Chapter 18 #2
Miss Kavanagh looked up at Alaric, and while he was wrought with melancholy and feelings of woe, she smiled at him as if her day had been a most wonderful thing. “Of course, I do. Although perhaps not as much as I should do.”
“What do you mean?”
The smile left her lips, and she looked back at the pianoforte.
“When I first started working for Lady Honora, I missed home constantly, and it took me months before I grew used to my new world and until I accepted that it was where I belonged. And the same could be said of here …” She sighed.
“When I first started working for you, it was constantly a struggle to accept my place and not wonder what it might be like if I returned home.”
“And now?”
“And now …” Again, she looked at him. There was no smile on her lips, but her eyes suggested one; the light from the lamp reflected brightly in them. “I find that lately, I do not miss home as much as I once did.”
Alaric’s heart started to race as he saw through her words to their meaning. “You like it here.”
“Not always,” she said. “Often, I still feel alone and as if I do not belong. But there are some things about this place that …” A shake of the head, and she looked away shyly. “It is not all bad. In fact, often, I am grateful that I am here. And often, I am reminded that this is where I belong.”
“I am glad that you are here, Miss Kavanagh. As far as I am concerned, this is your new home.”
Miss Kavanagh flinched at those words, as if he had struck a wrong chord. Then, he saw something pass behind her eyes; it spoke of worry, perhaps even a fear that he did not understand.
Alaric felt a sudden urge to reach out and rest a hand on her shoulder, wanting her to see that he meant what he said. Also, this thought boiled away inside him but refused to burst so that it might be free, so that he could prove to himself that his words were true.
As he wanted her to feel at home, he needed her because she brought those same feelings out in him.
“Would you be upset if I left?” she asked suddenly.
He frowned and leaned back. “Are you planning on it?”
“No,” she said with a wry smile, one that looked like she was trying to hide it, while wanting him to see it at the same time. “But I thought I should ask.”
“I do not want you to leave, Miss Kavanagh.” He looked down at her, stern and serious. “And if you did leave, I would be …” His heart raced, and his throat turned dry. “This castle would feel empty. That is the truth.”
“Thank you, Lord Thornwyck. For being honest.”
“Someone in this place needs to be,” he said with soft laughter. “There are far too many secrets here for my liking, and I like to believe that with you and me, at least, we do not have any.”
He meant the words as an olive branch, a way to show to her that their strange relationship was something that he cherished and prized. But they struck a chord that he did not expect, and she turned away suddenly.
“I … I should be going.” She pushed back the stool and stood.
“Is something the matter?” He half reached to stop her.
“No, not at all.” Miss Kavanagh spared him a final glance. She smiled, but it was distant, almost forced, and he knew she was lying to him. Or perhaps to herself … “Good night, Lord Thornwyck.”
“Good night, Miss Kavanagh,” he said softly as she drifted from the room like an angel seen in a dream and gone just as quickly.
Alaric stayed put for a few moments after she had left.
As was always the case when he spoke with Miss Kavanagh, confusion was felt. This time, more than ever. On the one hand, Alaric could not dismiss the hidden meaning of their conversation, proof, as he saw it, that she felt about him as he did about her.
On the other hand, Alaric could not escape the sense that she was hiding something.
With a depressed sigh of resignation, Alaric left the music room and headed toward his bedroom. This day had been a long one, and what he needed more than anything was to put it behind him.
Alas, when he turned the corridor that led to his room, he came to a sudden stop; his hackles rising within, his jaw clenched at what he saw. It seemed that this day, as wretched as it had been, was not done with him just yet.
“What are you doing here?” Alaric growled as he stalked down the corridor toward Crispin.
His cousin stood just outside his bedroom door so the light from within shone across his body. He looked a fright, which was to be expected: hollow cheeks, gray skin, eyes that were wet from crying. But his clothes were dirty, and sand covered his boots.
What on earth has he been up to …
“I came to speak with you,” Crispin said quietly.
“And where have you been?” Alaric put himself in his cousin’s face, wanting the man to see his anger. “Needed a day to get your story straight, did you?”
“It was not like that.”
“Tell me then … what was it like?”
Alaric did not know how his cousin was involved in Aisling’s death. Was it his fault? Was it an accident? Was there something else that he was not being told?
“I had nothing to do with Aisling’s death,” Crispin said. He could not meet Alaric’s eyes. “Aisling –”
“Do not say her name.” Alaric snatched Crispin’s collar with both hands.
Crispin’s eyes widened, but he did not push Alaric away. “I am sorry, Alaric. Truly, I am. But as I said, it was not my fault.”
“Whose fault was it? What did you do?”
“I … I …” Crispin choked on his words as Alaric pulled him in closer, growling in his face, the urge to throttle him overpowering. “It is not that simple. Please, believe me.”
Oh, how Alaric wanted to strike Crispin. How he wanted to beat the answer from him. His body shook with fury. His limbs trembled with rage. But as he looked into his cousin’s eyes, it was not guilt he saw, nor was it defiance. It was sorrow … a man broken beyond words.
Did Crispin love his wife? Was he hurting more than Alaric? And if so … what sort of man was Alaric that his own cousin wept more for his wife’s death than he did? How had he let such a thing happen …
“You know what …” Alaric shoved Crispin back. “Save your excuses.”
“I am not here to make excuses.”
“Whatever you came here to do, I do not want to hear it,” Alaric snapped.
“Tomorrow, the magistrate will come, and you can offer your sympathies to him. Whatever you did or did not do …” He fixed his cousin in a cold glare of warning.
“You have one night to decide. Tomorrow, Crispin, I expect the truth.”
With the ultimatum given, Alaric stormed into his room and slammed the door closed in his cousin’s face. Better the door than his fists.