Chapter Fourteen
C arys left the great hall at Dunstan’s side, determined not to look at him or speak to him or even to acknowledge him more than was absolutely necessary as they completed the task they’d been set. Her heart was still throbbing with misery over having touched something so precious, knowing she could not have it. She absolutely would not give herself so much as a glimmer of hope that things could be different from the way she had already decided they should be. She could not afford it.
By the time they reached the library and paused just inside the doorway to survey the upended room, a different part of her had risen up to tell the miserable and rigid part of her that she was being woefully impractical.
She could not suddenly ignore Dunstan out of existence. She did not want to. The essence of the conflict within her was that she did not want anything to change between her and her closest friend simply because the nature of the way they felt about each other had altered.
In fact, it had not altered. The two of them had merely become aware of the changes that had developed gradually between them.
“Do you have any idea where we should start to look for what Mr. Entwistle has asked for?” Dunstan asked, gazing at the disheveled room and not her.
“No,” Carys sighed. She raised a hand to rub her forehead, wondering how the library had fallen into such disarray to begin with.
Of course, the answer to that was clear. The family was the reason the library had been turned inside out and had all its books scattered across tables and sofas instead of inhabiting the shelves. It looked as though a whirlwind had passed through the room, devastating any sense of order that it might have once had.
It felt as though a whirlwind had come between her and Dunstan, laying waste to the beautiful connection the two of them had once had.
Carys drew in a breath and squared her shoulders, still looking at the room and not Dunstan. “Right. Mr. Entwistle desires some sort of record of inheritances passing to women who have married into the Godwin family, correct?”
“Correct,” Dunstan echoed.
“So all we need to find is any sort of ledger, diary entry, or household account book that shows a Godwin bride has been given money that then became entirely her own,” she said.
They both paused, eyes still fixed forward.
Finally, Dunstan blew out a breath and said, “This is madness, of course. Charlotte’s parents have no more right to a penny of Godwin money than…than Ruby has.”
“Agreed,” Carys said, forlorn.
“And to be quite honest about it,” Dunstan continued, “I believe your cousin Edgar has more than any of us suspect to do with the entire kerfuffle.”
Carys sighed and glanced mournfully at the small servants’ staircase in the corner. “I am almost certain he does. But we owe it to the family to find something akin to what Mr. Entwistle wishes to see.”
“We do,” Dunstan said.
Another beat of silence followed. Then, without a hint in advance, Dunstan and Carys turned to look at each other for the first time since entering the room.
The moment their eyes met, Carys felt as though she’d been struck by lightning. It was the first time they’d been alone since their painful conversation that morning. Immediately, she regretted everything she’d said to him. It had been too harsh, too curt.
At the same time, the swell of desire she felt for him, the burst of emotion that both encompassed and eclipsed the fondness she’d always had for him, made her heart beat in double time. She wanted to throw her arms around him, lean into him, and beg him to forgive her for not knowing her own mind.
Dunstan cleared his throat, dispelling the moment.
“We’d best dive in, then,” he said.
“Yes, we should.”
Carys set off for one side of the room and Dunstan headed off in the opposite direction. Within moments, they’d put a great deal of distance between them.
The search was as futile as any efforts Carys had made thus far to curb the intensity of her feelings for Dunstan. It did not help at all that she really had no idea what she was searching for. Lord William and Lady Alexandra’s claim that they should have a share in Dunstan’s inheritance was outlandish. Lord Gerald should not have even considered it. They should have been putting their efforts toward interrogating Edgar and likely dismissing him.
Indeed, it seemed obvious to Carys after only a few moments of searching that the only likely reason he hadn’t ordered all of the bad players in the current farce as far away from Godwin Castle as possible was so that he could use the excuse of the search to corner her and Dunstan alone together.
After rifling through a pair of ledgers detailing land transactions in the early seventeen hundreds, Carys let out a sigh and glanced across the room to Dunstan. He had his hands full of loose papers that he’d taken from a metal box that someone had brought down from one of the shelves. His expression was pure confusion as he glanced from one set of documents to the other.
A smile touched Carys’s lips. Dunstan was such a good and pure soul. He did not need to climb ridiculous mountains for his family. He, too, could have simply laughed at his late wife’s parents and sent them on their way. That he was even trying to appease them said so much about his character.
Her smile faltered, falling into a pinch of despair. A woman could do far, far worse than to marry a good, caring man above her station. Even if she would never be accepted by the ton . Even at the risk of the two of them falling out and losing what they already had. Why was she so convinced that the worst would happen at any rate? Why could she not cling to the idea that the two of them would simply be—
A sudden rush of movement as Napoleon came sailing out from the other side of one of the library’s sofas and pounced on something at the far end of the table nearly shocked Carys out of her wits.
“Napoleon!” she gasped, pressing a hand to her heart. “What in heaven’s name?”
Napoleon glanced briefly up at her before focusing on a small movement from one of the piles of papers on the table. He then scrambled and slapped at the papers several times in short order, his eyes going wide.
A small mouse peeked out from under the papers, and Napoleon scrambled after him, throwing papers this way and that and scratching right through a more delicate parchment in his chase.
“Oh, no!” Carys gasped, pushing forward in an attempt to save the papers and diaries that were in danger of being shredded as Napoleon chased the mouse. “Off the table! Off!”
Napoleon leapt from the table, but immediately jumped onto one of the sofas, where ancient diaries and texts were piled. The mouse attempted to hide behind the pile, which only increased Napoleon’s desire to tear through it. He sent the whole thing toppling, which caused more than one of the books to crack at the spine.
“Napoleon!” Dunstan shouted, leaving what he was doing to join Carys in chasing him. “Bad cat!”
Napoleon paid the two of them as little mind as he did the rest of the furniture. He continued his single-minded pursuit of the mouse, skittering off the sofa and flying across the floor as the poor thing made a bid to escape into a crack in the wall.
“Around that way!” Carys called out, pointing to where Dunstan had a chance of intercepting the chase. She darted around to the other table so that she might block Napoleon from heading for another stack of books if the mouse changed direction.
The mouse did change directions, and Napoleon followed it. Carys and Dunstan ducked and dodged, trying both to rescue books from the path of destruction and shoo the cat and mouse from the room. In the process, more books were dislodged or fell over, a few more were damaged, and Carys was left breathless by the sudden burst of activity.
Things only became worse when Napoleon caught the mouse.
“You have your prize,” Dunstan said, approaching the cat slowly, a shawl that had been left behind in his hands, as if he planned to throw it over Napoleon to capture him. “Now give yourself up.”
Napoleon only growled as Dunstan approached, as if Dunstan had designs on the mouse.
“Take your mouse and go,” Carys told him, trying to angle herself so that she could push Napoleon toward the door.
Napoleon had other plans. As soon as both Dunstan and Carys came close to him, he bolted again, giving chase around the library.
There was more running, more leaping over furniture, and more cursing, from cat and from people, than Carys had been part of for a very long time. The irony was that, despite the turmoil of the day, Carys found the entire thing outrageously amusing. She and Dunstan fell easily into working together, and as Napoleon refused to give up the chase or let himself be shooed from the room, that working together turned into laughing together.
At very long last, they managed to maneuver Napoleon toward the door. Once he darted out into the hall, Carys’s laughter did not stop. She stumbled over to one of the library’s tables that contained scattered papers and what appeared to be an extensive family tree and leaned against it, clutching a hand to her stomach as the absurdity of the moment continued to wash over her.
“What a palaver,” Dunstan laughed as well, coming to lean against the table by her side. “That cat is the embodiment of the Curse of Godwin Castle.”
“He is,” Carys said, unable to stop herself from giggling. “Perhaps he is, in some way, Morgana reborn, continuing to vex the castle and everyone in it.”
“Or maybe Morgana’s spirit is in that mouse who gave him such a chase,” Dunstan said, his handsome face red from exertion and his eyes sparkling with mischief.
She loved him so! She had never cared for anyone the way she cared for Dunstan. It had to be the curse that would bring them so close and keep them so far apart.
Dunstan must have seen the anguish in her expression. As their laughter faded, while they still panted and caught their breath, he reached for her hand and held it tightly in his.
“Whatever are we doing, Carys?” he asked, still breathless.
“I do not know,” she lamented, blinking to fight back tears. “I truly, honestly do not know.”
“Neither do I,” he said with a hopeless shrug.
They were silent for a moment longer as they leaned there, gazing at each other. Carys willed the world to stop feeling as if it were spinning too fast. She was convinced that if they were left to their own devices, without the world or the family interfering, they could be perfectly happy together.
“I do not understand why all of this must be so difficult,” Dunstan said with feeling.
“Neither do I,” Carys said, inching closer to him. “How have things become so complicated between us so quickly?”
“They weren’t complicated a fortnight ago,” Dunstan agreed. “Less than that, even.”
“My regard for you has not changed,” Carys said, feeling just anxious enough to keep her voice low, despite the strength of what she felt. “I have always thought you to be one of the very best people I know.”
“And I you,” Dunstan agreed. He shrugged, then went on with, “It seems bitterly unfair that an increase in affection should also cause such turmoil.”
“I love you,” Carys agreed and confessed in one. “Why should that be a bad thing?”
The question hung in the air between them like the buzzing of a wasp that could not be located, no matter how much it was searched for.
They were both silent for a time as they finished catching their breaths and gathering their thoughts. Carys was grateful for Dunstan’s hand in hers, but at the same time, it left her feeling uncertain. She was deeply worried that she might make a wrong move in the pressure of the moment and ruin things more than they had already been ruined.
And then Dunstan said, “Charlotte was one of the great beauties of the season.”
It was just that. A statement. But it was also the opening of a door that Carys knew was there, but had never even knocked upon.
Dunstan looked at her. “Everyone wanted her that season,” he continued. “I remember thinking it was strange that a woman could be considered nothing more than a prize. But then Charlotte’s attention turned to me, and I felt so honored by her regard.”
Carys smiled weakly and twisted slightly so that she could add her other hand to their already joined ones.
Dunstan shrugged and went on. “I was a very young man then. Not even five-and-twenty. I had so little experience of the world. I was in awe of Alden’s adventurous spirit and my cousins’ cleverness and boldness. I never considered myself their equal.”
“You are,” Carys assured him. “You are a good, dear man.”
Dunstan smiled sadly at her. “I am a man who broke his own heart by giving it to a woman who did not deserve it. I suspected Charlotte did not care for me, not really, even before the wedding. I even considered calling it off a few days before, but the law would not allow me to do such a thing.
“I attempted to make the best of a foolish situation, though,” he went on. “Or at least I would have, had Charlotte not discovered how little fortune I had. I still do not know how she fabricated the idea that I was a wealthy landowner. I flatter myself to think that she was swayed by my youthful good looks and charm, all of which have long since faded.”
“You are still very handsome, Dunstan,” Carys told him with a small smile. “And charming.”
“But no less foolish now than I was then,” he sighed, his posture slipping.
He raised his eyes from where they had been fixed on their joined hands to gaze into her eyes.
“I never loved her the way I love you,” he said in a soft voice that nearly broke Carys’s heart, glancing out across the room. “All these years, I have been so ashamed of myself for letting the wool be pulled over my eyes, and for being cuckolded, that I have run as far from love as I thought I could get. I did not ever want to revisit that foolishness or that shame.”
Carys blinked as a new understanding dawned in her. It was not simply that Dunstan was afraid of his disastrous marriage with Lady Charlotte being repeated. He had spent all these years believing he did not deserve happiness because he brought his misery upon himself.
“I do not think Charlotte was a good woman,” she said gently. In a slightly less gentle tone she added, “I have met her parents. I do not believe that any daughter raised by the two of them would be a sweet angel.”
Dunstan huffed a defeated laugh. “They have not changed a bit since I knew them all those years ago.”
Carys made a strangled noise of sympathy.
That caused Dunstan to laugh weakly.
He turned serious again a moment later, and glanced at her again.
“You are the dearest friend I have ever had in my life,” he said. “I have heard your objections to the two of us being together and I understand and honor them. I would never attempt to force you into a connection that you do not want.”
Carys’s heart caught in her chest. She did want it. She wanted to be with Dunstan more than anything. But she was still not convinced it was right for her to want him so.
“More than anything,” Dunstan continued, leaning into her, “I simply want to continue to be your friend. My days are better because you are in them, and my nights—” His face heated, and he made a guilty face. “I am now convinced that my nights would be better with you in them as well.”
Carys laughed despite herself, though the sound was short and awkward. She wanted to give in to her heart and ignore the warnings of her head. She could imagine so clearly how wonderful her life would be, how wonderful it would be for both of them together, if she threw caution and class to the wind.
“Would that none of this were so complicated,” she said, turning and kissing Dunstan’s shoulder. “But do you see this?” She tapped the parchment containing the Godwin family tree that sat on the table behind him.
Dunstan turned to look at it and sighed. “If it is not one thing, it is another,” he said. “If it were not for the scars Charlotte left me with, it would be the chasm of class dividing us. It seems as though a thousand reasons stand against the two of us being together, whereas—hold on a moment.”
Carys frowned at Dunstan’s sudden change in tone. She leaned back as he twisted and scooted away from her, pulling the parchment with the family tree closer.
“I’m not certain I’ve ever seen a family tree so extensive,” Carys said, marveling at the complexity and completeness of the tree. “It goes back generations.”
She checked the top, holding her breath to see if it stretched all the way back to Aethelbore and Morgana’s time. It fell short by a few hundred years, though.
“This must have been created relatively recently,” Dunstan said, slipping off the table and turning to observe the tree in its entirety. “Alden and I and our sisters are included, as well as Uncle Gerald’s entire family.”
“Oh?”
Carys slipped off the table as well and leaned over to squint at the tiny handwriting at the bottom of the page.
“And what is this?” Dunstan asked, his tone suddenly filled with surprise.
Carys frowned as she tried to see what he was seeing. Dunstan moved his finger from himself up to his father, who had a date of decease written along with his date of birth and date of marriage, then up another branch to his grandfather. From there he traced it to the other side of the page, to the name of a great-uncle who had not married, then down a dotted line…to the name Edgar Pearce.
“Good heavens,” Carys gasped, leaning closer, as if Cousin Edgar’s name would shift to something else if she looked at it more closely. “Cousin Edgar is a Godwin?”
Dunstan stood suddenly, his eyes going wide. He looked at Carys, then back at the family tree, then at Carys again. “I have always vaguely known that he was some sort of Godwin born on the wrong side of the bed, but I can see clearly here that he is the son of Uncle Gerald and my father’s uncle?”
Carys shook her head and stared at the tree again. “There is a dotted line, not a solid one, and no marriage is recorded. What, precisely, does that mean?”
“I wouldn’t begin to know,” Dunstan said, shrugging and shaking his head.
“Why would he be recorded on the family tree at all?” Carys asked.
They pondered that silently for a moment before Dunstan let out a breath and leaned over to roll up the parchment.
“There’s only one way to find out,” he said, picking up the scroll, then taking Carys’s hand and starting out of the library. “And it has just occurred to me that discovering the answer to this mystery might just resolve a few other mysteries that have been hanging over our heads, like the Sword of Damocles, in these last few weeks.”
“What do you mean by that?” Carys asked, allowing Dunstan to lead her into the hallway.
“It means, my friend, that I believe your cousin, not the curse, to be the cause of all our current troubles.”