Chapter 15
As was often the case, Nessa found herself in the kitchen with Morag …
oh, and Muirne, of course, curled up by her feet.
The visit was one that Morag had expected, so she already had food prepared when Nessa appeared.
Sandwiches were served, and the smell of freshly baked bread was a comfort that Nessa was starting to grow used to.
They sat together, ate, and spoke about simple things, no sense at all that a most pressing concern sat on Nessa’s mind. But it did, as it had done all evening. Nessa considered not bringing it up, because her day had been so wonderful and perfect that she did not wish to ruin it.
Alas, Nessa was stubborn, and as she already lived with one secret that sat heavy and burdensome on her shoulders, she could not possibly live with another.
“Morag, there is something I have been meaning to ask you.” She pushed her plate away.
“Oh?” Morag had a glass of water in her hand, and she had a sip before putting it down. “Sounds serious.”
“It is.”
Morag blinked, only just then taking into account how serious Nessa had become. “What happened? Is something the matter?”
“You tell me,” Nessa said. “I visited the village earlier today, a trip I was rather looking forward to. However, once I arrived, I came to realize that perhaps I ought not to have been …” She trailed off and gave Morag a pointed look.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Morag,” Nessa sighed. “I think you know. And please, while you might believe you are protecting me, understand that you are doing the complete opposite.” She offered a pointed look.
Morag paled and started to fidget. “I … Nessa, I do not know what you think –”
“What is being said of me …” Nessa cut her off.
“By the villagers. I know that something is, as I am sure that you have heard it. Please, I am not angry with you for keeping it from me, as I know you thought you were doing the right thing. But I need to know …” She softened her expression.
“Please, Morag, tell me. What are they saying about me?”
Morag sighed, and her shoulders dropped. “I did not want to tell you. I thought …” She laughed awkwardly. “As you said, that I was protecting you.”
“From what?”
“It is so silly, Nessa, which is why I gave it no credence. But they say …” She grimaced. “You are Irish, so they assume that you must be Catholic?” She looked for an answer.
Nessa shook her head, angry, but not surprised. “I am, of course. But I am not a fanatic. It is just how I was raised.”
“Which is why I know it does not matter,” Morag assured her. “But the people of this town are Protestant, and they have a natural distrust of anything different.”
“Is that all?”
Morag flinched. “Everything else is … oh, it is so silly!” she cried. “But they have noticed you about the estate; some have even seen you conversing with Lord Thornwyck. You are young and beautiful, and this creates jealousy and …”
“And what, Morag?”
“Some believe that you are manipulating Lord Thornwyck. Even …” She looked away and dropped her voice. “Even casting spells on him.”
“What!”
“As I said, it is foolish superstition. And most of them know it is not the case. But these people do not understand the outside world; they are bored, and believe me when I tell you that it is nothing to raise concern.”
“You are not the one being accused of witchcraft!”
“It will pass,” Morag assured her. “Once you become a familiar face, they will grow tired of it all. There is nothing to be done, Nessa, save for keeping your head down and doing as you already are. I am sorry …”
“It is not your fault,” Nessa sighed. “And thank you for being honest.”
Nessa had known that she was not well liked in the village. And she had suspected that she was being spoken about. But if what Morag said was true … it was too much for Nessa to comprehend.
She was not from this place; she was an outsider, and never had she felt it as badly as she did then.
Needless to say, when Nessa left the kitchen, she slunk through the castle in a state of utter despair.
She walked silently, her thoughts spinning, paying no attention to where she was going.
And it was not until she saw a thin light spreading across the ground in front of her that she stopped and realized where she was.
The light came from the cracked doorway of the Feather Room, and a shadow passing across the thin line of light told Nessa that somebody was inside.
She hesitated, knowing that she ought to turn and walk the other way but something pulled her toward the door … a sense that she had to see what was inside.
Nessa’s heart thundered as she crept toward the cracked door. And slowly, so very carefully, she peered around its edge to see what was inside …
And then she gasped.
She saw Lord Crispin first. He stood with his back half-turned away so that Nessa couldn’t see his face. But that did not matter, because Lady Verity was who Nessa could not look away from.
Lady Verity held Lord Crispin’s face in her hands.
She spoke low so that Nessa could not hear her words, but her facial expression spoke volumes.
She looked bereaved, utterly distraught, and filled with despair.
Never before had Nessa seen someone so upset.
And as Lady Verity held Lord Crispin’s face in her hands, she begged him with the words that Nessa could not hear.
Lord Crispin turned away, ripping his face free, and Lady Verity gasped, reared back, and clutched her chest. Then she started to weep.
Nessa stayed frozen as she peered inside. She stared horror struck. She might not have known what was being said, but she could guess it well enough. Lady Verity was pouring her heart out to Lord Thornwyck’s cousin, and he was denying her.
But what is it that he is denying her? Is this really as it appears? Surely not …
Nessa might not have liked Lady Verity, but she felt the woman’s pain as if it were her own.
Slowly, with the sense of witnessing something that she ought not, Nessa pulled herself from the cracked door, only for the floorboard beneath her to creak.
She gasped. Lord Crispin spun about, and Nessa raced quickly down the hallway, throwing herself through the first open doorway she could find.
As it turned out, it was the library.
Nessa hurried to find a lamp, and she lit it quickly. Her heart raced with panic, fearing that she might have been seen, and her mind turned as she tried to process what she had just witnessed.
Lady Verity is in love with Lord Crispin … Does Lord Thornwyck know? Does anyone?
The lamp lit brightly, and Nessa pretended to busy herself in search of a book. And it was because she was so distracted, her thoughts in a million places, that she did not hear the footsteps approach until they were right on her.
“Miss Kavanagh, what are you doing?”
“Oh!” she cried out, nearly dropping the lamp as she spun. Her hand went to her chest, and she truly thought for a moment that her heart might leap through her throat.
It was Lord Thornwyck who found her. He carried a single candle, and he looked at her with bemusement. “I would ask if I frightened you, Miss Kavanagh, but I am not in the habit of asking questions with such obvious answers.”
“You …” She took a few sharp breaths. “You did not …” She forced her heart to stop its thumping. “You startled me. Not frightened.”
He raised a questioning eyebrow. “On that, we might have to disagree.”
Ordinarily, it would be a relief to see Lord Thornwyck. The short walk they had taken that afternoon was needed between them, and Nessa was done pretending that she could avoid the man whom she now saw as a friend … no, that is not true either.
She did not know how she saw Lord Thornwyck. Not truly. What she did know was that she wanted to learn that truth, to explore further why he made her feel the way she did whenever she was around him.
A shame then that he had caught her at such an importune time.
“I was not expecting anyone.” She straightened up and attempted to push back the images of what she had just seen. “And what are you doing? Sneaking about?”
He chuckled. “It is my home to sneak in, no?”
“I …” She grimaced. “Well, that, I cannot argue.”
“I was on my way to my room when I saw the light from the hallway. It is strange …” A content smile found his lips. “For so long, these walls … this place …” He looked around. “It has seemed empty, so lifeless. Suddenly, it does not feel that way anymore.”
She understood his words and what they meant, but she did not know what to say. Nessa’s cheeks turned pink from the compliment, and she looked away as if hoping he might not notice.
He watched her closely. He studied her. He looked at her as if the room around them had vanished so that she was all that existed in the world.
And oh, how she liked how that felt. Not just important, but seen.
“I … I should go to bed …” she forced herself to say as the silence stretched on. “Lest you frighten me a second time.”
“I thought I only startled you,” he returned quickly.
She laughed and shook her head; her cheeks were still flushed, but that time she did not care. In fact, she wanted him to see. “Good night, Lord Thornwyck.”
“Good night, Miss Kavanagh.”
She stepped around him and walked from the library.
As she went, she felt him watching her, and it took all the effort she possessed not to turn around and look back at him a final time.
She wanted to do so. She wanted him to know that she felt his longing gaze, just as she did not want to feel it leave her.
How did she truly feel about Lord Thornwyck? The answer was so obvious that it screamed in Nessa’s head like a clap of thunder, and the impact of admitting such a feeling would likely be just as devastating.