stems of rosemary at his kitchen table, his chair askew so he could stretch out his long legs. Henri sat on the floor near his feet, slapping down block towers faster than Owein could build them up. His laugh cracked through the room, making the farewell sit a little lighter.
“ La femme est belle. ” Baptiste set the bundle of herbs aside and started the next. “Do you know the meaning?”
Owein stacked blocks with both hands to keep up with the toddler’s destruction. “The woman is beautiful?”
“ Oui. You will do well. But. By the time you are back, this one will speak more French than you.” He paused in his work to grin at the boy. “ C’est un garcon très intelligent. ”
Owein smiled but didn’t hold it. He didn’t know when he’d be back. He had no idea what his schedule or finances would look like after marrying Cora. He knew he’d be titled—Hulda had ensured that was in the contract—but he didn’t know which title, or what roles would come with it. He still couldn’t keep the peerage straight, despite all her lessons.
Owein sighed. He wanted to stay longer, but his time was running low. Adey had given him two days to collect his things. Two days to pack up 227 years of living on this island. To inform the millwright that no, he would not be taking that apprenticeship. To say goodbye to his family.
Yesterday, he’d tended the Mansel graves, cutting back the grass and laying fresh flowers by the headstones. Today, he gave his farewells to the living.
Standing, Owein stretched his back. Baptiste finished his knot and stood as well, clapping large hands on either of Owein’s shoulders. His dark eyes peered right into Owein’s. “You will do well. You will prospérer .”
Owein nodded. “I will try.”
“Try. Ha!” Baptiste released him and scooped Henri off the floor, earning a shriek of delight from the child. He set the toddler on his shoulder. “Owein, you are good at everything you do. I am not worried.” He shrugged. “But she will.”
“I’m going to see her next.”
“Good. She is at the other house.” Baptiste grinned up at his son, then sobered, gaze shifting once more to Owein. “You will do well,” he said again.
“Thank you,” Owein replied. “And goodbye, Baptiste. Henri.”
He found Beth in the sunroom, watering the plants. The muggy space was alive with green crawlers and vibrant flowers. It smelled like hardwood and summer.
Owein wondered how summer passed in England.
“Oh!” Beth exclaimed when she saw him, immediately setting down the watering can and wiping her hands on her apron. She ran over to him and threw her arms around him, squeezing him tight. “Oh, Owein, I haven’t been able to think of anything else all day.”
Owein blinked his eyes rapidly, dispelling the threat of tears. “Me, either.”
Beth pulled back and took his face in her warm, callused hands. “Have you seen Baptiste and Henri?”
“Just did.”
She chewed on her lip. “I’ve packed a lunch for you; it’s on the breakfast table. And some gloves. Everyone over there wears gloves, or so I’ve heard.”
A chuckle bumped its way up Owein’s throat. “They often do. Have to hide those scandalous fingernails.”
Beth didn’t react to the joke, only looked up at him with the gaze of a doe. “How are you feeling? Nervous?”
He wasn’t sure how to answer that. He was everything. Nervous, uncertain, sad, even a little excited. He was everything.
“I suppose that’s a stupid question, hm?” Stepping back, she put her hands on her hips. “You have to write. If I sail all the way to Portsmouth and there’s no letter—”
“I promise.” Owein’s lip ticked up in a half smile. “I will write incessantly and tell you all the gossip.”
She grinned. “Make sure you give me a primer on who everyone is first, so I can appreciate it.”
“Consider it done.”
Her eyes watered. “Oh dear.” She embraced him again. Owein hugged her back, setting his chin on her shoulder, absorbing the touch. He didn’t know when he’d get another like this. He blinked again. Succeeded in stemming the tears, but when Beth pulled away, hers flooded rivers down her cheeks. She wiped them off with her palms. “We’ll see each other again soon,” she insisted. “Soon, all right?”
Owein nodded, afraid to do more.
He didn’t want to make any promises he couldn’t keep.
“Ready”—Owein bent over, holding Hattie to his back—“set, go !”
He rushed through the trampled grass around the house as Hattie screeched in his ear, veering around the chicken coop, avoiding droppings left by his dogs, who barked and chased him, playfully nipping at his knees as they did. He rounded the final corner of the house, then spun in place, tightening his grip on Hattie’s tiny thighs to ensure she stayed seated.
“My turn! My turn!” Mabol cried, running up and tugging on the front of his shirt. “I want to ride the kinetic tram!”
“You just did !” Hattie spat.
Owein laughed between heavy breaths. Squatted so Hattie could slide down. Aster licked her face. “One more time each, okay?”
“’Kay!” the girls sang in unison.
He loaded Mabol up. She was so light, so small. How big would she be the next time he saw her? Would she still play kinetic tram with him?
Chest tight, Owein took off at a sprint, circling the house twice this time, much to the delight of Mabol and the dogs. When Mabol disembarked, Hattie leapt on him so suddenly she elicited an “ Oomph ” from him. He took her around twice as well, the opposite way.
“Again!” they both screamed once he pried Hattie from his shoulders.
Owein knelt in the dirt in front of them and grabbed them, one in each arm, squeezing until they giggled. “I’m going away for a while, but we’ll play again when I get back, okay?”
“Mom told me.” Mabol tried to pull free, so Owein tickled both girls. They shrieked and squirmed. Hattie tried to tickle him back, so Owein clutched his ribs and dramatically fell over. Mabol took this opportunity to jump on his stomach knees first, and it took a great deal of acting to mask how much it hurt.
So, in revenge, he snatched both girls and rolled over, pinning them and planting a kiss on each forehead.
“Ew!” Mabol protested.
“Ew!” Hattie mimicked.
“Don’t wipe it off!” Owein ordered. “It has to last a while!”
In ripe defiance, Mabol ran the back of her hand over her forehead, then snickered, daring Owein to try again.
He did.
“Those dresses were just laundered,” Hulda remarked half-heartedly from the porch. She had Ellis strapped to her chest in a sling, one chubby arm freed and waving. Neither Hattie nor Mabol heeded the subtle reprimand, to which Hulda simply sighed and stifled an eye roll with what looked like great difficulty.
“I need to talk to your mom.” Owein grabbed Hattie under the arms and lifted her to her feet. When he went to do the same with Mabol, she flopped into deadweight. Fortunately, three-year-olds tended not to be very heavy, and he righted her as well. A passing butterfly distracted Hattie, but Mabol looked right into Owein’s eyes and said, “I’ll miss you.”
Now Owein felt like deadweight. “I’ll miss you, too, May.”
She kissed him on the cheek, then took off after Hattie and the butterfly, exclaiming, “Don’t touch it, Hattie! You’ll break it!” as she went.
Standing, Owein brushed dirt off his knees and crossed to the porch. “May I?” He held out his hands to Ellis.
Hulda, lips tight, untied the sling and freed the babe, handing her gently to Owein. Once he settled Ellis on his shoulder, he noticed it was not disapproval that had Hulda’s lips pinched, but emotion. Hulda despised any sort of bodily clue that might reveal she was human.
“Remember not to be alone with her unless you have a chaperone.” Her voice wavered only a little. “Engaged or not, it’s inappropriate to be without one.”
Patting Ellis’s back as she cooed into his shoulder, Owein said, “I remember.”
“And you must make proper introductions with newcomers, especially among the peerage,” she continued, picking at the hem of her sleeve. “They’re very particular about it.”
He nodded.
“Make sure you get calling cards when you arrive. You can’t just show up unannounced at another’s home. And only visit within calling hours. That’s eleven to one for morning calls, three to six for afternoon calls, and eight to ten for evening calls.”
“I don’t plan on making many visits,” Owein offered.
“Make sure to follow your hosts’ seating arrangements and use the right utensils. You did study the place arrangements, didn’t you?”
He’d glanced at them. “Yes.”
She adjusted her glasses. “Respond to invitations promptly. You’ll receive a lot of them. Answer positively to as many as you can. For your sake, and for Cora’s.”
“Lady Cora,” Owein corrected her, biting down on a smile.
“I ... yes, I suppose she hasn’t given me express permission to use her Christian name.” She looked him up and down. Then she sighed, and with the exhaled air went her stiff posture, like she was deflating. “Oh, Owein, I wish I could go with you. I wish I could make it easier on you.”
He stepped closer, resting his hand on the inside of her forearm. “You’ve done all you could to prepare me, Hulda. Might be a little strange for me to show up with a governess.”
Hulda snorted.
“And I’ll have Cora there,” he added. “She won’t let me fail too miserably.”
She smiled, unshed tears glistening in her eyes. “I suppose you’re right. Have you ... Have you two talked about that, much?”
He shook his head. “We only write about things that matter.”
She blinked in surprise before pulling a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbing her eyes. “Well, I suppose that is important, too. May I ... Would it be acceptable to hug you?”
Now it was Owein’s turn to roll his eyes. He held out one arm. Hulda embraced him tentatively, warming up to it moment by moment, Ellis pressed between them. They didn’t embrace often. Again, it was a matter of Hulda’s masking her humanity—a bad habit she’d gotten into in her twenties, so Merritt had explained. But Owein didn’t fault her for it. In truth, he often envied it.
She released him and sniffed, again applying the handkerchief. “Merritt is in his office, I believe.” The wavering had a slightly tighter hold on her voice. “He will want to see you. Adey’s boat is due any moment.”
Owein checked his pocket watch. So it was. And Adey seemed a punctual person.
“You can still teach me,” he offered, kissing Ellis on the forehead before handing her over. “I’ll accept any of your letters, with instruction or without.”
She nodded. “I will do both, thank you. And take care of yourself, Owein.” One rebel tear fell from the corner of her eye. “The way you’ve taken care of us.”
When Owein stepped into Whimbrel House, it seemed too quiet. It reminded him of the old days, when it was the house, him, and no one else. Hot summer days rearranging furniture and drawing designs in paint, baking in the sun. They weren’t bad memories, per se. Just lonely ones. Nostalgia.
He took the stairs up one at a time, listening for the creak of the fourth, fifth, and eleventh as he went. He could fix those, but he thought it gave the old place some character.
The door to Merritt’s office was ajar. Owein poked in his head, but the author was nowhere to be seen. He wasn’t in the library, nor in his room. Owein thought to check the kitchen when, out a window, he glimpsed the top of Merritt’s head outside, near the east coast of the island. So, as he was wont to do, Owein opened a door in the wall and hopped down, closing it up after him.
Reeds and yellow thistle crunched underfoot as Owein picked his way over, careful not to trample the larger plants—a habit Fallon had instilled in him over the years. He swallowed against thoughts of her, focusing instead on his many-greats-nephew.
He was on a grassy bump at the line where the island turned from greenery to rocks, an open book in his hands. Owein smiled at the familiarity of the scene.
There was just enough space on the grass for Owein to sit down beside Merritt, who, in response, closed his book and asked, “Are you ready?”
Owein drew in a deep breath of the sea, held it, and let it out slowly before answering. “As ready as I can be, I guess.”
“Fallon—”
“She’s gone.” Part of him had hoped she’d merely needed to cool off. That she’d come back and spend these last days with him before leaving for Ireland. It was better that she hadn’t, he knew, but it still squeezed his chest, his voice, when he added, “I don’t know if I’ll ever see her again.”
And that devastated him.
“I liked her.” Merritt stared out into the bay; in the distance, a few clouds seemed to skim the water. “She was ... refreshing. A little wild, I dare say. Private but kind. She laughed at my jokes.”
A soft chuckle wormed its way into Owein’s mouth and died behind his teeth.
“You made the right choice,” Merritt said.
Picking a long piece of grass, Owein weaved it between his fingers. “I know.”
If only being right could make it hurt less.
“Might not seem it,” Merritt went on, “since the other one tried to kill us and everything. Then again, we’re very popular targets in that regard.”
Owein shook his head, ignoring the jest. “She’s not like that. Even then, she wasn’t like that.”
He felt Merritt’s gaze on the side of his face. Warm, like he was a second sun. “What is she like?”
Owein considered this, taking his time as an old man tends to do. He stretched his arms overhead before planting his hands behind him and leaning back, listening to the song of nearby insects carry on the breeze. “She’s thoughtful,” he answered. “Always asks about me, usually before she shares anything of herself. She’s smart and well read. Doesn’t get upset if your opinion differs from hers. She’s very judicious, when she needs to be. But inside, she has a spark. A passion for the world around her, for life, that burns so brightly it hurts. But she doesn’t know where to direct it. Not enough chimneys.” He smiled at his own metaphor. “She worries, but it’s because she cares. She’s careful, because she’s afraid. She’s a dreamer and a realist both. She’s weighed down by what she is and wonders at what she could be, always.”
Merritt set his hand on Owein’s knee. “I think you’re going to be okay.”
Owein nodded, watching the clouds, wondering what they looked like on Cora’s side of the ocean.
“I have something for you.” Merritt leaned toward him, pulling out a stack of papers he’d tucked under his leg. “I want your thoughts on it.”
Owein accepted the sheaf and thumbed through it. “This is your manuscript.”
“Unfinished,” he admitted. “And untitled.”
Owein snorted. “And how do you expect me to read it before ...” He hesitated. Merritt didn’t mean for him to read it now, but later. These pages were incredibly valuable to Merritt, and entrusting them to Owein was, essentially, a promise to keep in touch.
Owein smiled. “You’re putting an awful lot of faith in the mail system.”
Merritt shrugged. “I know you’ll be as loving to them as you can be.”
Lowering the papers, Owein said, “I’m going to miss you, Merritt. Maybe you most of all.”
“More than Beth? I’m honored.”
It was a joke, but Owein remained serious. “You told me, on the roof, that everything we have is because of me. But you’re wrong. Everything we have on this island happened because of you . You came. You saw me. You brought Hulda here, and Beth and Baptiste. You even attracted Silas Hogwood ... In a way, it’s because of that that I even had the opportunity to do ... this.” He gestured to the ocean.
Merritt considered this. “I suppose we should thank him for that.”
He scoffed. “I will never thank that man for anything.”
Merritt chuckled. “Well, when you get where you’re going ... the Leiningens seem well off. I expect you to spend some of that fortune on a communion stone large enough to reach Blaugdone.”
The corner of Owein’s lip ticked up. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Merritt squeezed Owein’s knee. “Make sure to listen to her,” he said. “Listen to the things she says, and the things she’s not saying. I know you have no problem being painfully forward, but not everyone is like that.”
Cora’s flawless handwriting passed behind Owein’s eyelids. “I will.”
“And serve her,” Merritt added. “Where there is service, there is love. Everything will come together if you love each other.”
Owein’s stomach tightened. He fumbled for a reply, but glanced up and saw Adey’s boat approaching. His time was up.
Merritt followed his gaze. “And come at Christmas.”
“I’ll do my best,” he said, because that was a promise he knew he could keep.
He’d do his best.
Owein slung two bags over either shoulder in his room, taking a moment to absorb the space. He wondered what the Fernsbys would do with it after he’d gone, but he had a feeling that, should they repurpose it, it would be a while before they did. The thought brought warmth to Owein’s middle. Reaching into his bag, he touched his stack of letters from Cora, assuring himself they were there. He took two off the top, including the missive with the Wordsworth poem, and tucked them into his jacket. Grabbing his suitcase, he touched the wall just outside the doorjamb with his free hand, offering a silent and heartfelt goodbye.
When he stepped outside, they were all waiting for him: Beth, Baptiste, and Henri; Merritt, Hulda, and the girls; Dwight Adey, wearing a pale suit and a matching bowler hat, a mahogany cane in one hand, though the man was hale enough to walk unaided. Steeling himself with a deep breath, Owein rested his hand on the outside of the jacket, pressing Cora’s letters against his ribs, spinning a wordless prayer in his mind. He’d prepared for this, yes, but that did not stop the flittering of moth wings from stirring in his stomach. This was an entirely new adventure for him, and Cora was only part of it.
He glanced up, searching the summer sky for the wing of a gray hawk. Not a feather could be seen.
A huff and a whine sounded behind him. Owein turned, unburdened himself, and crouched down, scratching the ears and neck, respectively, of Ash and Aster, who sensed his departure and placated themselves with tongues on his shoulders and cheeks. “You guys guard this house while I’m gone, okay?” He buried his face into Aster’s fur. Ash flopped over, and Owein gave him a thorough belly rub. “You listen to Hulda. Stay with the kids.” He rumbled a soft growl to let the pups know he loved them, and not to worry, though he knew they’d be worrying for weeks, searching the island for him, never quite understanding where he had gone. The thought made his bags feel too heavy when he stood and lifted them once more.
“Good luck, Owein,” Beth offered.
Baptiste made a fist. “Victory only, my friend.”
“Remember what we’ve taught you,” Hulda said.
“Send me a doll, if you can.” Mabol beamed. “Hattie, too. But not Ellis. Mom says she’s too little for dolls.”
Owein grinned. “I’ll do that.”
Merritt met his eyes and offered a hopeful smile. “Take care of yourself, kid.”
Owein nodded. “Take care of my house.”
Adey tilted his hat. “Ready to depart, Mr. Mansel?”
Adjusting the straps on his shoulders, Owein nodded. He followed the Brit to the dock, to a fine boat with a finely dressed captain. He set his things in the small hold below deck, then came back up to watch Blaugdone Island as the boat sailed away, squinting to see his family at the dock and Mabol jumping up and down with both arms waving. He smiled. Turned into the wind, to keep his eyes dry. Laughed when a mourning dove passed overhead. Winkers. Merritt must have asked her to keep an eye on him. Though a dove lacked the speed of a hawk, and soon the bird couldn’t keep up with the boat and had to turn back for shore. Soon, Blaugdone Island winked out of sight, as though it had never existed at all.
Their kinetic ship to England would depart from Boston in the morning. It was similar to the one Owein had taken over the first time, Adey explained. He explained a lot of things, as though Owein had never been to England before, but Owein appreciated every word. Both for the sake of learning and for the sake of filling in the quiet he couldn’t bring himself to fill. Adey helped him with his bags, bought him dinner, and shared a room with him, jesting it was to ensure he wouldn’t run. Owein promised he wouldn’t, and he didn’t.
Bright and early, the morning sun piercing the sky, Owein boarded a large ship with a hundred other passengers. He had a private room assigned to him, though the ship would arrive at the mouth of the Thames by sunset. And it did, with some time to spare. As before, Owein boarded a carriage, noting the Leiningen crest upon its door, his heart beating just as hard as it had the first time. If Adey noticed his nerves, he had the decency not to remark on them. Together, they rode into the city, past London proper, and out into the more wooded outskirts, where Cyprus Hall resided.
His blood ran fast enough to make his head ache as the grand house came into view, its gardens well manicured and brimming with color. Two dozen people stood outside the front doors as the carriage pulled around, most of whom wore Cyprus Hall livery. Pulling back the gauzy curtain over the window, Owein searched the faces for Cora, but there were so many of them, and the carriage turned in a way that cut off his line of sight. So he pulled back from the window, rubbing his hands together to warm them. Touching, one more time, the letters still tucked into his inside jacket pocket.
The carriage came to a full stop.
“Ready?” Adey asked with a grin on his face.
Before he could answer, a footman opened the door, and Owein stepped into the glow of a dozen enchanted lights.