Chapter 16
Phaedra’s promise to herself did not come to fruition the next day.
Agitated thoughts woke her before sunrise, and when she could no longer bear to lie amid her sheets, she rose to pace the length of her room.
And when even that failed to soothe her, she tidied her bed and the room, then dressed and pinned her hair into a simple chignon.
With a fleeting look in the mirror, she left her chamber and started down the hallway.
She had meant to go to her studio, despite the early light offering her little chance of continuing her work, but she had felt it would be a welcome sight to be near the things that would always center her.
Instead, she found herself standing before the still locked door of the drawing room, her eyes trained on the floor.
How exactly she had gotten there, she could not remember, but she could well imagine the dormant suspicion of the night before moving her feet to seek its proof in the light of day.
And here it was, standing in front of her in all its glory.
The carved wood appeared even more beautiful in the dim haze of dawn, the shadows creeping into its crevices, drawing out images far more mesmerizing than before.
It almost felt as if this piece of wondrous art were meant to be experienced not in the stark light of day, but in a state of half-light, where emotions moved observation, and the mind grew more open to their suggestions.
Phaedra let her eyes linger only for a moment, her thoughts urging her gaze toward the edges.
The frame seemed to strain in places while being hollowed out in others, as if it had been carved strategically to hold a pair of doors too large to fit.
A pair of doors that were made for another frame entirely.
And the only question that formed on the wake of this discovery was simply—why?
Why had Nathaniel moved the door from the west wing?
Phaedra cocked her head, her hand reaching out to touch the polished surface.
She imagined it was quite possible that having something this magnificent locked away in a place of such darkness could be considered almost disgraceful.
But even so, exactly because of the nature of what had happened, would it not be a daily reminder of the loss he had suffered?
Was its beauty a true counterbalance to the memories it evoked?
And, if so, why was this the sole exception to Nathaniel’s contempt for every other beautiful thing in the house?
Yet even that could not have been the case, as she remembered the disdainful glance he had thrown it as they had last stood here together.
She let out a breath. Nathaniel.
The man was proving to be more of a mystery than she could ever have imagined. She only wondered if she would be given the opportunity to unravel it.