The Secrets of Paper and Ink

by Lindsay Harrel

  28

  SOPHIA

  William parked his car at Elliott Manor, an estate near the town of Wendall, not eighty kilometers from Port Willis. He turned off the ignition and reached a hand toward Sophia’s, grasping it. “Ready?”

  After Abigail had called Saturday to let them know she’d located an estate with both a famous tree and a lighthouse in the area, Sophia and William had spent their free time researching as much as they could about the place. Elliott Manor was now used as a wedding and corporate retreat venue, and locating the previous owner had proven difficult. An online gallery showcased the estate’s beauty and various venue setups—including a ceremony held at the “Story Tree.”

  The tree stood on the edge of a bluff, stretching its leaves over the grass and ocean alike. It certainly looked like it might have been the tree Emily spoke of.

  But that didn’t prove Emily was real.

  “It’s a long shot. But I’m ready.” Sophia plastered a smile across her face, then climbed from the car.

  “You never know what we’ll discover.” William met her outside, and they turned together to face the enormous hall.

  They’d driven several hundred acres of the gorgeous grounds before arriving here at the enormous house built of gray slate and granite. The sun shone bright, speaking hope into the day. They approached the large front entrance, framed by grand windows on either side and a stone staircase in front. It felt strange to simply walk inside, but William had called ahead and been told to do just that.

  Before Sophia could fully take in the beauty of the regal foyer—tapestries stretching high to the ceiling, a staircase splitting off into two wings of the house, large columns creating various focal points in the room—a petite brunette in a pencil skirt and ruffled blouse rounded the corner from what appeared to be a small office off to the right. “Hello. Welcome to Elliott Manor.” She stuck out her manicured hand, which William shook first, then Sophia. “I’m Claudia Vetters, the event director here. Are you Mr. Rose and Ms. Barrett?”

  “We are,” William said.

  “Wonderful, wonderful. Are you ready for a tour?”

  “That would be lovely, thank you.”

  Claudia flashed a smile. “Anywhere in particular you’d like to begin?”

  William snuck his hand around Sophia’s waist. “How about the Story Tree?”

  “Oh yes.” Sophia couldn’t stop the shy grin that came from feeling his arm around her. “I’d like to see that too.”

  “Fabulous choice.” Claudia ducked into the small room to the right—her office, probably—and emerged carrying a binder. “Follow me, please.”

  She led them through the foyer, down a few hallways, and out the back door toward the gardens, all the while spouting various facts about events at Elliott Manor.

  Sophia drowned out what the woman was saying. All she could think about was Emily. Had she walked these same halls? Was this where her love of Edward had grown, been nurtured? Where her heart had been broken? Where she’d decided that enough was enough?

  Or was it all fiction?

  And why did the answer matter so much? She wasn’t really here for this—she was here to focus on her own story. And yet, as she’d discovered when she’d surfed for the first time over a week ago, maybe this was part of her story. Maybe her story hadn’t begun and ended with David. In some strange way, perhaps the weaving together of her life with Emily’s mattered.

  It was mysterious and magical and she didn’t understand it. But maybe she didn’t need to in order to accept that it simply . . . was.

  “Soph.”

  William’s voice pulled her from her reverie. Her breath hitched as they came upon the tree—larger than she’d imagined, some of its deep roots threading through the ground.

  She stepped forward and looked east. When she glimpsed an old lighthouse, a peace settled in her soul. “This has to be it.” Sophia turned to Claudia. “Do you know why it’s called the Story Tree?”

  “Rumor has it some famous author used to write here.”

  Her eyes widened. “Do you know who?”

  She watched Claudia’s lips, waiting for the name Emily Fairfax to emerge. But instead, Claudia said, “I’m sorry, no. Like I said, just rumors.”

  “Right.”

  “That would have been too easy, right?” William nudged her.

  “Yeah.”

  Claudia turned on her three-inch heels. “So, the officiant would stand in front of the tree, and you two would face the audience, so the ocean would be behind you. When the sun sets across the waters, it’s simply gorgeous. Now, what date were you looking to book your wedding?”

  “I’m sorry, what?” Sophia quirked an eyebrow at William. “Our wedding?”

  William laughed. “Ms. Vetters, there must be some mistake. We aren’t getting married. When I called, I mentioned we were doing research into the family who might have owned this house in the past. I thought you knew that. We wanted a tour to see if we’d located the right home.”

  “Hmm.” Claudia’s back straightened and she smoothed the front of her blouse. “My assistant who made the appointment failed to mention that.”

  “I’m sorry.” William rubbed the back of his neck. “I hope you don’t mind helping us.”

  Claudia sighed, clearly disappointed she wouldn’t be booking an event today. “No, of course not, although no one here knows much about the history of the house. I can tell you that the company I work for purchased it twenty years ago and has been using it as a retreat center and wedding venue ever since. It had fallen into disrepair, all the valuables sold off.”

  “What a shame.” Sophia worried her lip. “Is there anyone who can tell us anything more about it?”

  “I’m not positive, but I could make a call for you. My boss might know the name of the person we purchased the home and land from.”

  “That would be wonderful. Thank you.”

  Claudia pulled her phone from inside her binder. “One moment.” She dialed and stepped away.

  While she spoke to someone on the other line, Sophia stepped toward the tree. She reached out her fingers and stroked the bark. “I can’t explain it, but . . .”

  “This feels like the right place.” William placed his fingers next to hers on the tree.

  “But what do we do if she comes back with no answers?” Sophia looked up at him. “Where do we look next?”

  “Don’t worry. I’m sure someone at the Land Registry office could help us.”

  “That might take time.” And she was growing impatient.

  He leaned down and pecked her on the lips. “It will all work out.”

  Sophia wanted to believe that. So badly. Not just about discovering more about Emily and her story, but about . . . everything. Her soul felt closer to healing than it had in months, but what came after this? Especially when she had to return to reality, to work—a prospect that for some reason brought with it a heavy feeling of dread? Maybe her “healing” was only happening because she was away from home. Maybe this thing with William was just a fling.

  Maybe, maybe, maybe . . . The unknowns were enough to drive her batty.

  “Got it. Thanks.” Claudia hung up. “My boss said the former owner of the home was Hugh Bryant. He had some major debts and apparently used the money to pay them off. As far as my boss knew, Mr. Bryant still lives in the village.”

  “Perfect,” William said. “Thank you.”

  “I’m going to head back to the house. Feel free to wander the grounds if you’d like. We close at five tonight.” Claudia took off.

  Sophia turned to William and squealed, throwing her arms around his neck and landing a kiss on his lips.

  “What was that for?” He pulled her closer to him. “Not that I’m complaining.”

  “That was for believing when I didn’t. We have the next step.”

  She didn’t know where it would lead . . . but for now, just having one was good enough.

  29

  EMILY
/>   MARCH 1859

  We returned to the country soon after Edward’s engagement was announced. He did not accompany us, but instead left to visit Rosamond’s family estate. I felt his absence acutely, though he did write to me a few times to inquire after me and my writing.

  I did not respond.

  It felt so foreign to ignore his letters, but I could not truly be happy for his impending nuptials, knowing the character of the woman he was marrying. Further, I knew that were we to communicate, he would sense my reticence and would question me—Edward had never held back when he wanted to know something, and he would have pursued the issue rather doggedly. I couldn’t lie to him, but neither could I tell him the sordid truth in a letter.

  Looking back, I wished I had told him in person, but my emotions had been so contorted, I did not know how to identify what was right.

  Upon our return to the country in August, I resumed my governess duties and gave all of myself to my work and my writing, starting to compose another novel and a book of poems, while simultaneously sending the first manuscript to several editors, seeking publication.

  Then the rejections came.

  Upon reflection, the first rejection had come as no great surprise, for was not everyone’s manuscript rejected at least once? The second stung a bit, but I still carried hope for the future. Something felt different about the third, though I didn’t know what. Perhaps it was simply the timing—it came a week before Edward’s March wedding, which was to be held at his family’s country estate.

  For that reason, the house had been in a dither for the last month. The family had even held off going to London for Louisa’s second season until after the wedding.

  I had not seen Edward in months. He was due to arrive with Rosamond and her family a few days after I received my latest rejection. I alternated between longing to see him and considering the idea of hiding in my room all day—nay, for the next week. However, my pressing need for fresh air won out.

  I crept down the hallway and toward the staircase, and there they were. He and Rosamond stood arm in arm, laughing at something his father had said. Even in traveling clothes, Rosamond struck me as a great beauty, not a single hair out of place despite the often uncomfortable experience of riding hundreds of miles via carriage.

  And then there was Edward.

  They made a handsome couple indeed.

  My heart lurched. I started to inch backward, but somehow Edward saw me. I wanted to believe his eyes sought me out in a crowd the way mine always looked for him, but it was more likely the fact that my boot squeaked on the wooden floor as I attempted to turn and flee.

  “Emily.” He glanced down at Rosamond, then back to me, his eyes full of raw grief and anger. “I mean, Miss Fairfax. How are you?”

  “I am well, thank you.” He must have hated me for failing to respond to his letters. A tiny part of me was glad for it. It would make things easier.

  Rosamond’s grip tightened on Edward’s arm. “Yes, hello.”

  I scurried back to my room. This was most certainly going to be the longest week of my life.

  I don’t know why I did it, except that I simply could not allow things to remain strained between me and Edward. Not when he was getting married the next day.

  Leaning against our tree and hugging the package in my arms, I stared out at the blackness beyond. Everyone had been in bed when I had snuck from my room. The moon’s fullness had lit my way here, though I would know the path with my eyes closed.

  A twig snapped behind me. I turned to find Edward approaching, lantern in hand.

  “You came.”

  He drew closer, and even in the darkness, I could sense the tension in him. “Your note commanded it.” The teasing in his voice mixed with an underlying sarcasm. It was justified—I had avoided him since he’d arrived at home with Rosamond.

  It was becoming easier and easier to pull my heart back from the clutches of his unwitting grasp.

  But then, tonight I realized, not for the first time—though it was the first time I had allowed myself to truly think on it—that never again could we meet like this, free to be just the two of us. Even now, it was highly improper in society’s eyes. But were he to be married, it would be downright shocking.

  And so, with all the memories of us twirling in my heart, I had penned a quick note in the language we had made up as children and sent it to his room via an unsuspecting maid.

  “What is this about, Emily? I have an early morning if you weren’t aware.”

  Edward’s words pulled me back to the present. I bit my lip and extended the package in my arms toward him. “I wanted to give you this gift.” I could not bring myself to say wedding gift.

  He placed the lantern on the ground and took the package from me. The brown wrapping paper crinkled under his hand and he peeled it back. Edward pulled the small gift from the paper, raising his eyebrows at me. “You hate needlepoint.”

  “You’re right.” I pointed to it. “But it’s a poem. One . . . one that I wrote. For you.” It may not have been my novel, but I had finally given him what he had asked of me: a sample of my writing.

  His features instantly softened and he gazed intently at the needlepoint, which was very poorly made indeed. It was too dark to read it, and yet he stared at it anyway. “Thank you, Em.”

  “You’re welcome. And, Edward.” I paused. “I’m sorry. For never writing you back.”

  Edward studied me in the dark, then placed the needlepoint in his jacket pocket. He took off his cloak, spread it on the ground, and sat down. I hesitated for only a moment, then joined him.

  Out across the ocean, the heavens spread before us, a vast array of bodies that kept going beyond what even I could see or imagine. The ground was cold beneath me, but this moment warmed me enough that I didn’t care.

  “Why didn’t you? Write back, that is.”

  The waves crashing against the cliff below lulled me to a contemplative place, one that charged the night with some sort of magic. Only in the dark could some words be spoken, it seemed. “You know how I’ve always had an aversion to marriage? I lied, Edward.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I would marry if it was the right person. If it was you.” I had not come here to say it, but the words leaving my lips felt right. He should know the truth at long last.

  His sharp intake of breath was all the proof I needed. He had not known how I felt.

  What was he thinking?

  He scooted closer to me, and his arm moved around my shoulder, pulling me close, tucking me in. I leaned my head against his chest, and we stayed like that for a long while.

  Finally, Edward spoke. “I love the constancy of the stars. They never change. The whole world can be falling apart around us, and yet the stars show up every evening.”

  “That is a beautiful thought.”

  “There is only one other thing in my world that has been as constant. You, Emily.”

  I did not move, but Edward’s heartbeat sounded steady in my ear. “Me?”

  “You have been a constant friend to me, and it was only when I no longer had your friendship that I felt the gaping hole in my life—that I realized how completely you had filled it.”

  So I had only ever been just a friend, then. He was letting me down in the gentlest way he knew how. “I—” A sob came to my throat. Wrenching away from him, I stood and leaned against the trunk of our tree for support. I closed my eyes and took several deep breaths.

  I felt rather than saw Edward come up behind me. “Em . . .”

  Something about the way he said my name—an anguished groan—made me turn and look at him . . . really look at him for the first time that night. His hands were balled into fists. In the light of the moon, I saw the outline of his jaw, clenched.

  Finally, he stepped closer, the tips of our boots touching. He placed his hands on either side of my upper arms and turned me to fully face him. “If only I’d figured out my own heart before I gave my promise to another.
Em, I’ve been a fool.”

  His heart? Then perhaps . . .

  I could not see his face with the moon shining brightly at his back, so I lifted my trembling fingers to his cheek and dared to trace his lips—a frown. The stubble on his normally clean-shaven jawline surprised me. For some reason, feeling it there seemed an intimate thing. He turned his lips toward my fingers and kissed them lightly. His hands left my arms and wrapped around my waist, pulling me close.

  My lungs filled with air—with hope. “Your promise is not complete until you utter your vows tomorrow.” Surely his parents would understand. After all, wouldn’t they want him to be happy? “Edward . . .” I searched for his gaze, even in the darkness.

  But instead of kissing me as I longed for him to do, he groaned. “What am I doing?” With agonizing slowness, he released me. “Emily, if I could change things . . .”

  My arms ached for missing him. “You can change things. It’s your life. Be your own person, Edward.”

  “I cannot be my own person when others are depending on me.” He paced, running his hand through his hair.

  “Don’t you want to marry for love, Edward?” My words were potentially dangerous to my heart, but I said them anyway.

  “It’s not that simple. The debts . . . They’ve piled up. Don’t you understand? My family could lose everything. My mother and sisters, they’d be penniless, and if anything ever happened to me or my father, what then? I shudder to imagine it. We can’t all have the luxury of marrying for love, Emily.”

  “So you condemn yourself to a life without it?”

  “Love is only part of a marriage.” His breath shuddered. “I don’t know what else to do.”

  My own heart broke seeing the man I loved warring between his own happiness and his family’s well-being. “What you don’t realize, Edward, is that life is not about money. Even if your family lost everything, they would still have each other, would they not?” I tried to keep the desperation from my tone.

  His eyes pierced me. “You know my mother would rather die than become a pauper or lose her good reputation.”

  This was getting us nowhere. He’d clearly decided. But he didn’t have all the facts. Perhaps it was a desperate attempt, but it was all I had available to me. “Rosamond is not worthy of you, Edward.” The story of finding her and the footman together at the ball spilled from my lips.