“The queen intends to make her way north for an inspection with her new husband. She wants a show of support for him.” Wise choice. Many did not approve of a foreign consort, though I’d heard Prince Albert was a good man. “She asks to be received at Sorrow-Fell. Also, you’ve invitations to the Duke of Roxburgh’s ball on Thursday next. His eldest son will be in attendance. The duke, er, made certain to mention that.”
Ah. That. Since the period of my mourning had passed, I’d received several letters from eligible gentlemen professing themselves enamored of me. Enamored of my status and estate, rather. I frowned; this was not what I wanted to hear. Laurence quickly changed the subject.
“You’ve a letter from Genoa.” He laid it on my table. “And Master Stephen is rather fussy.”
Genoa. I forced myself not to grab for it.
“Thank you.” I took up a letter opener. “Let me know when the guests arrive.”
Laurence bowed, and I dismissed Dawkins as well. When I slit open the letter, my hands shook so badly I nearly cut myself. I’d recognized the large, jagged handwriting at once. Tearing the letter open, I read.
Lady Blackwood,
Still feels odd to call you that, Howel. Would Blackwood-Howel be an appropriate name? Feels very modern.
Got your letter in Brussels forwarded to me here. That was a miracle, as I’ve been on the move since April. Did Stephen enjoy the toy soldier I sent from Hamburg? I’d planned on sending him one from here, but the Genoese don’t seem to have a great selection. Perhaps he’d like a fine cheese? Plenty of that about.
You must also tell me if Templeton figured out the riddle I sent in my last letter. She probably knew it within instants of reading. She’s rather clever like that. Just between us, do tell me what the answer is, because I still can’t make it out.
Most importantly of all, how are you, my dear Blackwood-Howel? I ponder this question by the fountains of Rome or on the boulevards of Paris. I find I’ve taken you with me across the great expanse of the Continent, and my picture of you is forever lovely, and always troubled. Please set my mind at ease. Tell me if you smile, and how often, and for what reason. Nothing would make me happier.
However, you may need to wait on the reply. I’m afraid you won’t be able to write me here. I’m leaving on something of an important journey. Perhaps my most significant mission yet. You’ll know of it in due course, I assure you.
Your obedient friend,
Julian Magnus
As I put the paper down, my heart sank. So. He’d had nothing to say about my last letter.
After he’d gone to Europe, Magnus and I had corresponded frequently. I’d receive postcards from Paris, Venice, Berlin, all of them inquiring after the estate. How was I? Did I realize that Bavaria produced the finest pastries in Europe? I received sugared ginger and peppermint tea to ease my pregnancy, and chocolate and candied fruit afterward as a treat.
In the darkest months after Blackwood’s death, Magnus had made me laugh again. Soon I found myself eagerly awaiting his next letter. I’d needed something to look forward to.
When I’d entered my confinement, Magnus had offered to come back to Yorkshire to see me. He’d asked his superior officer for a leave but had been rejected. Maria and Aunt Agnes had stayed by my side during Stephen’s delivery.
I had never told Magnus exactly how agonizing the birth had been. The pain was nearly beyond endurance, and Maria said there was a time she feared I wouldn’t survive it. Of course, the moment I held Stephen in my arms I’d have been glad to endure the pain again twice, or a hundred times. He’d been small and perfect, with a rosebud mouth; more than that, he had been mine absolutely.
Still, without Maria I’d probably have died, and I’d told Magnus that much. He’d begun sending everything he could lay hands on, comfits and cushions and herbs and spices. He provided everything he could for my comfort, and Maria’s, and little Stephen’s.
But he had never come himself.
As the months wore on, and as his superiors kept him on the Continent, I began to worry that my friendship was a burden to him. Perhaps I was holding on to the memories of those few days we’d spent together at the war’s end.
In truth, I’d let doubt creep back into my heart. A person could only change so much. Perhaps the near proximity of certain death had brought out the romantic in Magnus. Perhaps, once he was free to see the world, he had realized that he didn’t want to settle with me.
So I had written a letter. It was a letter I couldn’t bear to think of now, and I had sent it with my heart.
And he had returned that heart in a simple white envelope.
Perhaps I was reading too much into his letters.
Perhaps I ought to accept the duke’s invitation.
I wouldn’t allow myself to sulk. I left my room and walked down the hall to the nursery. Aunt Agnes was there, standing over his cradle.
“He’s quieter now.” She smiled warmly, though she always appeared distinctly puzzled to see me in here. Surely, as a countess, I should have been content to see my child for an hour at teatime. “He’s been fussy all morning.”
In the cradle, I found Stephen Blackwood, tenth Earl of Sorrow-Fell, gurgling up at me.
“Have you been a nuisance?” I lifted him into my arms. Stephen was bright-eyed and effusive and squealed with glee as he tugged at my coral necklace. Perhaps he’d just wanted my attention.
Stephen had his father’s black hair, and I could already see the shape of Blackwood’s nose and jaw, and his long fingers. But Stephen had my own olive coloring, like his grandfather before him. His eyes—the pupils a pure and shining black—were indicative of another gift. I settled my son back into his crib. Then the curtain by the window fluttered, and a flush of shadow spread over the carpet.
“Stephen. No.” I looked at the child with disapproval. He grinned gummily and kicked his legs. The shadows dispersed.
Whatever bit of Korozoth’s power I had carried had spread to my son. He was in no danger of turning monstrous, Maria had assured me. The shadow abilities were merely an added quirk, as she called them. That would be a challenge in itself as he grew up. Sighing, I leaned over and kissed him. One day, I’d have to explain to him the many challenges of his powers and position. I was determined to do as Blackwood had asked and keep Stephen from becoming too comfortable. The master of Sorrow-Fell would learn that his good fortune came with a lifetime of duty.
Duty. That had been the name of Blackwood’s stave. It now resided in a glass case underneath his portrait in the hall. The picture showed him standing upon a hill with the dawn rising behind him. He looked strong and splendid in a green waistcoat, which brought out the color in his eyes. I’d had the painting commissioned soon after Blackwood’s death so that his son could see him every day, and so that I could remember.
I had one last thing to see to before the party. I kissed Stephen and left him with Aunt Agnes.
* * *
—
THE FAMILY GRAVEYARD WAS NOT AS impressive as one would have expected, at least on first inspection. Most great families had crypts, but this graveyard displayed only standard stone headpieces. The sorcerer way was to be swathed in black silk and buried in the rich earth, so as to be absorbed back into nature all the sooner.
Blackwood’s headstone rested beside Eliza’s. I went to hers first, to kiss it as I did every morning. Perhaps that was why today had thrown me into such a tizzy: there’d been no time to make my visit. Then I kissed Blackwood’s and leaned my cheek against it. It had felt natural to come here when I was dressed in mourning garb. Now, in my periwinkle dress, I felt like an interloper.
I didn’t want that.
“I didn’t tell you about Stephen today,” I whispered to the headstone. “I believe he understands what I say to him. He’s the cleverest child.”
The words on the gravestone, GEORGE ROBERT BLACKWOOD, 1822–1840, were the only response I received. Still, I made the full report of Stephen’s laughter, of his trouble with shadows. When I’d given Blackwood all the details I could, I traced his engraved name with my fingertips. I hated to think of that name wearing away over the years. Finally, I got up and wandered to a small corner of the graveyard. Here, I’d placed three commemorative stones.
Rook’s body was gone, but I had given him a memorial. Stephen Poole’s name was carved into one of the black stones. I had made him my son’s namesake. I could think of no better way to have him with me every day, or to thank him.
The dead did not speak to me here. They had passed on, but their memories haunted me. Indeed, I sometimes felt as though these graves anchored me in the violent waters of memory. Shuddering, I left the graveyard and walked toward the sounds of the party. It was wrong of me to neglect my guests.
* * *
—
THE GIRLS FELL OUT OF THE carriages as I came across the lawn to meet them. One little girl in a pink frock raced toward me with her arms open in joy.
“Miss Howel!” Even two years later, Sarah still looked like the smiling little girl I’d left behind at Brimthorn. Though I was pleased to note that she appeared better fed, and her clothes were new. I gathered her in my arms. “They said you wouldn’t come back, but I knew,” the child said proudly.
“It’s Lady Blackwood now,” tsked the new headmaster, though he patted Sarah’s head rather than struck her with a cane. Mr. Portman had been my personal selection to replace Colegrind at Brimthorn. I’d chosen him for his dedication to education, his reputation as a kind man, and the fact that he was a married father of two. His children seemed to love playing with the Brimthorn students.
“Come along,” I said to all of the children. We’d set up a rather splendid array of tables and blankets, along with as many good sandwiches and cakes as the kitchen could provide. Since becoming the benefactor of Brimthorn, I’d made it a priority to see the girls cared for.
The girls crowded around the nurse when she brought out Stephen. He was quite the beautiful boy, and he loved being the center of their attention. Giggling, he’d grasp at every ribbon and lock of hair that dangled in his face. How unlike his father he was in that regard.
Stephen had Blackwood’s hair, his grandfather’s coloring, and Rook’s black eyes. What of me was there? Perhaps time would reveal it.
“Look!” one of the girls cried through a mouthful of cake. She pointed down the road. “Oh, it’s such a beautiful horse!”
I turned to see a young man on horseback cantering toward us, dressed in a dark blue riding coat and cream-colored breeches. He took off his hat to the girls, revealing a shining mass of auburn hair. My breath caught in my throat.
Magnus.
But what the devil was he doing here? The surge of excitement turned to nerves.
“Well.” Maria came up beside me with a little girl climbing on her back. “Strange to see him here. Did he tell you he was coming?” She did not look displeased. I swore Dawkins had laced my stays too tight. As Magnus dismounted and passed off the horse’s reins to a groom, I found it harder to breathe.
“No. Did he tell you?”
“Haven’t heard from him in a month.” She glanced sidelong at me. “Perhaps he missed you.”
Lord, Maria was not helping my nerves. It had been one thing to pour out my heart to a blank sheet of paper. But with him here in the flesh and blood, my embarrassment threatened to undo me.
“I’ll be back shortly,” I murmured to Maria, and dashed away before she could stop me. I hurried to the edge of the forest. The needle-strewn path carpeted my footfall. Closing my eyes, I wished myself away. Perhaps he’d come to tell me face to face that I was placing too many foolish hopes upon him. Perhaps…
I had to stop behaving like a child. Soon Dee and Lilly would arrive, and I would have to behave normally. I would…
Magnus appeared before me on the path, with the sun at his back.
“There you are,” he said. My heart pummeled my chest; really, Dawkins had laced me too tight. That was the problem. “Why did you not come and see me?”
He was unchanged. True, his smile was a touch crooked now because of the gleaming scar that raked up the left side of his face, but it seemed to complete him. I could no longer imagine him without it.
“Why did I not come say hello?” I echoed. Magnus approached, but I shied away. “I…I thought you were in Italy.”
“Yes. Well. I’m not.” He frowned.
“You’ve, er, come at an odd time. We’re having a picnic,” I said lamely. Why was I behaving this way to him? Because I was afraid he’d tell me he’d come here to announce his engagement to a foreign duchess or princess. Or that he’d had time to consider it in a distant land, and realized we simply weren’t well suited. Too much time had gone by. We had not seen each other in almost a year and a half.
A love that had bloomed for a few days could not weather such a long absence. That was a fanciful idea. Surely.
“How is the Continent?” I tried to smile.
“Well, it was splendid, but I shan’t be returning for some time,” he said. “I’ve come home.”
“To see to your estate?” It was in Shropshire, on the border of Wales. Beautiful country, and a good place to settle. Magnus regarded me rather closely.
“Actually, the work is here. They’ve made me a colonel and stationed me about three miles east of Sorrow-Fell. The northern regiments are filling up, you know.”
I felt strangely hot. Embers bloomed in my hands, and I quashed them. He’d come home, to England. He was so close now, to Sorrow-Fell…to me.
My mouth was cotton dry. “You gave up the Continent?”
Magnus went positively rigid. “You’re…you’re not pleased with this?”
“What? No!” I cried, feeling more and more lost. “I mean, I am.”
“Good.” He drew near to me in one breath, his hands taking mine. His eyes pinned me in place. “Because you are the reason I’ve done it.”
I felt suspended in some kind of dream.
“I thought your feelings for me were done,” he said. “That you wanted only friendship. Your letters never mentioned anything too personal. When we parted in London, the day you said I shouldn’t come with you to Devon, well, I assumed you meant to say goodbye.”
That was a mistake I’d cursed a thousand times.
Magnus continued, “I didn’t want to interfere with your life, especially when you’d have suitors far richer and nobler than I could ever be.”
“And I thought you’d done with me,” I said at last, trembling. How could any of this be happening?
“Howel, you must know by now that no power on earth could force my heart from you,” he murmured. “But I thought you wanted only my friendship. Until your last letter.” His eyes searched my face. “One passage in particular leaped out at me.” He began to recite: “You must know how I rely upon hearing from you. Sometimes, I wake and imagine we are still in Agrippa’s house. I think I will go down to breakfast and find you seated at the table. Sometimes I yearn for those days. They were simple, weren’t they? We were simpler.
“I confess that when you wrote to me of Camilla, the young lady you found so intriguing in Naples, I felt a surge of something. Shall I call it envy? Magnus, I would give most anything to go back to that night when you told your faerie story. But I’m afraid, my dear, that we may have missed our last chance. At least, I have missed mine. I should have let you take me to Devon. My mind is never free of you. If I could exchange the whole of Sorrow-Fell for one more opportunity to speak my heart, I might do it.”
I closed my eyes. “You memorized it?”
“I read it over and over again; I have never hoped for anything in my life as violently as I hop
ed that you meant what you wrote.” He came one step nearer. “I want to say this, Howel. So that there are no misunderstandings.” He took my hand and placed it over his heart. “My feelings will never alter. The war made me a man, but…” He looked into my eyes. “You made me want to be a man. I’d no way of knowing, when I went on a bet after Master Agrippa’s carriage that day, that you would become the center of my life. They say you should know the minute you fall in love, but it came on so gradually. All I know is that one day I realized it, and that realization can never die.
“If today you tell me no, I shall never speak like this again.” He dropped to his knee, both of my hands in his. The world grew hazy—Magnus alone stood out in sharp focus. “I won’t live and die a coward. Henrietta Howel—because that is who you are to me, now and always—will you be my wife?”
I knew that I loved him. I had spent over a year hoping for another moment like this, where I could give voice to the words burning inside me. I touched his cheek.
Yes, I was still afraid. Behind me waited the ghosts of all those I had lost…how could I move forward and leave them behind?
I could feel them, suddenly. Blackwood, Rook, and even Eliza seemed to whisper in my mind. Not that they were truly here, but I sensed their hands pushing me forward, toward Magnus. It was one thing to take off the black dresses and the veils; it was another to choose to live without them.
As that idea came to me, it seemed the darkness evaporated around us. The sun broke through the canopy of branches, dappling the forest with light. I could feel the magic in the world around me.
A world I wanted to face with him.
“Yes,” I said.
A look of wonder came over him. “You will?”
“I will.” My whole life, I had concealed my real thoughts and feelings to protect myself, but that wouldn’t do any longer. I had written a letter from the safety of my desk; now I had to voice my feelings aloud, to him. Without fear. “I’ve loved you for such a long time, Julian.” It sounded odd—yet wonderful—to speak his first name. “And I never want to be without you again, from this day to my last.”
A Sorrow Fierce and Falling (Kingdom on Fire, Book Three) Page 30
