Chapter 12
The thought of returning to her chambers—to sit alone with nothing to occupy her mind—made Mina feel almost nauseous as she followed Sofia down the corridor.
When they reached the staircase, Mina paused. “I would love to see more of the castle grounds.”
Sofia stopped and looked back at her, a furrow forming between her brows. “I’m afraid that would not be possible, mistress.”
Mina frowned. “Oh.” Sofia seemed to take this as the end of the conversation, for she turned and continued up the stairs. Mina followed. “It’s just that, since I am to live here, I thought perhaps I should familiarize myself with the castle.”
Without turning back, Sofia sighed. “It is the Count’s rule, mistress. Much of the castle has fallen into decline,” Sofia went on. “It is not safe to wander. If you wish to see more of the estate, you must do so with the Count as your companion.”
Mina hesitated, glancing down the empty stairwell behind her.
It seemed absurd that she was now the lady of the manor, and yet forbidden from exploring it on her own, or even with Sofia.
But the Count’s words from the night before returned to her—the same words that Sofia had uttered to her this morning: Transylvania is not England.
With no other choice, Mina followed Sofia back to her chambers.
Once inside, Sofia’s demeanor softened. “I will return to fetch you for supper, mistress. Perhaps it would serve you to rest. Travel is known to leave a lady feeling quite worn.”
Mina offered a tight smile. “Perhaps I will.”
When Sofia closed the door, Mina crossed the room, standing by the windows that overlooked the courtyard below and the mountainside beyond. From where she stood, she could no longer see Jonathan’s carriage, and somehow that absence made her heart clench.
She felt the sting of tears and turned away. She needed a distraction—something to pull her from her own self-pity. It would not do to give in to such emotion, like some fragile damsel. She was cared for—fed, clothed, protected by the castle and by the Count. She had nothing to fear.
And yet, she could not help but wish she were back in London—or that Lucy were here with her, some small piece of home.
Mina had always been the practical one between them—the rational, steady one—yet she could see now that without Lucy’s light, there was no balance within her.
Steadiness held little value in a life devoid of joy.
She cleared her throat against the emotion, drew a steady breath, and pushed the despondency aside, forcing her thoughts back toward reason.
She was unsettled only because she was in a place which was unfamiliar to her. In time, she told herself, she would find new things to bring her happiness. She needed only to allow herself the space to ease into this new life.
Her gaze drifted around the room, taking in the fur blankets on the bed and the rug laid before the hearth, waiting for some idea to take hold.
When her eyes settled on the dressing table against the far wall, resolve followed.
If she could not bring Lucy to her, she would bring a piece of herself to Lucy.
She would write to Lucy, and to Aunt Emily as well—though she suspected her aunt had already returned to the rhythms of her ordinary life.
Mina opened the drawers of the wooden table, searching for paper and a quill, but found nothing. Determined, she crossed the room and opened the door—only to startle at the figure standing just beyond it.
“Can I help you with something, mistress?” Sofia asked.
Mina pressed a hand to her chest. “Sofia, you frightened me.” The woman said nothing at first, watching her with quiet unease, as though waiting for an explanation. “I wanted to write a letter,” Mina offered. “Could you show me where I might find paper and a quill?”
“Not to worry, mistress. I will fetch them for you.”
Sofia turned away, but Mina stepped out after her.
“I’ll join you,” Mina said lightly. “If I am to live in this castle as more than a guest, I should learn where such things are kept.”
Sofia stared at her, seeming at a loss for how to counter the argument. With a restrained sigh, she said, “As you wish, mistress.”
Mina followed, trying to track their route—left from her bedroom, down the corridor, then right, another hallway, and right again.
But soon, with no windows or wall décor to distinguish one passage from the next, confusion set in.
She supposed she understood why the Count was so insistent on having either himself or Sofia guide her.
Yet as they reached a staircase some time later, another possibility occurred to her—what if Sofia took a different route each time?
What if she meant to prevent Mina from learning the paths on her own?
Almost as quickly as the thought surfaced, she dismissed it. What would Sofia gain by keeping her disoriented? Mina was simply unaccustomed to relying on anyone but herself to navigate the world. Perhaps it was that unfamiliar vulnerability that made the situation feel suspect.
“Just through here, mistress.”
Sofia led her into a room Mina recognized from her first night, and then through another door into the library where she had awakened after her fainting spell.
Mina paused there, memories rising unbidden—of Jonathan, of the comfort of his presence, of the last moment she had not felt so utterly alone.
Emotion tightened her throat. She felt suddenly like a porcelain figure, kept safely tucked away—valued, perhaps, but never truly interacted with.
She had hoped marriage might ease that feeling, that some bond might form between her and the Count, something that could grow with time.
But was that reasonable to expect of a man so accustomed to command, to a life dictated by his own will?
Mina coughed, disguising the watering of her eyes as nothing more than hay fever.
“Perhaps it is too stuffy for you in here, mistress,” Sofia said, concern flickering across her face. “I can take you back—”
“No, no,” Mina said quickly. “My throat is only a bit dry. Would you fetch me a drink, please?”
Sofia hesitated, clearly reluctant to leave her alone, but Mina gave another cough for emphasis. At last, Sofia nodded. “Yes, mistress.” She turned and disappeared into the corridor beyond.
Left alone, Mina turned back to the room, her intention momentarily forgotten as her gaze was drawn to the shelves lining the walls. What kind of books did her husband keep? She had always believed that a person’s reading revealed something of their spirit.
What, she wondered, would a library like this reveal about the Count?
She walked around the couch, her eyes scanning the shelves, and felt a tinge of disappointment upon realizing that most of the volumes were not fiction, but history.
Politics. Economics. She supposed she should not be surprised that a man of such noble standing might wish to fill his mind with knowledge of every kind.
Then she realized what was so strange about the collection—every single book was in English.
She frowned, looking closer, searching for some evidence to disprove herself.
But as she examined each spine, she found only confirmation.
Not only were the books in English, but many of them were specific to England.
She paused, wondering if he had done all of this for her—if he had been studying in anticipation of her arrival.
It was also possible, she supposed, that he wished to be well versed in English matters for his dealings with Jonathan and the Carfax property.
She blinked, uncertain what to make of it.
Was it a thoughtful gesture—a man preparing himself to converse with his new bride?
Doubt crept in at the notion. A man like the Count, steeped in tradition, seemed unlikely to believe a woman capable of matching his intellect.
It was an attitude she had encountered often, and in her experience, the more traditional the man, the more deeply entrenched the belief.
But if the books were not for her, then why? Did he truly see fit to educate himself on England’s politics and geography simply to purchase land?
“Here you go, mistress.”
Mina jumped, spinning around to face Sofia as though she had been caught in some transgression. “Thank you,” she said, pausing only a moment before stepping forward to take the glass of water.
“You won’t find any writing utensils over there, mistress.” Sofia crossed to the desk, drew a key from her pocket, and unlocked a drawer.
As Mina sipped the liquid, she wondered what the Count could possibly keep in that desk that required a key.
Considering she had arrived only the day before, it was unlikely to be the result of her presence.
And yet, given the emptiness of the grounds, who did he fear might go rifling through his things in his absence?
Sofia pulled paper, quill, and ink from the desk, slid the drawer closed, and locked it.
“The Count does not like us lingering in his library without him,” she said.
“Of course,” Mina replied, setting the glass down on the desk. She accepted the supplies with a tight smile and turned toward the door. But when she glanced back, she found Sofia lifting the water glass and carefully wiping away the ring of condensation it had left behind.