A Dreadful Splendor (41)

The library grew cold. I turned to leave, but then I found William standing in the doorway, staring at me with a wounded look in his eyes. He asked me what I thought of Mr. Pemberton—if I still wanted to marry him, and if I was ready to be his wife, in all aspects.

My face burned with anger. I marched up to him and demanded to know why he had not joined us for dinner. Didn’t he know I was giving up any genuine happiness to save Somerset? How could he ask me something so intimate with such barbarity? Didn’t he know how helpless I felt? I pounded my fist against his chest as tears ran down my cheeks.

He caught my hand and brought it to his lips. I did not pull away. He leaned close and whispered into my ear that we cannot fight fate.

The clock began to chime the hour. A reminder that we were running out of time. Wordlessly, I left and ran straight up the stairs to my room. As I write this, my heart is still racing. So much confusion, Dearest! But none of it matters, not really, especially when I’m so unsure of my own desires. I might as well wish for the moon. True love is not my destiny.

I thought Mr. Pemberton would be my destiny. But it seems he wants neither Somerset Park nor me.





Chapter Twenty-Six




I walked into the darkened room and was aware of two things at once: how cold it was and the powerful smell of liquor. The door slammed behind me. The only light was from the candle he held in his hand.

My heart eased back down my throat, and I found my voice. “Mr. Sutterly,” I said. “What are you doing here?”

He let out an exasperated half laugh. “I could ask you the same question.”

“I was hoping to borrow something of Lady Audra’s to help connect me to her spirit,” I said, knowing I should keep my lies consistent.

“You’re in a place where you are not welcome and do not deserve to be.” He backed away and then lit the candelabra on the bedside table. The bed was elaborately made up with decorative frills and pillows; it looked more like a dessert than a place to rest your head. One side of the bed had the vague imprint of a body.

“Is this your room now?” I asked, wondering what William was going to do now that he’d caught me trying to break the lock.

“It should be.” He swayed on the spot. His tie was undone, and his jacket and vest were crumpled on the floor. “But no, I’m as much a trespasser tonight as you are, Miss Timmons.” He let the “s” sound elongate like a hiss.

“It was you who stole the key from Mrs. Donovan,” I said.

“Merely borrowed.” He steadied himself, then went about the room, lighting the other candelabras.

I should have been prepared for the grandeur, but even knowing the scale of opulence at Somerset Park, my eyes grew large in amazement as Audra’s bedroom emerged from the shadows. The elegant furniture was upholstered in fabric bursting with pastel floral patterns. The brightness and gaiety evoked the very essence of a summer garden. I was almost convinced I could smell roses.

The stately fireplace was three times the size of the one in my room and had a massive mirror over the mantel, reflecting the superfluity of the suite.

The room was large enough to have its own tiny library and sitting area. There was a table, perfect for serving tea and sweets. I imagined the many leisurely afternoons she must have spent here, reading and enjoying her soft lifestyle.

All of this for one person? I thought about the purse I’d kept hidden inside my thin mattress and how achingly long it had taken to amass enough to finally escape Miss Crane. And still, that pile of coins wouldn’t have been enough to afford even one of the throw pillows on the settee.

She had so much, and I so little! But I was the one who was alive, at least for now.

Don’t be foolish to envy the dead, Maman used to say. If ghosts existed, they would say only one thing: let me live again.

Even for the sad parts? I had asked.

Bien s?r, especially the sad parts. That’s what the dead would crave, ma petite chérie, to feel again. But we know better.

William placed the candelabra on the small table beside a bottle and an empty glass. He poured himself a drink and turned to me. With his shirt unbuttoned, I could make out a faint red mark across his throat. “I see what you try to hide from everyone,” he said. “What you really want.”

A waft of stale wine hit me, but I kept his gaze. I detected his enjoyment at trying to scare me. “I only want to contact Lady Audra so I can share her message with her husband,” I said.

William’s face twisted into disgust. “He’s not her husband. They were never married.” He regarded me over the rim of his glass and asked, “Are you an orphan? There’s an unloved look about you.”

“I had a mother,” I told him.

“Your overly appreciative attitude reeks of a simple upbringing. You wish you had this privileged life.”

“To be alive is the only privilege I strive for,” I said.

He ignored my answer as he poured himself another drink. What was he doing here at this hour? If he was hoping to search Audra’s room again, then why did it look perfectly kept?

With a grunt, William slumped into the nearest chair, stretching his legs out straight and crossing his ankles. “I would not have expected such gumption from someone who raises the dead.”

“I don’t raise the dead,” I said, watching him finish his drink. “I’m simply a conduit for something that already exists.”