“They have Bram Stoker’s latest,” I say with glee, snatching up the red cover of Lady Athlyne. “Did you read Dracula?”
Rose nods emphatically. “I read it in a single evening—I didn’t sleep until well after dawn. Just as well, since it frightened me as much as I loved it.”
I peek at the first few pages, savoring the sound the spine of a brand new book makes when first opened. I sigh happily. “And it’s a romance!”
“Speaking of romance,” Rose says with a little nod toward James, who appears to be shamefully haggling with the bookseller, “is he one of your suitors?”
“No.” A line of heat travels down my jaw where James trailed his finger. “At least, I don’t think so.”
Rose watches me for a moment. “But you wish him to be?”
My mind instantly fills with thoughts of Alexander—his warm smile, his scent of cardamom and clove, his attentiveness. “I can honestly say I have no idea what I wish for.”
She laughs quietly. “That’s not a bad problem to have, but I sense a sordid past between the two of you.”
My head whips toward her so fast she erupts into wheezy laughter, and I relax into a grin. “There’s some truth to that, I suppose. He did kiss me, after all.”
When I turn nonchalantly back toward the stack of books, she grabs hold of my arm. “You cannot just leave it at that! Promise me you’ll tell me the full story.”
I hand her a copy of Lady Athlyne. “I will, but I think you’ll be rather unimpressed once you hear the whole of it.”
James finishes haggling with the bookseller, and by his grin, I assume he talked him down. As he makes his way toward us, I abruptly change the subject. “Will you read Lady Athlyne with me? It’s been ages since I’ve had the chance to read a book and immediately discuss it with someone afterward. My sister and I used to read books together, but she’s usually too exhausted at night to read more than a chapter or two.”
“Now, is that because Izzie runs her ragged … or Lord Thornewood does?” Rose says and then laughs when I make a sour face. “Forgive me, I shouldn’t tease you. Of course I’ll read it with you.”
“A romance,” James says when he sees the books in our hands. “Why am I not surprised?”
“I do hope you’re not saying that because we are both female,” Rose says. “That would be terribly dull of you.”
“No indeed,” James says. “I only meant that Lucy has a long history of only choosing stories with happy endings.”
“That can’t be true,” I say. “I only just finished Dracula.”
James smirks at me. “Yes? And what happens at the end, I wonder?”
I think of Mina’s miraculous recovery and the note at the end of Jonathan and Mina’s marriage and birth of their son. My face falls. “I did read Wuthering Heights years ago—”
“And loathed it,” James adds.
“Well, what’s wrong with wanting to read about something uplifting?” I demand.
James’s eyes sparkle, clearly happy he managed to get a rise out of me. “Not a thing.”
Rose remains silent through our little exchange, and when I meet her gaze, she only manages a wan smile.
“We’re boring Rose,” I say, linking my arm through hers. I hand both our books to James. “Could you be a darling and purchase these for us? I do believe Rose is quite fatigued.”
“No, I’m well,” Rose protests, but James does as I ask.
“Then perhaps it is I who am tired,” I say with a little smile. “Or at least hungry. Shall we go settle in and pray the housekeeper can prepare us a late luncheon?”
“I certainly won’t argue with you,” Rose says.
“James, will you help us find the townhouse?” I ask when he returns with the books neatly wrapped in parchment and tied with twine. “You’ve already established how directionally challenged we are, and we’re dying for a meal.”
“Of course. Unless you’d rather we found a restaurant in town?”
I glance at Rose. “If you don’t mind,” she says, “I’d rather we went to the house since I’d love the chance to rest after luncheon.”
“Then that’s just what we’ll do,” James says.
He holds the door for us, and we walk through into the warm sunshine. I feel instantly rejuvenated despite my hunger. But the more we walk, the slower Rose walks, until it almost feels as though I am dragging her along.
“Rose, you should have said how tired you were,” I scold gently, even as guilt at being so terribly blind to her discomfort tears into me.
Even James watches her with concern, his usual teasing manner gone. “Shall I continue on foot and return with a motorcar to fetch you both?”
Rose’s eyes widen. “No, please. I wouldn’t want to trouble you. How much farther?”
“It would be no trouble at all. We’re not far—you can see the beginnings of the Crescent just there.” He indicates a townhouse less than a block away.
She squints into the distance. “Is that row of townhouses curved or have I become confused?”
“No, they are,” James says with a smile. “The architect, John Wood, was said to be rather fascinated with ancient stone circles.”
“Oh, I cannot wait to see it up close,” I say, my fingers already itching to draw the unusual semicircular Georgian architecture.
Rose takes a step forward determinedly. “I’m sure I can make it.”
Our pace is slow, and though Rose tries to hide it, I detect the unmistakable sound of a wheeze with her every breath. A whisper of doubt takes hold of my mind, and I realize my new friend is a great deal sicker than I originally supposed.
A shadow hangs over her, and not even the beautiful scenery can detract from it.
THIRTEEN
MUCH later, after a filling luncheon of assorted tea sandwiches, smoked salmon, tea, and scones, and after most of us had a lie-down, a soft knock comes at my door.
“Come in,” I say, and Wren enters, wearing a striking sapphire blue lace afternoon dress.
“I’m not disturbing you, am I?” she asks.
I glance down at my sketchbook, where I’ve been trying since I woke to sort out my thoughts. The results are a hodgepodge of half-finished drawings: James’s warm eyes in one corner, a wilted rose, the hulking form of Lord Wallace, part of the columned townhomes of the Royal Crescent, Alexander’s full mouth—the last has been nearly obliterated by charcoal, though.
“No, of course not.” I put my charcoal down and turn toward her. “I’m only sketching.”
Her skirts swish as she perches on the end of my bed. “Have there been any more incidents—traveling within your drawings?”
I shake my head. “None since my visit with our grandmother, and none that I haven’t deliberately instigated myself. Although …” I trail off, thinking. “There have been times when I’ve felt arcana in the tips of my fingers without having summoned it.” I catch her smiling. “What?”
“Just to hear you mention our Sylvan grandmother so casually … it’s a little surreal.”
“There has to be a way to bring you with me next time,” I say.
Her eyebrows arch. “There will be a next time?” She smiles when I answer with a sheepish look. “And anyway, I swore to Colin long ago I would never cross over. I’ll have to live vicariously through you.”
Her smile fades, and I can see the longing in her eyes.
“You promised you’d never physically cross over,” I say.
A surprised laugh escapes her. “Goodness, but you’re sly!”
“It’s taxing on our physical forms, but not if we stay for only a short time, and I’m sure Grandmother can help me.”
She holds up her hand, but her eyes still shine with mirth. “All right, all right. I’ll consider it. God knows I’d love to see Sylvania again.” She sighs dreamily. “Anyway, James tells me you had a whale of a time shopping, but do you think you’re rested enough now to go on a tour of the Roman Baths?”
I think of Rose barely making it home.
“Oh I’d love to. I only hope Rose is well enough to go. She was rather tired out.”
Wren must hear the note of melancholy in my tone for she searches my face for a moment. “Is she very ill then?”
The shadow I saw cast over Rose fills my mind, but I cannot bring myself to voice my fears. Perhaps if I don’t, it won’t give them the power to come to pass. “I think she tries to hide a great deal.”
Wren nods. “I can certainly see that. She’s drinking tea in the drawing room as we speak. Izzie just went down for her nap, so now would be the ideal time to go. Shall we see if Rose is up for it?”
I check my hair in the beveled mirror and move to follow her.
“Oh! Is this your new hat?” Wren asks, holding it aloft. I’d put it on display, thinking I might sketch its beautifully curved lines. “It’ll look lovely on you.”
“Thank you,” I say. “I thought it would go perfectly with my black and white tailored dress—you know the one?”
“The one that makes your waist look nonexistent?” she asks with a wry smile. “I certainly do, and you’re right, this will look divine. But you always did have exquisite taste—it must come from being a brilliant artist.”
I loop my arm around her in a tight hug. “Have I mentioned lately that you’re my favorite sister?”
She laughs. “You’re certainly my favorite. You may even be my favorite sibling—it depends on whether or not Rob is behaving himself.”
“Where is Rob?” I ask after we have walked quietly past Izzie’s nursery. “Will he join us, or is he still resting up for tonight?”
“Speaking of tonight,” she says, glancing back at me on the stairs. “I quite forgot to mention that Colin and I ran into Lord and Lady Sotheby in the park, and they invited us to the ball they’re hosting this evening. The attendees will mostly be retired officers, so of course Colin was quick to say yes—” she pauses to give me a long-suffering look, “but I thought you might like the opportunity to dance—even if it’s only with James and Rob.”
“You know me too well,” I say. “I’m certainly up for a ball this evening, even at the risk of Colin throwing every ancient and grandfatherly gentleman my way.”
She laughs. “Good, because he will.”
When we enter the drawing room, I find I was the only one who was unaccounted for. Rose looks wan still, but much more alert, and I go straight to her side.
“I’m sorry to have not come down sooner,” I say, sitting beside her on the velvet settee.
“I’ve been perfectly content, I assure you,” she says with a nod toward Rob and James, who stand nearby at the bookcases idly talking and browsing for books. I quite understand her sentiment, for together they truly could brighten even the most melancholy of moods.
“I’m glad to hear it. Are you feeling rejuvenated?”
“Quite so, thank you. I’m embarrassed I became so weary.”
“You’ve nothing to be embarrassed about! We’d only just finished traveling. It was wrong of us to push you so soon. That’s why I want you to feel no obligation whatsoever, but what say you to a tour of the Roman Baths?”
She glances down at her tea cup for a moment. “Would we leave now?”
“Or as soon as you’re ready, but don’t feel pressured in the least to go. We could always stay and read.”
“No, indeed. We should take advantage of the sights.” She leans a little closer so we won’t be overheard by the others, who are all either teasing each other mercilessly or engrossed in their reading. “It shames me to admit this, but I don’t think I have the energy to both tour the baths and attend the ball this evening—Lady Katherine mentioned it to me earlier. Would you be terribly disappointed if I only went on the tour? It’s just that I’ve so wanted to see them—I’ve heard there are some incredible pieces of Roman art preserved.”
A sense of obligation and guilt twist within me at the thought of leaving Rose behind this evening, much as I’d like to go dancing. “I’ve heard the same, but I’d be perfectly content to stay at home with you this evening if you’d like. I hate to think of you sitting alone while we’re out enjoying ourselves.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You mustn’t stay here on my account—no, I insist,” she interrupts when I open my mouth to protest. “I’ll be going to bed straight after dinner, so there will be no reason for you to stay behind. Just imagine I am actually seventy years old instead of twenty—I think you’d be happier for it.”
“How morbid!” I say with a shake of my head.
She laughs, which brings a bit more color to her face. “It’s not morbid if it’s the truth. I’ve accepted my lot in life. It does have some perks, after all. For example, I always have a brilliant excuse whenever I want to weasel my way out of something I’d rather not do.”
“Lucy, are you ready?” Wren asks, Colin’s arm around her waist—they’re nearly always touching in some way, and apparently not even a houseguest is deterrent enough. Izzie, it seems, has actually been left napping with her nanny for once. “Rose, I hope you feel up to accompanying us.”
“Yes, I’d love to,” Rose says, getting to her feet.
“I’ll be along in a minute. I want to bring my sketchbook.”
Before I leave the room, James appears at my side. “I must say, I’m insulted. You didn’t even ask if I was going with you. Is it because you have no need of my superior carrying skills?”
I laugh. “Of course not. I just assumed you were … just as I assumed Rob wouldn’t.” I give a little nod toward my brother, and he raises his tea cup in a teasing salute. “You’ll join us, won’t you?”
“Well, now that I’ve been invited, I daresay I will.” He grins at me. “Besides, Colin and I were often dragged here as children for holiday. You might find I remember a thing or two about Bath’s ancient history.”
I can see where this is headed, and I give him a warning look. “Just don’t antagonize the tour guide.”
His eyes widen. “I would never.”
“Hm, well, I’ll be along in a moment.” I start to walk out the door but then stop and turn back to him. “And, James? I am happy you’ll be coming along.”
“There is a legend that Bath was first discovered by a man with leprosy who watched pigs suffering from skin disease wallow in mud and be cured,” our tour guide says, dressed head to toe in tweed. “When the man did the same, he was also cured. That man was Prince Bladud, King Lear’s father, and the founder of Bath.”
We stand in the restored Roman Baths, gazing down into a rectangular pool of water the color of jade—Mr. Sanders, our tour guide, assures us this is due to algae growth in the pool and that the water from the hot springs is actually colorless. Roman statues stand guard as mist swirls gently atop the pool.
“The Romans were fond of public baths, and hot springs in particular, and so it was that they built a temple here around 50 AD. But in reality, it was already known to the Celtic Druids, who considered this site sacred to the goddess Sulis,” Mr. Sanders says, his tufts of brown-gray hair standing on end in apparent excitement. He leans closer to us. “This was a place where men could communicate with the underworld.”
Something thrums through me at his words, and I glance at Wren. Confusion flits across her face. She felt it, too. On a whim, I take out my sketchbook and draw the geometric lines of the pool, the smooth columns surrounding it, as much sentinels to the pool as the statues that guard it. Arcana surges to my fingertips, and for once, I’m not surprised.
I fall behind so Rose has her back to me and mouth to my sister, “Arcana.” She nods once.
My heart thumps rapidly in my chest. How I would love to hear from our grandmother what the significance of this place is.
“Beware the gorgon!” Mr. Sanders says, bringing me out of my reverie. He indicates a beautiful stone carving of a glowering gorgon, with a multitude of writhing snakes springing forth from its face. But upon first glance, the circular carving instantly brings to mind an ancient drawing of the sun.
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br /> In my sketchbook, I draw the snakes as points of the sun instead, and I can almost feel warmth traveling up my fingers from the pencil’s tip.
Rose glances over my shoulder as I draw. “It does rather look like a sun, doesn’t it?”
Her own drawing is an exact rendering as though the gorgon leaped directly onto her paper. “And yours is as accurate as a photograph,” I say with a smile.
“Here we have the goddess Sulis,” Mr. Sanders says, indicating a bust of an imposing woman. “The Romans decided this Celtic goddess was really just another manifestation of Minerva, so the Temple was dedicated to both Sulis and Minerva to appease both the Celts and the Romans who visited.”
Next we travel down to the edge of the pool, where only stairs separate us from the jade water. James doffs his coat and moves closer to the edge. “Shall we all have a dip now?” he asks.
The poor tour guide’s eyes widen comically. “Oh, no, my lord. That is, not here. There are more private opportunities to bathe in the hot springs, and we now offer the Aquae Sulis to drink.”
“James,” Colin says with a hint of warning in his tone, “kindly refrain from rattling our informative guide.”
The tour guide lets out a little sigh of relief, his smile a little brighter. “If you’ll follow me, my lord and lady, there are some beautifully restored mosaics of tritons.”
Colin and Wren move to follow him, and James continues at a distance.
“Shall we follow?” Rose asks.
I glance up from my drawing of the main pool. “I’ll be along in a moment. I only want to finish this sketch.”
“I’ll wait with you.”
I could spend ages in this room, with the mist swirling above the water, and that tingle of arcana in the air. My pencil makes pleasant scratching sounds against the paper, and I glance up again to take in the view.
Movement catches my eye—a figure moving in the shadows across from us. I’m close enough to see immediately that it’s not one of our party, and I freeze as prickling awareness creeps over my skin. A man with hair shot with steel and a broad face.
Lord Wallace.
Before I can even draw in another breath, he smirks at me and melds back into the shadows.
The Order of the Eternal Sun Page 13
