passage that will take you to the other side, where your bedroom is… and mine.”
She nodded, wondering if he was pleased that she was so close to him, or if it had been Mrs. Ackerman’s doing. He didn’t exactly seem thrilled by the prospect.
“And the upper floor?”
He seemed to hesitate, before he finally led her to another staircase.
“Come.”
Edmund had told himself to stay away from her.
But when he had seen her standing in the door of the library – the room that was his more than any other in this house – he hadn’t been able to keep himself away. He was drawn to her, almost as though she was fey with the ethereal quality that radiated around her. She was a bright light in this dark house, and yet somehow… it seemed as though she belonged, like Hollingswood had opened up its arms and accepted her as part of it.
He was waiting for her to insist that he return her to London, that she couldn’t stay any longer in this house, or with him, but so far, she simply seemed curious.
Well, at some point that curiosity would subside and she would be ready to return, away from all of this.
“My goodness,” she said, taking a breath as they reached the top floor. “What room is this?”
“This is the long gallery,” he said. “As you can see, it is not exactly a paragon of architectural prowess.”
The floor was warped and wavy, the walls leaning inward and outward at various angles. It was long and crooked, with crossbeams between the arch-braced roof trusses that were likely added at some point in order to keep the structure from coming down around them.
“What is it for?” she asked, walking along the corridor, running her fingers along the windows that lined the room.
“Perhaps a gallery or a games room,” he said with a shrug. “It has never contained much furniture. At the end, you will see plaster depictions of destiny and fortune.”
She reached the north wall, whispering the words. “The wheel of fortune, whose rule is ignorance,” she read off of the inscriptions. “The sphere of destiny, whose rule is knowledge.”
She turned to him. “What do you think it means, that someone would believe so strongly in these words to inscribe them on the wall?”
He wasn’t sure, but he followed her, standing next to her, reaching his fingertips out to the inscriptions as well. Her hands looked so small, so pale, and he longed to reach out and clasp them in his own. When her fingertips brushed against his as she moved her hand back, a shock from her warmth ran through him and he stepped back abruptly away.
“There’s one more room,” he said gruffly, the door creaking open when he pushed against it. “This is the upper porch room.”
“It’s a bedroom,” she said, wondering at the fact it was still furnished.
“It has been for some time,” he said, as she walked over to inspect the fireplace. Here, the figures of justice and mercy adorned it.
“Does anyone frequent this floor?” she asked. “This may sound silly, but it seems to be occupied. The objects in this room—” she pointed to a quill pen, inkwell, and vellum laid out on a writing desk “—do they belong to someone?”
Edmund hesitated. He wasn’t entirely sure how to explain it, and he didn’t want to give her another reason to leave. Despite the fact he knew she would go at some point, he wanted to delay her departure as long as he could. Which was ridiculous. He wanted to be alone, had no desire to ever marry. So why did he yearn for her presence?
“They did belong to someone,” he said slowly. “You saw my great-uncle’s portrait downstairs?”
She nodded.
“He was also the second son. This was his home. He loved this room, with its view upon the gardens below. At one point in time, there was a beautiful knot garden just beneath these windows. You can still see traces of it today. Anyway, these are his things. He moved to this room because… well, because he could see out to the guest house beyond, where his brother and his wife would stay when they visited. When he died no one ever had the heart to remove his things. Now they seem to be part of the home.” He turned to Hannah. “You see, he loved his brother’s wife, his Isabel, and she died here as well.”
Hannah’s eyes had grown even wider as he had told the story, and