Chapter 15
Eva woke to the soft rustling of skirts, as if someone were shuffling around her room. She didn’t care. She was melting in a cloudy puff of blankets, a warm cocoon of safety. She was tempted to hide there all day.
From Asheford Hall.
From Henry.
From her embarrassment.
God, Eva, why did you say those things to him?
Tears stung in her eyes. There was a hard lump in her throat. Her head pounded like she had been hit by a train, or been in a carriage accident.
She groaned.
“Oh, you’re awake!” Lottie’s voice rang out.
The mattress dipped on one side and Lottie’s face came into view. In the bright, early-morning light, her eyes shimmered a radiant pale blue, and her cheeks were rosy pink. She wore her brown hair in a neat, long side braid.
“How are we this morning?” she asked.
Like I have a wicked hangover from hell. “Fine.”
“How is your head? The wound is healing nicely.”
Eva sat up and looked at her pillow. A yellowish-red spot marked the material. “It’s also fine but I’ve ruined your sheets,” she groaned. “Maybe it’s best that I stay in my room today.”
Lottie frowned. “Are you certain?
“Quite certain.”
“But you will miss the walk around the garden,” Lottie said. “Elias and Henry had a mind to show us the rhododendron trees.”
Yep, definitely staying in bed today.
Her throat squeezed shut. “Lottie, I’m being modest when I say I’m fine. The reality is my head is pounding like a drum.”
“I thought as much. I’ve brought you water.” Lottie pointed to the glass of water on the bedside table, next to a small handbell. “If you require more, just ring the bell and a servant shall come.”
“Good to know,” Eva said. “Thank you.”
Lottie placed a hand on hers. “Do you really wish to stay in bed all day? The fresh air would do you good.”
“Maybe I’ll join you this evening.”
“All right,” Lottie smiled. “If you do decide to join, we will surely be in the parlour. That’s the big blue room to the right of the grand staircase on the ground floor.”
“Okay, thank you.”
She squeezed the girl’s hand and watched as she left the room. Eva sank back onto her pillow and stared at the canopy ceiling of her four-poster bed.
The fabric was plain white and the wood a deep-red mahogany. The rest of the room had high windows, beige floral wallpaper, a green rug, a mint-green dresser with golden Venetian details, a washing stand and a gas lamp.
She was finally in Asheford Hall and she felt horrifically and significantly out of place.
When the carriage had approached Asheford Hall the day before, Eva nearly fainted from shock. The sand-coloured, limestone mansion sat in a valley of deep-green meadows. As they had drawn nearer, they passed a baroque-style wrought-iron gate with the Asheford family crest engraved in gold plate. The vastness of the mansion with its intricately carved details, tall, rectangular windows and floral arrangements was terrifying.
Her intimidation had grown on entering the grand hall. Faced with a towering staircase, Eva had kept her eyes glued to the floor. Her nerves were shot. It was too much to take in. She had informed Lottie of her migraine, at which the girl led her straight to her bedroom and that’s where she was … and where she continued to hide. Like a coward.
She knew she couldn’t hide all day. More importantly, she knew there was no use in dwelling on what was said last night. But even if it were true, it didn’t hurt any less. She felt like she had a broken heart, something she had not felt this keenly since her dad’s death three months ago. Damn you, Henry, for making me feel again.
She turned to her uninjured side and sank further into the pillow. Exhaustion was setting in and she pushed away the unwanted thoughts. She would hide for now until the evening rolled around, when she would make an effort to play the game by Henry’s rules.
***
The pale-yellow entrance of Asheford Hall rose two storeys beneath a crowned white ceiling. The green-carpeted staircase was adorned with an intricate rose-patterned banister carved from white stone. Various oil paintings of unknown subjects framed in thick, eccentric gold decorated the walls and the wooden floors were a warm walnut colour.
Eva surveyed the scene from the top of the staircase and took a deep breath. I should have stayed in my room.
A servant in a white dress and a bonnet glided across the ground floor. She held a bottle of wine. Her shoes clattered against the wood toward the brightly lit parlour on the right. All it would take was one subtle glance up the staircase for her to see Eva standing like a creep in the shadows.
She should run back to her room and … do what? Hide again? She had done plenty of hiding over the past two days. She had no choice but to make it through the week as Jane Edwards, and Jane Edwards did not hide. No, she conversed. She knew how to curtsy and be respectful. She had table manners and was not opinionated in the matters of men’s intellectual realms. No. Never would she insult the big-brained men. Jane Edwards would also not flirt with Henry Asheford because she knew better than to fall in love with a man of a different status … or time period. Jane Edwards was a good girl. She was confident.
Ugh. Fine.
Eva straightened her spine, held onto the banister and made her way down the staircase toward the oddly quiet parlour. She passed the short servant girl on the way across the entrance hall. The servant bobbed in a quick curtsy before rushing on.
As Eva entered the parlour, a wave of relief washed over her when she realized the sole occupant was Lottie.
“Jane!” Lottie looked up from her needlework. “How are you feeling?”
“Better.” Eva slowly walked further into the room.
It was bigger than her apartment.
The bare walls were a dark blue that one might mistake for forest green when a warm light hit it. The walnut floors gleamed in the light from the fire. To the right of the door was a looming, white marble fireplace with a large, ornate golden mirror above. Before the fireplace were a set of light-yellow sofas bordered with dark mahogany. In the centre of the room, a round table displayed a large bouquet of freshly cut white roses, presumably from the Asheford garden.
To her surprise, a beautiful walnut grand piano sat at the far end by the rectangular window. A tingle danced down her spine.
“I’ve never seen such a beautiful piano before,” Eva said and walked over to inspect it.
“Ah yes, it belonged to my mother.”
“She played?”
“From what I have been told, she could have been a musician for the symphony.” Lottie smiled. “She also sang, like you.”
“May I?” Eva said.
“Yes, of course.”
Eva sat on the yellow velvet piano bench. She ran a finger over the shiny ivory keys as she studied the details of the black-and-gold plaque above them. It said Collard Collard London. She was not familiar with the name, but the piano looked well made. She pressed a key. The deep sound reverberated throughout the room.
Eva smiled and looked at Lottie. “It sounds lovely.”
“Would you play me a song?”
“Do you have sheet music somewhere?”
“Check in that basket next to your feet,” Lottie muttered as she continued her needlework. “We keep all our music books in there.”
Eva pulled out a song called Alice, where art thou? and set it on the piano mantle. It had been a while since she last read music. She took a moment to stretch her fingers.
The song started slowly, and it took a few tries before she got the hang of the keys. From the sofa, Lottie gently sang along and, soon enough, Eva sang with her.
The silver rain falling, just as it falleth now;
And all things slept gently-ah! Alice, where art thou?
I’ve sought thee by lakelet. I’ve sought thee on the hill.
And in the pleasant wild wood, when winds blew cold and chill;
I’ve sought thee in forest, I’m looking heavenward now.
Eva pressed the keys with more conviction here. One, two, three, her fingers pressed faster, matching the quickening of her heart.
Oh! there ’mid the star shine,
I’ve sought thee in forest, I’m looking heavenward now,
Oh! there ’mid the star-shine, Alice, I know art thou.
Eva slowed down, pressing the keys gently until the song ended. She raised her hands, relaxed her shoulders and looked up to smile at Lottie.
But it wasn’t just Lottie anymore.
There were three heads around the fireplace.
Eva first saw Elias because he was standing by the fire, warming his hands. There was a smile across his face as he observed her. She could tell there was a dumb joke on the tip of his tongue just itching to make its way out. Henry sat next to his sister, looking less impressed and slightly … drunk? There was a vivid redness across the bridge of his nose, his eyes were glassy and his lips twitched from suppressing whatever emotion he was holding back.
“What a terribly, terribly dull song,” Henry said.
“Och, what a thing to say to a lady,” Elias exclaimed.
Eva’s smile fell. A heat scorched her face. She wanted to say something in return, like, maybe you should have better songs to choose from or, not my fault this century sucks on music choice, but she had to bite her tongue. And Henry knew that.
“I thought it was lovely,” Lottie said.
“Because you are a girl, infatuated with the idea of romance,” Henry said.
“Brother, please, you are more infatuated with the idea than I.”
“Is that so?” Elias sat down.
“Hardly,” Henry muttered.
“Of all the years we’ve known one another, I’ve never pegged you as a hopeless romantic. What do you say, Miss Edwards? Do you believe my friend to harness such traits?” Elias turned to look at Eva. “You can answer truthfully.”
“Oh, Mr. McKenzie, if I were to answer truthfully, I believe I would be barred from ever entering Asheford Hall again,” Eva said. “Mr. Asheford appears dead set on not having a romantic bone in his body.”
Elias laughed. Lottie shot Eva a look and smiled. And Henry, well, he only glared.
“Miss Edwards, surely you do not consider me that harsh a man,” Henry said. “Please go ahead and speak truthfully. I wish to know your thoughts about my supposed romantic bone.”
“I hardly know you, sir,” Eva said. “It would not be fair to assume based on looks alone.”
“Do I have the look of a foolish man?”
“I was not aware that it was foolish to be a hopeless romantic,” Eva shot back.
“It isn’t, hence I do not fault my brother for it,” Lottie said.
What started as a joke had unearthed a new, interesting fact. Was Henry really a hopeless romantic? Sure, she knew him to be more sensitive than most guys she had met. Which wasn’t a bad thing at all. In fact, she kind of liked it. But then she remembered all the small things he’d done in the past three weeks: he’d cooked for her, bought her clothes and carefully selected the undergarments she wore now, asked her to sing for him, taken her on long walks by the cliff’s edge, read her his favourite books by the fire in the evening, and given her pearl earrings.
Pearl earrings that he wanted you to have.
Eva touched an earring. The softness of the pearl rolled across her skin. Her heart hammered hard; slowly, she met his gaze.
As Lottie and Elias were engaged in a conversation about moths, Henry watched Eva with genuine hurt in his expression. There was a boldness to his stare, as if he were trying to take a mental photograph of her sitting at his mother’s piano.
Shit.
So much for no longing glances across the room.
A faint pulse began beating in her ears. Sweat beaded down the length of her back. She was now acutely aware of the itchy cotton against her skin. Flustered and overheated, she stood from the piano. Luckily, she caught hold of a word from Lottie.
“Library?” Eva said.
Lottie’s eyes widened. “Oh, Jane, do you want to see my butterfly collection?”
“Yes, I would love that.”
“Then let me give you the grand tour.” Lottie shot to her feet. “Gentlemen, I am sure you can occupy yourselves for the time being.”
“Aye, we can,” Elias said.
Henry did not utter a word.
Lottie hooked her arm into Eva’s and escorted her from the room. They walked a short distance down a hallway to the left of the entrance hall. Eva was pushed into a room where darkness loomed across the two-storey bookshelves. Lottie shut the door behind them.
“Jane, there is something I must tell you,” she said.
“What?”
“I think my brother is in love and it is the most horrid thing.”