arms of Elizabeth I; the plaster bore remnants of the original paint and gild. Hannah imagined that at one time it had been quite beautiful – in fact, the same could be said of the entire house.
The furniture in the room was dark, though it looked comfortable. On one wall between two bookshelves hung a painting of a man that bore an uncanny resemblance to Edmund, though Hannah could tell that while he held his likeness, it wasn’t her husband depicted on the canvas. He was older than Edmund currently was, and it couldn’t have been painted before he had left for the war.
“Who is that?” she asked, walking over to the painting, lifting a hand to touch the canvas.
“My great-uncle.”
Hannah whirled around at the low, gravelly voice, finding the silhouette of her husband standing in the doorway.
“Edmund,” she greeted him, though she couldn’t help the hint of reproach in her tone. Her husband had deposited her here in this house and then left her for nearly an entire day. “Where have you been?”
“Around,” he said nonchalantly. “Does it matter?”
“Of course it does!” she exclaimed.
“I don’t make the best of company,” he said, stepping into the room, and Hannah was shocked that when he stood looking out the window, with only his right side visible to her, there was not even a hint of his scar. And yet, the air of an injured man hung around him.
“Some company is better than no company,” she said, but he snorted as though he did not completely agree on that count. “Would you continue the tour?”
“Me?”
“Well, you seem to have dismissed my tour guide.”
“Very well,” he said begrudgingly. “If you’ve seen the ground floor, then we’ll continue upstairs.”
He led her out a separate door into the courtyard, which, despite Falton’s claim to be the gardener, looked like it could use a great deal of care. She was surprised when a small entrance led to an additional stairwell.
“How many staircases are there?” she asked.
“Four in total,” he replied, and she held on tightly to the railing as the narrow wooden stairs were not particularly even. Like the other staircases, it curled round until they reached the first floor. “We are on the opposite side of your bedchamber,” he said, admitting that he at least was aware of where she slept. She couldn’t help but note how tall he was, his frame lean and wiry, far from the usual for a nobleman. He wore no cravat, the top buttons of his shirt open. He reminded her more of a laborer, and she wondered at Falton’s words that he enjoyed doing much of the manual work himself.
“The garderobes are through here,” he said, pointing. “If you continue on to the far end, you will reach the servants’ quarters. These rooms would be for guests… if we were to ever have any.”
A pained expression crossed his face, as though he realized it might be a possibility now that Hannah lived here. They crossed through a room he told her was the guests’ hall, though all of the furniture was covered in sheets and blankets.
“This is a prayer room,” he said, walking into the next chamber, then laughed wryly before continuing on.
“What happened?” she asked softly, stopping in the sparsely furnished room.
He looked back at her over his shoulder, his scars shining in the light of the windows. “Excuse me?”
“I asked what happened?” she repeated, keeping her voice gentle. “What has caused you such pain?”
“I was wondering how long it would take you to ask about my scars,” he said, and she shook her head.
“I meant the scars within you, although I am assuming they are related.”
He turned from her, not making eye contact anymore.
“I was in the war.”
“I know.”
“I was shot,” he said, his words clipped, as though even saying them aloud brought back the pain. “Twice. I was taken prisoner.”
“For how long?” she asked, not wanting to hurt him but sensing that it would be best if he talked about it aloud.
“Just over a year.”
“Oh, Edmund,” she said, not able to imagine it.
“It’s over now,” he said, only, she could tell that it wasn’t – not for him. She didn’t want to think of what horrors he might have sustained, and to be in enemy territory with such an injury… no wonder it looked as it did. It probably hadn’t been properly cared for.
“We keep these rooms here open, in case we do ever need them,” he said, dismissing the other topic. “There is a small