“No, thank you. I should like to read, I think.”
He nodded curtly and made his way to the desk, adjusting the chair and pulling out some ledgers and small books as he did. Elinore settled down in the comfortable reading chair, finding a small fire already banked in the hearth. It wasn’t burning bright and hot, but it was more than enough to start chasing away the leftover chill of the night from the room. Wearing her indoor slippers, she was able to tuck her feet beneath her, pulling out the mythological tome she’d been reading and keeping the spine and book front facedown so that Caleb wouldn’t see what she was reading. She was an adult. If she wanted to read a book, it was of no concern to anyone else but herself. Besides, it was just a book. There couldn’t possibly be harm in reading a book, could there?
She went back to the myth she’d read yesterday about Pasiphae and her unnatural lust for the bull and then the subsequent birth of a being half-man and half-creature. A Minotaur. Even though she’d just read it and recalled it perfectly well, she still found herself enraptured by the entire tale. It was with some reluctance that she moved on to the next chapter in the book, that of Cupid and Psyche.
The sound of a quill scratching along parchment had her eyes sliding sideways to watch Caleb surreptitiously. He was slightly bent over his work at the desk, the back of his neck exposed to the open window behind him. The sun was just starting to creep around the edge of the house, shrouding him in light, like a halo. His hair seemed darker, silkier against the blushing sunlight. Elinore had the sudden thought that his hair was likely quite soft and smooth - probably smoother than her own, which had a slight wave to it and needed to be tamed back. Caleb turned his head slightly, reading something from one of the ledgers and then dipping his quill to make a note in another. He moved with economical precision - not wasting motion or frilling it up unnecessarily. Elinore didn’t think she’d ever seen a man as handsome as he. That first night, in the woods, she really had thought he’d sprung out of the forest like some kind of dark fae creature. But since coming to the manner, he’d been considerate and straightforward with her. She’d even told him about her writings and he hadn’t laughed at or teased her. He’d suggested she consider publishing. Publishing! There hadn’t seemed an insincere bone in his body when he’d said it.
If she kept staring at him, she was likely to get caught. Her heart thudded at the thought of him looking up and catching her. Something in his posture stilled, his pen pausing on the page and she hurriedly looked down, able to see out of the corner of her eye that she did so just at the right time. As if he’d read her mind or heard her thumping heart, he looked over at her. She thankfully already had her nose buried back in her book.
Elinore read with fascination, becoming more engrossed as it was foretold in the tale that Psyche should be married to a dragon-like creature. Her mind was a flurry of dark fabrics, black roses and haunting music as she pictured the details of the myth - Psyche attired gothically and taken to the place of her wedding. From there, Psyche was taken to an impossibly beautiful house where a disembodied voice told her to eat. Of course, in Elinore’s mind, the beautiful house looked like Ravenwood and the dinner served was just as she had been fed last night. It was all too easy in her imagination to place herself in Psyche’s role. After dinner, Psyche retired to the bedroom where she was to meet her husband. Elinore shivered slightly, reading how the room was black as pitch so Psyche could not make out the physical appearance of her betrothed and how Psyche was forsworn not to look upon him.
Elinore paused, eyes staring blindly at the page, soaking in the details of the story and letting it steep in her mind. Would Elinore eat from the table as the disembodied voice bid? Or would she rally against it and demand to see the face belonging to the speaker? Would she take herself to the bedroom with trepidation and resignation in equal measure? Or would she shriek and cry in fear and outrage? Or perhaps fight like a banshee, clawing and biting against anything that came her way?
Once in the room, would Elinore stay still, lying on the bed prone like a sleeping beauty, while her new husband came into the dark, unseen and unknown to her? A strange feeling stirred in the pit of her stomach, as she imagined being secluded in such a room, her eyes only seeing blackness in front of them. Her ears would hear every whisper of fabric against fabric, of footsteps against the floor, of the door against the jamb. Would her secretive spouse be silent as he crept into her room? He would have to say something or how would Elinore know she wasn’t to look upon him? Would he speak the words, calmly and carefully from a few feet away? Or would he whisper like rustling silk against the shell of her ear? Her eyes drifted again, over to the desk where Caleb sat. The strong outline of his shoulders contrasted against the trim line of his waist and Elinore could imagine how the slope of his torso would feel against her hand in the dark. She would be able to tell that he was broad of shoulder and narrow of hip even if there were no light. She would also know the softness of his hair, the rasp of his stubble against her fingertips or possibly against her lips. His body would be a heavy weight on top of hers. Such things she’d never dared think before, but now, after reading of Pasiphae and then of Psyche, Elinore could imagine how the heft of Caleb would feel pressed against her skin. He would be warm, almost hot, against her. In her heart, she would know she was there because she wanted to be where she was, under him, under his bulk, pressed into the mattress.
Caleb’s eyes flicked up and met hers, suddenly and shockingly. She felt trapped by the force of his gaze, unable to look away. The piercing clarity of his irises locked her in place. She didn’t want to look away. His nostrils flared slightly and she had the sudden fear that he knew exactly what she was thinking. That he could somehow tell just by looking at her and she felt her cheeks flush with heat.
“So this is where you’ve ensconced yourself,” a voice broke from the doorway. “Hiding away amongst these dreary pages.”
Hayter stood in the entrance to the library and how distracted Elinore must have been to not hear the door open as he entered. She turned quickly away from Caleb, standing and giving Hayter a perfunctory curtsey.
“Good morning, Uncle.”
Hayter waved a hand. “Bah, I hate that term. It makes me feel old, though I’m still as young and vigorous as ever.” Hayter turned to look at Caleb and Elinore realized their eyes were of the same shade. Although the shape and expression of Caleb’s made his eyes seem open and waiting, Hayter’s always seemed predatory and calculating.
“Enjoying your morning, nephew?” Hayter asked. Elinore felt uncomfortable at the snide tone. Caleb appeared not to mind it at all.
“Quite.”
“Working hard, are you? Or are you… distracted by pretty objects and shiny things?” Hayter stepped casually toward the desk, running his fingers languorously over a small statue of a wolf that was perched upon the corner. Hayter seemed pleased with himself for a moment, but then he inhaled sharply and turned his head quickly toward Elinore. She flinched at the force of his gaze and felt the sudden urge to cringe backward and perhaps cover her throat. But something else inside her resisted that urge and she met his gaze head on. He watched her for a moment, an unpleased expression on his face, before he looked back at Caleb. With a pointed look at Caleb that Elinore could not comprehend, Hayter pressed a finger against the wolf statue and knocked it over, so that the wolf lay on its side, belly bared.
Caleb scowled at his uncle, but did not say anything in return.
Hayter took a step over toward Elinore and she closed the book she’d been reading and again tucked it into the folds of the chair.
“I wish to take you outside for a walk. It looks to be a lovely day.”
The thought of going for a walk outside with Hayter did not appeal to Elinore in the slightest, but she plastered a smile on her face. His tone had not been that of a question.
“That would be lovely. I’ll grab my shawl.”
“No need. I’m sure I can keep you warm if you catch a chill,” Ha
yter answered. He presented his elbow to her and she rose from the chair, taking it gingerly, keeping herself a good distance from him even though she threaded her arm through his. He managed to tug her closer and wrap his other hand around her fingers, keeping her by his side.
“Enjoy your work, nephew.”
Elinore turned her head slightly as they left and saw Caleb still standing at the desk, his eyes watching them leave. She straightened her shoulders and matched her stride to Hayter’s as he swept them out of the library, down the hall and toward the front doors of the manor. Stopping at the bottom of the stairs that led upstairs, she tugged on her arm slightly, attempting to pull it from Hayter’s grasp. He tugged her back toward him sharply and she struggled to stay upright and not fall into him.
“I will need my boots. These shoes are hardly more than slippers.”
Hayter paused, looking down at her feet and frowning. He then reluctantly gave her a quick bow. “Of course. I’ll wait here.”
Elinore calmly and quite slowly made her way up the stairs and down the hall to her room. She swore she could feel Hayter’s impatience at her pace, but she vowed she would take as long as she liked to gather her things. She changed her shoes and then looked through her trunk, spying one of her shawls. Despite Hayter’s words about keeping her warm, or perhaps because of them, she gladly swung the heavy fabric over her shoulders and tucked it around herself.
Coming back down the stairs, even at a distance, she could see the slight scowl in Hayter’s expression when he took in her serviceable shawl. It was a drab shade, hardly fashionable, but it was her favorite and she’d had it for years. He presented his arm again, and she took it, allowing him to tug her closer again. It was a tiresome exercise, but Elinore had learned well that young ladies often had to pick their battles wisely. She’d won one by getting her shawl and had to concede another.
“I will have Mrs. Davenport look through Victoria’s things. I’m sure we can find you something far more lovely for you to wear than that.”
“That’s hardly necessary. This shawl is quite warm.”
“Nonsense. I’ll speak to Mrs. Davenport when we return.”
Elinore smiled tightly. “You’re too kind.”
Stepping outside, Elinore squinted at the bright morning sun. It promised to be a glorious day. The air was sharp and crisp and, as she inhaled, she thought she could almost smell that promise in the air. The stones beneath their feet made a lovely crunching sound as they walked and she found herself distracted by it. It seemed sharper and clearer than any sound she’d heard before. Hayter led her to a small, worn path on the grass, the hemline of her dress sucking up the dew of the morning like a thirsty desert traveler. Elinore normally waited for the dew to burn off before walking for just this reason.
“Lovely morning, isn’t it?” Hayter asked.
Elinore, schooled in the ways of pleasant conversation, managed a nod and a smile. “Quite. Do you get many rainy days here at Ravenwood?”
“The occasional storm. In the winter, the snow sometimes leaves us housebound for weeks, but we manage to entertain ourselves nevertheless.”
Across the expanse of the estate, Elinore could see the horse stables and when she turned her head, she thought for a moment she could almost hear the whinny and neighs of the animals inside. But she was too far away and it must have been her imagination.
“Have you many horses?” she asked.
She felt Hayter’s shoulder go up and down with his shrug. “I leave the stable work to my nephew. He’s more interested in animal husbandry than I am. I deal with the larger estate matters, investments and business items, if you will, and leave the mundane tasks to him.”
Elinore wondered if Hayter simply preferred to do the things he thought appeared more powerful, like dealing with money and men, and left the things he considered menial to his nephew. No doubt he thought it made him appear influential and important. Elinore thought it made him seem arrogant and supercilious.
“Have you a need to travel into Haleton often for business?” she asked.
“Quite, I’m afraid. Many things to do, people to see.”
He sounded so proud of himself and all she could think was how grateful she was that he would likely have to leave the estate for his affairs.
“It must be difficult to manage an estate of this size.”
“I’m sure that the business of running a large estate must seem unfathomable.” Hayter patted her hand and Elinore made a conscious effort not to clench her teeth at the gesture.
“Very much so,” she lied. She had no doubt that running an estate was work and took an investment of time, but it was hardly unimaginable to her. She could imagine a great deal.
“Are there any tenants on your land?”
Hayter waved his hand. “Some. I leave that to Caleb as well. He checks in on them or discusses their issues. They pay their taxes and don’t cause trouble. It’s no concern of mine.”
The loud squawk of a bird above had Elinore tilting her head up to the sky where a large black bird, a raven, was swooping and circling around them. She had a sudden flashback to her dreams the past two nights, of a raven sitting on her shoulder, whispering in a strange language in her ear.
“Ah, our estate’s namesake. A raven.” Hayter tipped his head up, watching the bird flap its wings above them.
The raven cawed again, its voice loud and shrill in the morning air.
“We’ve quite an affinity for them and they’ve always been a talisman of sorts for our family.”
The raven suddenly swooped down and, to Elinore’s shock, came to perch on her shoulder. She flinched slightly and tried to move away, inadvertently leaning more into Hayter’s space. She thought her quick movements would startle the bird away, but it remained resolutely perched on her shoulder, its talons securing its station by digging into her thick shawl.
“How remarkable,” Hayter said, his voice far too close to Elinore’s ear for her liking. She felt trapped between the bird and Hayter. Upon consideration of the two, she decided the bird was the least of her troubles. She leaned out of Hayter’s space and straightened herself, feeling the shell of her ear touch against the feathers of the bird. It was a comfortable weight against her shoulder.
“It appears that you belong at Ravenwood, my dear. Even the ravens think so.”
Hayter didn’t seem surprised at all by the bird perched on Elinore’s shoulder. In fact, he had a slight smile on his lips. Incredibly, at least to Elinore if not to Hayter, the raven stayed perched on her shoulder for the remainder of their walk. Hayter had a slow, relaxed pace and though Elinore tried to speed up a few times, he would exert slight pressure on her arm, tucked into his elbow, and she was forced to slow down again. She asked him about himself, surmising that if she did, he would likely tell her his entire life story. Her instincts were correct. Hayter’s face lit up at her question and Elinore found she could stare straight ahead and enjoy the scenery as they walked. She kept moderate attention focused on Hayter and his words, making the appropriate listening sounds that all ladies knew. Various forms of ‘oh my,’ ‘how extraordinary,’ ‘very interesting,’ ‘tell me more.’
Though she couldn’t be certain of the time, she was sure they’d walked for over an hour or perhaps more. By the time they came back to the manor, her dress was wet to the knees. She’d have to change for the remainder of the day and ask Mrs. Davenport if the mud she’d collected during the walk should be washed out straight away, or if it would be best to let it dry and brush it out.
Once back inside the manor, Elinore made a motion to pull away from Hayter, but he stopped her, his fingers too tight on her arm, just over the bite marks. She held back a wince, having a strange notion it was exactly what he was hoping for.
“I had a lovely time. It shall be our routine to have a morning walk.”
Elinore could feel her smile was tight and practiced. “Of course. But I’m afraid my dresses may not fare so well early in the morning.” She g
estured down to the wet fabric that clung to her legs. Hayter looked down, seeing it for the first time. “If you’ll excuse me, I must track down Mrs. Davenport and beg her assistance.” Elinore extricated herself from Hayter’s grip with a firm, “Good day,” and made her way swiftly up the stairs. She passed by one of the servants along the way, a young maid, and asked if she could either direct Elinore to Mrs. Davenport or have the housekeeper come by Elinore’s room.
Once safely back in her chambers, Elinore exhaled and leaned against the door. It appeared her uncle was one of those tiresome men who wanted Elinore to fawn and smile over them and their ‘impressive’ works. Elinore had more than her share of dealing with men of such a nature, but she must be getting older and more jaded in her years because she found herself angry and vicious toward Hayter. How dare he act as though he had a right to stand close to her? How could he possibly think that all she would want to discuss was him and his accomplishments? And then to have the gall to declare that it was a ‘lovely’ time and should be repeated! Elinore couldn’t recall ever feeling so angry in her life. She had the sudden urge to tear at something with her teeth.
The bite marks on her arm throbbed suddenly, shooting a rush of heat through her skin and blood. Her breath caught and she cradled her arm close to her, inhaling slowly and then exhaling. It wasn’t good for her to be so worked up over Hayter. She composed herself and then set to work taking off the wet gown. Minutes later, Mrs. Davenport arrived and swore she knew just how to handle Elinore’s dress. Fortunately, she already had the other two dresses from Elinore’s trunk cleaned and pressed and would bring them up shortly for Elinore to change into. Feeling a quick rush of affection for the woman, Elinore darted forward and hugged her, completely ignoring the impropriety of such a thing while she stood in her underthings.
“Thank you, Mrs. Davenport. I thought I might have to entomb myself in another one of my aunt’s dresses if nothing of mine was available. I would be beside myself this morning without you.”
Ravenwood Page 12
