Chapter 35
It was not enough. For all my joy—the sheer elation of seeing the house completely transformed to that of my dreams—the disappointment of this revelation ———- ——— —- ——- - —— —— - - stared at the single piece of wonder above the library fireplace, the difference between its verdant glory and the drab remains of the old walls was so painfully jarring, I felt my heart would shatter.
But then his hand was in mine, the firmness of his touch warm and soothing as he pulled me away from the sight, and led me up the stairs before the large windows, where I could finally breathe.
And when his words of comfort finally ——— —- ———— ——— — ——- —— —— brimming with his closeness and care, he pulled a book from the shelf beside me, and asked if he may dedicate a poem to the loveliness ——- ——
- —- ——- — —— the words like glamour pouring from his lips as he stepped closer - —- something in his voice, in the worshiping look of his darkened eyes as his hands slid over the green, as if he could not help — ——- - —- —- — —- ——
— —- ——- —— —- — ——— shuddered through me, and I felt the hardness of the shelves push against my back, but I could not care, not for the way he —- — - —- ——- —- ——- —- —- ———-
And then he told me everything. It spilled out of him like a fountain dug into his very soul, like he could take it no more—the secrets, the lies, the betrayal of all these years—and all I could do was hold him as his anguished words ———— ——- — —— —- ——- - —- ——, he slumped against me, spent with this terrible truth, and I could only caress his hair as my own tremors shook my body, the revelation burning through me as if it would dissolve me whole.
Because I—my entire existence—had been a lie.
And then she, as if summoned by what had passed, came barreling in like a fury with —— —- ——— - —— her cheeks like chalk, eyes horrified, and I could see that she knew - —— ——— understood that she was finally found out. —- ——- hide no more. She could lie no more. And it terrified her.
It took a moment for Phaedra to realize that Nathaniel had stopped speaking and what she was hearing was but the heavy rush of blood in her ears.
She looked up at his expectant expression, at the almost naive question tucked into the line of his cocked brow, and the grating weight lodged in her stomach pushed her deeper into her seat.
The image of one of the new paintings flashed before her eyes, a crystal clear depiction of the scene just read.
A young woman standing against a bookshelf, her body enveloped in radiant green, and a man in a disheveled state slumped against her.
His lips were at her ear, his hands clamped around her for support—or holding her in place—while she raised her head, a look of horror on her face, her hand embedded deep in the tresses of his hair.
And then there was the woman standing at the top of the gallery staircase, her expression one of dread for the secret that was no longer that. Or for the fate she had been absolved of, only to be relinquished to another.
Revulsion churned in Phaedra’s stomach for what she did not want to accept, and it was all she could do to clamp down on the bile clawing its way up her throat again.
Because even if it was true, even if Ana had truly not been Bartholomew’s daughter, this could not be right. He could not simply take—
“Shall I read on?” Nathaniel asked, jolting her from her thoughts. There was something so alien to his voice—a cold detachment verging on annoyance—that Phaedra was seized by a wretched urge to cry, her tattered throat closing around her words.
Did he truly not understand any of this?
Could he truly read those words and not comprehend what was written there so very clearly?
She did not know if she should envy or pity him for his condition, for the delayed understanding of these abhorrent secrets.
But they needed to go on. Needed to finish this. And they were so very close to the end.
She nodded her consent, her whole body tensing from the hard stare of his eyes before he flipped the page and lowered his gaze to the next entry.
Wednesday, the 12th of November, 1879
It is unfortunate when clarity comes only when everything else is taken from us. That we may understand the repercussions of our actions only when the tyranny of our hopes—of our desperate longing—has released its hold over our souls.
Yet, despite the shame ———- — — —- —- - -annot blame myself for the mere act of longing to be noticed.
— — cherished, wanted. Loved. It is all I have ever yearned for.
Is it so surprising then, that given the chance, I would fling my entire being into the welcoming embrace of the one who had hitherto denied me everything?
Even if I did not know the extent of what it meant.
The day had been torture. For me the same as —— - —— —- - in every glance we shared, hear it in every word he ———- —- - — every touch that could be stolen. We knew this was not sustainable. Not after all I knew.
We agreed to meet in the library so we may devise a plan on how to proceed.
As a promise, he plucked a ribbon from my dress, threading it through the buttonhole of his jacket, and I could not help the gasp tearing from my throat - ——- —- ——- ———- — —— the sharp pain of the act soothed only by the assurance of our swift reunion when we could finally be ———
—- — —— —— —- - — the ache of the wait almost maddening, and I could barely stand to be near Mother, to sit quietly in her presence as if everything were as before. For nothing could ever be as was before.
- —— —- — —— — - ——- but as afternoon turned to evening, even the walls of the drawing room seemed to reverberate with my unease, and I found I could not bear it any longer. I rushed to my chamber, unable to stay, terrified that she would follow —- — ——— —— — ——- —
The door to the wing opened as if by my own frantic thoughts, and I hurried through the halls, the beauty around me urging me on, pulsing as if with my very own thundering heart, and I do not know if it was but my frightened fancy that conjured the heavy steps echoing behind me, but I could not chance to turn around.
—— - - ——— stumbled through the door of my chamber, I collided —— - ——- ——- clamping down on my trembling limbs.
He had come. Not to the library, as we had agreed, but here. And as his eyes took in the disheveled state of my entire being, his hold on me shifted, and suddenly I was falling, tumbling down into an abyss I myself had carved.
I did not know the extent of it, of what it meant to ——- - —— —- —— as the force of his own desire finally conquered the last vestiges of his restraint, for a breathless moment I could not help but wonder what he would have done had I not been under the same spell.
Yet the haze of ecstasy blurred all lines, the almost cruel vehemence of his movements, of his desperate hunger easing into the softness of a fulfilled dream.
For this was what I had always wanted, was it not?
His attention. His unrestricted, consummate devotion.
So as he delivered it, I knew I should be nothing less than utterly grateful.
Just as I had always claimed Mother should be.
I now understand —- ——- — — ——- —- —- it was held back by the shroud of bliss forced upon my eyes. The awakening came later, after he had gone, long after Mother herself had burst into the room, standing above my bed, staring at my still heaving chest like a martyr on an altar.
And when she tore the tattered dress from my body, the pain of parting burned through my skin like so many needles, and I felt I could cry from the cruelty of it.
I shook as she —— — took in the sight of me without its radiant covering, and it almost felt like ——- pooling at the base of my spine, smearing my skin, the bruises of this ———- painting my limbs in turbulent midnight, and I sobbed.
Sobbed for the pain she had caused me. Sobbed for the thing she had taken that was mine. But she had no pity for me. Only raging fury in the eyes that could have been my own.
— This was all my fault.
Her words were so soft, that at first I did not hear her through the wails still clawing through my throat. She stroked a cold hand over my feverish brow, with the mocking smile of the conqueror over the defeated.
— But I will make it right. I will make him answer for what he has done. For this, he shall burn.
With that she left, the door banging closed with a finality that brought new tears spilling from my eyes —- - —— ——— - ——— ———- —- —— - ——-
- — —- ——- —- —— ——- —- ——- but now as I sit here, memories of bliss evaporating like so much smoke, as if they were but fantasies of a desolate heart - ——— —— —— —- ——— —— all hope falls lost to violent delusions — —— —— —- ———- —— ——- — —— — — ———- - ——— — ——— —- —— - —— — and all that we did—all I have brought about—burning through me like fire clawing at my back, and I pray for the flames to somehow cleanse us of this stain, for what divine act would be powerful enough to purify us from this shade of disgrace?