Chapter 38
Chapter Thirty-Eight
JADEON
Ingrid, Alex, and I arrived in Marazion just after three o’clock in the morning, having driven down in my new silver Jaguar.
At Ingrid’s request, we had stopped off at her hotel, the Hilton Trafalgar located in Trafalgar Square, so that she could gather some overnight belongings. It was here she was staying while attending the course at Scotland Yard.
Ingrid had settled back into the luxury car seat and had not minded when I occasionally broke the speed limit.
If anyone could talk us out of a speeding ticket, she could.
It was reassuring that she had hit if off with Alex.
They both shared a love of modern music.
Their tastes, it seemed, almost identical.
Ingrid hung on my every word when I talked about my passion for art, and I found her profession extraordinary, enjoying the insights she revealed when discussing the law.
Even though her petite frame made her seem an unlikely opponent, her quick mind and confident nature were a match for any criminal.
Her ability to lull you into a sense of comfort then slowly extract what she wanted to know was uncanny.
I had to make a point of staying one step ahead of her.
My growing fascination with Ingrid proved a challenge.
Despite my reasoning that this was just a fleeting distraction, my desires told me otherwise.
On our arrival, I parked the car in a small alley in the center of Marazion.
“This is where we walk.” I held open the car door for Ingrid and escorted her toward the causeway, carrying her small overnight bag for her.
As we turned the street corner, Ingrid was struck by the vision before her—the magnificent castle looming in the distance. Despite her weariness, she soon woke up. Ingrid peered at the resplendent chateau. The tide was out.
“This way,” I said.
We guided her down onto the pathway.
I grinned with mischief. “I hope you’re a good swimmer, in case we don’t make it before the tide turns.”
“That’s not funny, Jadeon.” She picked up her pace.
“When we get inside, it’s quite cozy,” I reassured her.
We trekked over the gravel, all three of us excited to reach St. Michael’s Mount. Ingrid was thrilled to be seeing the castle for the first time, and we were happy to be home.
I unlocked the original large wooden doors and gestured to Ingrid to enter. She stepped inside. She gazed in awe at the enormous low-hung chandelier.
Alex and I smiled at one another. We knew we had taken our home for granted, and now through Ingrid’s eyes, we were able to rekindle our perspective.
She sighed in wonder at the sweeping staircase in front of us.
Two armored knights stood on guard at the base of the stairwell, presented as in battle.
“Wow!” she said.
“They were actually used once,” I told her.
“Did you ever put them on?”
“The knights were shorter back then,” I said, amused.
“It must have been an extraordinary growing up here.”
I checked my watch. “Come on. I’ll get you a drink.”
With little time left with her until Alex and I would be forced down into the dungeons to sleep, I was determined to savor her presence.
We lingered in the kitchen where I poured Ingrid a glass of water, aware that after her journey she would be thirsty.
“Thing is,” I said, “I have invited you down here and now I have to dash off for a meeting. Will you forgive me?”
“You don’t have to trek back over the causeway, do you?” She looked shocked.
“I’ll go by boat.” I hoped she didn’t ask more.
It hurt me more than I could ever admit—that I was lying to her, that I wouldn’t be leaving the island at all. Instead, I’d be slipping into some dark corner to hide. And for the first time in a long while, I felt conflicted about my existence.
“I don’t want to cause any trouble,” Ingrid said.
“No trouble. Come on, I’ll show you to your room,” I said.
I escorted her up the sweeping staircase and along the corridor to our father’s large bedroom.
“It’s another four-poster bed!” Ingrid said.
“So it is.” I smiled. “Alex and I have business in Marazion pretty much all day. Just a boring old art deal. How about we join you for dinner in the evening? Ingrid, you have the run of the castle.”
I held her hand to my chest and felt her human frailty. Her alluring presence threw me, and I felt an uncommon need to get close to her.
“You’re cold,” she said.
“I’m fine.” I closed my eyes, melting into the moment.
Ingrid seemed to sense what I needed and stood quietly. I leaned forward and kissed her cheek. Ingrid moved her mouth against mine and our lips touched. Her scent ignited my senses.
God, I wanted her.
Needed her.
Craved this beautiful, impossible creature with a longing that shook through me.
Every part of her drew me in, exquisite in ways I could barely withstand.
And still, I forced myself to hold back, reaching deep into the darkest corners of my heart, reminding myself that I was wrong for her in every way that mattered.
I wanted to stay, but with sunrise imminent, judging by the sting of my flesh, I had to pull away. “Later then?” I said, and stepped back.
“Hurry back,” Ingrid replied and glanced out the window. She took in the exquisite colors of the morning as a burst of light flooded the room. She turned to face me.
She was alone in the room.
Ingrid looked about for me. She stepped out of the room and peered both ways down the corridor. “Where did you go?”
From within my place of rest down in the lower depths of the castle, I telepathically followed Ingrid on her tour. She headed down the corridor, eager to begin her adventure. She strolled down the imposing hallways, retracing her steps from when she had first been guided to her room.
The dimly lit passageways provided meager light causing her to consider for a moment whether she should wait for my return before she ventured any further.
Intrigue drove her on, and she descended the sweeping staircase, holding onto the carved banisters for support, admiring the many paintings hanging upon the walls of the stairway.
She stopped momentarily, distracted by a painting that caught her attention.
It was of Alex and me, captured on canvas as boys.
Ingrid admired how the artist had represented our features so perfectly, recognizing that familiar glint in Alex’s eye.
But examining it more closely and reading the name of the painter in the lower right-hand corner of the portrait, she realized she must be wrong.
It was dated 1791, the artist Sir Thomas Lawrence.
Though surprised, she realized this must be a portrait of our ancestors and continued to walk down the stairs, pondering on its familiarity and marveling at how uncanny it was.
Perhaps had her visit not been spontaneous, I would have hidden those gems that could be found within this ancient stronghold.
She stood in the main foyer, looking in wonder at the chandelier again and considering which direction she should go.
Turning right, she headed down yet another dimly lit corridor until she reached a grand oak door.
Curious, she opened it and peered in at the huge library, admiring the large mahogany table in the center and the thousands of books that completely covered the four walls.
Walking over to one of the shelves she noticed a book lying flat, not part of the perfectly placed collection.
Ingrid appreciated how we had maintained this library in its original form.
She picked up the timeworn book, blowing the dust away.
On the first page she observed an inscription. She read the words written in italics:
To Lady Anna Beth Artimas, my darling wife, on the occasion of your twenty-first birthday.
The book’s subject focused on both British and foreign flowers with what appeared to be hand-drawn pictures.
Turning to the next page, she read the date, and realizing it was over two hundred years old, she quickly placed it back upon the shelf.
Ingrid took one more look at the room, deciding she would return here again later.
On entering the armory, she explored, carefully running her fingers along the ornate swords, avoiding their sharpened blades.
She admired the fencing equipment, noticing how the weapons appeared like new and well cared for.
Ingrid walked over to the extensive collection of antique guns in the corner.
They looked strangely out of place, as if stored in a hurry and not in keeping with the organization of the rest of the armory.
A large wooden chest pushed up against the far wall fascinated her.
She froze, wondering if she had heard someone outside in the corridor.
Ingrid decided she should go and investigate, but before she left this room, she wanted to first take a peek inside the chest that reminded her of an old pirate’s trunk.
Raising the heavy lid, she peered inside.
It contained numerous silver cups and silver-plated awards.
Taking one of the antiquated goblets out, she noticed its inscription.
Brushing off the dust, she read the engraving:
Presented to Lord Jadeon Artimas—Cornwall’s Fencing Champion. The year of our Lord 1798.
“No bloody way!”
She assumed it was obviously one of my ancestors again.
She closed the trunk and left the room to investigate the noise.
Ingrid lingered outside the armory, listening.
On hearing nothing, she decided to continue.
She was peckish, and checking her watch, realized it was now 0830.
Ingrid decided she would search for the kitchen.
We had insisted she make herself at home, and she felt comfortable doing so.
She soon discovered the old-fashioned kitchen, recently renovated in keeping with the castle’s history and style.
Opening the fridge, she found nothing within it.
Though, within the freezer, she found ice cream.
“Typical bachelor pad,” she remarked.
After Ingrid had eaten, she returned to where the bedrooms were situated, looking for my room.
She soon found it, just a few doors down from the room in which she was staying.
She recognized my tailored suits hanging in the wardrobe.
For a moment, she felt a little guilty intruding in such a way, but then something caught her eye—an old book resting on my secretaire.
Upon closer inspection, she discovered it was a book of poetry.
It looked as old as the ones in the library.
Gently she picked it up, opening the front page.
Inside, she found a letter, written on what appeared to be very worn paper.
Carefully she unraveled it, noticing some of the edges crumble away as she did so.
Placing the book back down on the secretaire, she read the words:
The year of our Lord 1797
My darling Jadeon, as you know, the decision I have made has not been easy.
To become a bride of Christ is something I have given much thought to over the years.
I am aware of your feelings for me. Know that I share the same love for you, but I have made a promise to God and cannot break it.
I know that you understand, or will come to, as God will guide you to your destiny.
Know this, I will always love you and will pray for you every morning when I awake and in the evening when I go to sleep.
You are my brother and will be forever safe within my heart.
Yours forever and in God,
Catherine
“Now that’s what I call romantic.” Ingrid then realized there were two pages.
They were almost stuck together, but she could not resist peeking to see what was written on the other letter.
As she pried the other piece of paper away from the first, she realized it was not a letter but a drawing.
She gasped. The sketch on the page was of a likeness to me that was again uncanny.
It was my face looking up at her, drawn beside the image of a beautiful young girl. The drawing was signed Alex, 1796.
Gently sliding the letter and drawing back into the book, Ingrid placed it again on the writing desk as she had found it. She climbed onto the comfy four-poster bed.
Ingrid laughed. “I have solved the mystery. Jadeon is over two hundred years old.” She snuggled into the soft blankets. “This place is a trove of the strange and wonderful. And I love it so much.”
She fell asleep.
Reassured that Ingrid had settled into my room, I too allowed myself the luxury of sleep and soon drifted off.