Chapter 12
Alaric and Peregrine rode together down the main road that led from Thornwyck Hall to the local village of Aldercombe.
It was a short five-minute ride through the surrounding moorland; a wide road, it curved lazily as it gently rose and descended through the low-rising hills of greenery.
The pace set was easy, and the day was a sunny one that made for a pleasant journey.
Peregrine was in good spirits, which grated on Alaric slightly, because it clashed horribly with his own tumultuous mood. And while Peregrine was often this way, Alaric could not escape the feeling that the reason was more personally linked to Alaric than he might have liked.
I am being foolish. Overthinking things. There is no indication at all that …
“Say, Verity seems rather pleased to see you staying with us,” Alaric started before he could stop himself.
“Hhmm?” Peregrine looked over at him.
“Verity,” Alaric repeated. “Since you have moved under our roof, I have noticed her mood has improved considerably.”
“Have you now?”
“Have you not?” Alaric continued casually. “The two of you were always close. Perhaps there is a reason that she is so pleased to be seeing more of you …” He let that insinuation sit between them.
It was not true, of course. If anything, Verity’s mood had plummeted during the last few weeks, seeing her skulk around Thornwyck Hall like a specter trapped within its walls. She was snappy. She was short-tempered. She was argumentative to a point of absurdity.
Alaric knew the reason, but that was not why he raised the subject.
Once, not so long ago, it was wondered if Peregrine and Verity might become involved in a courtship.
Although such musings were never pursued, Alaric suddenly found that he wanted them to be.
He had not failed to notice how well Peregrine got along with Miss Kavanagh, and while he knew he had no reason to care, or no reason to succumb to jealousy …
sadly, such logic holds no appeal at the moment.
He wished to distract his friend, to possibly turn his attention elsewhere. A foolish gambit, and a telling one.
“Oh, you know Verity better than anyone,” Peregrine sighed. “She can be charming and personable when she wishes to be, and she can even make it appear real. But I do not mistake her kindness for anything more than friendliness, Alaric.”
“She has always been kind to you, Peregrine. More than to most.”
“I see her as a friend, Alaric,” Peregrine said simply. “As I believe she sees me the same. And if she saw me as more …” He shrugged. “She is the type who would let it be known. You know this.”
Alaric furrowed his brow. “Not necessarily.”
“Yes,” Peregrine said as if he knew things that Alaric did not. “She would.” Peregrine then looked ahead to indicate that he was finished with the conversation.
Alaric eyed him, wondering now what his friend was referring to. Did he know something that Alaric did not? Or was Alaric just trying to see things that were not there?
“Oh, you know who I spoke with yesterday,” Peregrine started suddenly. “Miss Kavanagh.”
Alaric’s stomach tightened. “And?”
“She is smart, Alaric,” he said. “Perceptive. I wonder if she is being wasted as a housekeeper, is all. It might be something for you to think about.”
“I do not think about her at all,” Alaric said a little too sharply. Peregrine raised an eyebrow, and Alaric exhaled. “Perhaps you are correct about her, but I will remind you that she is under my care, and I will assign her tasks as I see fit.”
Peregrine’s smile was knowing. “I was merely making conversation, friend.”
“As I was merely reminding you of how my household is run.”
He regretted the comment immediately.
There had been no need for Alaric to speak that way to Peregrine, and where Alaric thought to apologize, he held his tongue. No sense in bringing more attention to his inner turmoil, especially as Alaric hardly understood it himself.
Miss Kavanagh should not have affected him as she did. He should not have thought about her at all! And yet … always, she sat on the edges of his mind, and always he found himself drawn to her for reasons that were entirely too obvious.
Their reason for visiting the village of Aldercombe on that day was purely social. As the village existed on Alaric’s land, he liked to pay it a visit from time to time to check that nothing was amiss, while also paying visits to various tenants whom he had developed relationships with.
And while the ride there was short work, Peregrine suggested that they stop at the local tavern for a drink before seeing to business.
“One drink,” Alaric said to him. “And do not dare try to convince me into having a second.”
Peregrine’s smile was devilish. “Me? Never.”
Beside the tavern was a small bookshop, and Alaric hardly paid it a glance as they climbed down from their horses. But then Peregrine called to him, while waving him toward the library.
“Might we take a moment, Alaric? I just remembered that I am in need of a new book!”
Alaric sighed. “You are aware that Thornwyck Hall has its own library?”
“A rather poor showing.” Peregrine chuckled. “Come now; I will only be a moment.”
Alaric followed his friend into the bookshop, and as Peregrine perused the shelves, Alaric wandered idly, scanning the many tomes without really paying them attention.
There was one book that caught his eye as if it called to him.
The Castle of Otranto by Horace Walpole, a book that Alaric read as a child and had fond memories of. He found himself pulling the book from the shelf, flipping the pages, casting his mind back in vague memories of the book’s story and how much he had enjoyed it.
It was technically a book for children, but its themes were dark, as was its setting. A romance, but with supernatural elements, the type that many would shy away from because there was nothing particularly warm and welcoming about this particular story.
“Oh, a good one.” Peregrine appeared behind him. “Although, not something I would think that you might read.”
Alaric eyed the book, and he knew immediately the real reason it had caught his attention. And while every good sense that he possessed screamed at him to shelve the book and walk away, his inner conscience probed and prodded and forced his hand …
“And yet I am going to buy it anyway,” Alaric said as he tucked the book to his side. “Seeing as my library is so lacking.” He raised an eyebrow at Peregrine.
Peregrine grinned. “A wonderful addition, to be sure.”
Alaric did not wish to read the book. And he did not care about the so-called ‘poor showing’ of the works in his library. What he cared about, and what he hoped, was that Miss Kavanagh might find an interest in it.
Damnation, why do I care?
Worse still, while Peregrine said nothing, Alaric did not doubt that his friend was onto him.
They found themselves in the tavern a few moments later, a pitcher of ale each, both men tucked into a corner booth and out of sight. The tavern was mostly empty, save for a single table of farmers a few spaces over.
Alaric noticed the farmers and was relieved that they did not notice him. He hoped to drink in silence so that he could continue about his day and push past the intrepid thoughts that troubled him to no end.
Typically, there was no such luck.
“… she’s Catholic,” one of the farmers was saying with a derisive scoff. “No doubt about it in my mind. What they be thinking? Having one of them around here is beyond my reasoning.”
“I seen her, you know,” another added. “That red hair, she can’t be missed.”
“Oh, she is a beauty,” another added. “But that explains it, doesn’t it?”
“Explains what?”
The farmer leaned forward and dropped his voice, but that did not stop it from carrying. “How she has gained such favor. They say she has his ear … that her whispers are like poured honey.” The men laughed. “Mark my words, that one is going to be kicking out Lady Verity one day soon.”
One of the farmers scoffed. “You speak nonsense.”
“I speak in facts,” he said rightly. “I ain’t saying witchcraft is involved …” He took a swig of ale. “But I ain’t saying it isn’t either.”
“Alaric …” Peregrine took him by the arm. “Ignore them. You know how farmers are. They speak in rumor because they have little else to keep interest.”
Alaric found himself glaring at the table of farmers. “They ought to know better than to spread such lies.”
“Tell them,” Peregrine said. “March over there right now and put a stop to it. But do that, and it will only confirm what they are saying.” He took a swig of his ale. “It will be like tinder to a fire.”
Alaric knew his friend was right, but that did not help the matter.
When Verity had told Alaric that the local villagers were speaking ill of Miss Kavanagh, he had assumed she was either lying or exaggerating the matter entirely. But she was speaking the truth, and suddenly, her once unfounded worries were no longer so absurd.
Oh, how he wanted to say something … but that would only make it worse. And with Peregrine watching him, Alaric was at pains to appear as if he did not care. There was no reason that he should!”
“Let’s be about it.” He stood up quickly.
The farmers caught the suddenness of the movement, turned, and their eyes widened as their mouths dropped in realization. Alaric was sure to fix them with a stern glare before storming from the tavern.
Alaric had taken Miss Kavanagh in because his grandmother had asked it of him. He had believed at the time that he was doing the right thing. He had told himself that he was helping the young woman, as she needed to be helped.
But like a runaway carriage, Alaric felt himself losing control.
Worse still, he had not a clue how he might bring the carriage to a stop before it crashed and burned and left in its wake a wreckage from which he might never recover.