Chapter 19
Sister Ethel appeared at the door, looking anxious and wringing her hands together. “My Lady, there is a guest for you. A gentleman,” she added in a panicked hush.
Thalia, who had been reading a storybook to the children, bit her lip hard. “I see. Well, show him in.”
“Shall I take the children away?”
“Certainly not. He can help me entertain them.”
Sister Ethel looked horrified at this idea but nodded obediently and walked out of the room.
Thalia sat in silence for a moment, heart thumping.
He really came.
She had assumed that Christian would not come. After the events of last night, she was not entirely sure he’d come. After all, how were they supposed to act naturally around each other after that? She could still remember the sharp, dizzyingly peak of pleasure.
The novels had also never mentioned that.
“Lady Thalia?” one of the children spoke up. “Are you going to finish the story?”
She swallowed. The story she was reading to the children was not, in fact, the one written on the page.
The trustees, who loved to interfere in every aspect of the orphans’ lives, had decided that even the stories they told must properly inculcate gratitude.
So, the book was not exactly a book of fairytales, but a book of morals.
It had been written by a reverend who apparently decided that the Bible did not, after all, carry messages of kindness and love but just so happened to perfectly align with his own morality.
In the foreword, he claimed that orphans, widows, and poor people were being punished for unmentioned sins and should hurry to remedy their poor spiritual condition.
The story that Thalia was meant to be reading was about two orphans.
One was a good, pious girl who liked nothing more than reading her Bible, praying, and giving up all of her things to other people.
The other was a selfish, lazy girl who had the audacity to wish to be treated well and not to be starved, beaten, or otherwise abused.
She also read novels. The author seemed to consider that a great failing.
Thalia had gotten to the part where both girls were placed in a household where they were starved, beaten, given the most awful jobs, and, quite frankly, tortured. The pious girl was grateful for her place and thanked God daily, whereas the selfish girl plotted to escape.
By the time Thalia got to the part where the selfish girl was struck down dead for refusing to thank her mistress for something, she had decided to tell an entirely different story.
Besides, she had read ahead, and the pious girl, far from being rewarded for her endurance and self-sacrifice, died of a fever while lying on rags.
The story assured them that she was swept right to Heaven, but still, Thalia did not consider it a particularly happy ending.
In her retelling, the girls—who had not been given names in the narrative—were Mary and Sophie and were good friends, plotting to escape together and live in a small cottage in the woods.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Christian step into the room, and a sense of mischief rose inside her.
“And then Mary woke up one morning to find Sophie gone, quite gone!”
The children gasped.
“She has my name,” Sophia whispered. “Well, almost.”
Thalia winked at her. “Mary was determined to find her friend, even though she knew that the search for her would be dangerous.”
She glanced up at Christian, meeting his eyes pointedly. I hope you are listening, she wanted to say. He only tilted his head, watching her carefully. Then, abruptly, he turned away and stepped out of the room.
That startled Thalia. She’d expected him to stop and listen. With a sigh, she gingerly closed the book. Not that it mattered, since she had no intention of reading any of the dreary stories it contained. Still, one had to pretend.
“I shall finish the story soon,” she promised the children, rising to her feet.
She ruffled Sophia’s hair as she passed by and winked at Alex and Nicholas, who were sitting together. She knew she ought to go straight to Christian, but she could not stop herself from crouching down before Hannah, a small and sickly girl who sat in the corner by herself.
“I have heard that you have not been well again,” she murmured, stroking her hair. “Are you feeling better?”
Hannah nodded eagerly. “Thank you for the food, Lady Thalia. It was very delicious. I shared it with the others.”
“Oh, you didn’t have to. It was all for you, my dear.”
Hannah gave a small, shy smile. “I like to share.”
Thalia kissed the top of her head. “Well, that is good to hear. Now, I’ll be back soon, all right?”
She slipped out of the room, gingerly closing the door behind her. She found Christian leaning against the wall, staring out a dusty, round window in great need of polishing.
“Was there any particular reason for you to storm off in a huff, or are you simply in a bad mood this morning?” she demanded, placing her hands on her hips.
He glanced at her, saying nothing. To her annoyance, she felt the now-familiar frisson of desire coiling in her gut.
“Is there somewhere private we can talk?” he asked quietly.
She walked over to him. “We won’t be disturbed here,” she said quietly. “Nobody can hear inside the library, and the nuns aren’t likely to bother us.”
“Are you certain?”
“Quite certain. Didn’t you understand what I was doing? My translations…”
“Yes, yes, you were turning them into a story,” he said shortly. “That name… Sophie. Did you choose it at random? Was it in the book?”
Thalia blinked, confused. “No, nothing like that. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.
Those German excerpts were notes Laura wrote down so that she wouldn’t forget.
She took pains to hide them, and my guess is that they are out of sequence and we’re probably missing parts.
The most important notes, she probably took with her. ”
Christian’s shoulders stiffened. He glanced away from her, staring fixedly out the window.
Thalia let the silence sit for a moment, waiting for him to speak. She couldn’t understand what the problem was, but clearly something was up.
“Sophie?” he echoed. “She mentioned Sophie in the notes?”
Thalia nodded wordlessly.
“Does she have a friend named Sophie?”
“No, none that I can think of.”
Christian squeezed his eyes shut. “She can’t be planning to find Sophie.”
“Why not?”
“Because Sophie has been dead for years.”
Thalia blinked, confused. “So… so you do know a Sophie. Or did, rather. Well, why not visit where she used to live? See if Laura is there.”
“You don’t understand.”
“So make me understand. Explain. Who was this woman? How did she die? Why does Laura want to meet her?”
He shook his head tightly, turning away. “Don’t concern yourself with this, Thalia. It doesn’t matter.”
“Doesn’t matter? But Laura—”
“I don’t see how you can help me any further,” he said briskly, briefly meeting her eyes then turning away. “I’ll keep my end of our bargain, don’t worry, but there’s no need for you to translate further. Give me back the notes if you please.”
Thalia stared up at him for a moment, waiting for him to smile or shake his head, or give an indication that he was joking.
Nothing came, so she dug wordlessly into her pocket and pulled out the remainder of the notes, most of them untranslated.
It wasn’t the German that had given her trouble; it was Laura’s terrible handwriting.
“Thank you,” he responded and seemed to mean it. Executing a brief bow, he pocketed the notes and turned to leave.
“Wait a moment,” she burst out.
He paused, glancing back over his shoulder at her.
Clearing her throat, Thalia folded her hands in front of her waist and met his eyes squarely. “If you need anything, Christian, I could help. I will help. I mean it.”
His eyes bored into her. “Help?”
“Yes, help. That’s what friends do, isn’t it? And I can’t help but think that w-we are… we are…” She paused, swallowing and trying unsuccessfully to stop her face from flushing. “… friends.”
He stared at her for a long moment, then a slow smile crept onto his face. “Friends? I’m not sure, my dear Lady Thalia, that anybody who has moaned my name as sweetly as you have would content themselves with the mere status of friend.”
Color rushed to her face, betraying her. Coughing thinly, Thalia forced herself to continue.
“Your flirting will do you no good, Your Grace.”
“Oh no? The sounds haunt me, my dear. A memory I will carry for quite a while.”
She folded her arms tightly. “You are changing the subject. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”
His smile wavered, just a little, but he turned away before she could get a good look at his face.
“I meant what I said,” she insisted, trying and failing to catch his eye. “I want to help you. I want to help Laura.”
He clenched his fists, still not meeting her gaze. “You’re very kind,” he said brusquely, almost vaguely.
Since he refused to look at her, Thalia decided to make him look at her. She stepped in front of him, hands on her hips.
“You are helping me more than you could possibly know with this betrothal,” she said quietly. “Let me help you in return.”
He looked at her at last, gaze lingering for a long moment. She tilted up her chin, forcing herself to wait until he spoke. Or at least, she tried.
“Please,” she whispered after a moment. “Let me help. If not for your own sake, then at least for Laura’s.”
He let out a long breath, then offered a tight smile.
“You’ve helped more than you know, Thalia.
I mean that. I am simply trying to make you feel better.
I suspect this search has led to a dead end.
I hope it is not true, but I am afraid it is.
But tell me, since we are speaking so frankly with each other. Why do you simply refuse to marry?”