Dora found herself oddly unconcerned by the idea of Auntie Frances and her guilt. Perhaps she will come and try to mend fences, Dora thought. But perhaps she will not. Either way, I have so many more important things to worry about.
“The plague is broken,” Vanessa said. “Does that mean that the Lord Sorcier can fix your condition when he returns?”
Dora shook her head slowly. “My other half shall remain in faerie forevermore,” she told her cousin. “I made the choice to leave her there, and I do not regret it.”
Vanessa looked stricken at that. “But after all of that, Dora!” she said. “Was there no point at all in bringing you to London?”
Dora smiled calmly at her cousin. “I am very glad that I came to London,” she said. “And I will not regret that either, whatever else happens. But are you happy to be engaged, Vanessa? Is Edward the husband that you would have wanted?”
Vanessa hesitated. “He is very handsome,” she said. “And he seems very kind. And that night that we danced with all those stars surrounding us, it was quite romantic.” She looked down at her lap. “I now realise that I do not know him very well. But I suppose that I was never to know my husband very well. I hope that he is truly everything he seems.”
“Albert believes that his brother is a good man,” Dora said. “And I trust that he is truthful on the matter.”
Vanessa chewed at her lip. “Has the marquess ceased to be a problem, Dora?” she asked. “Do you think that you would marry Albert now? The two of you do seem to get along, and we would see so much more of one another that way.”
Dora shot her cousin a bemused look. “The marquess is no more,” she said. “And I may marry whom I like, as long as they do not mind marrying only half of me. I admit that I would consider marrying anyone if it gave me the chance to stay near to you. But I am already in love, and I suppose that I have already promised to marry someone else.”
Vanessa’s eyes widened. “You suppose?” she said. “And you are in love! Dora, why did you not say anything?”
“I did not know myself until most recently,” Dora said. “But perhaps it has all worked out for the best.” She paused uncertainly. “That is assuming that the man in question ever returns—”
A knock at the door interrupted that train of thought. Lady Carroway headed in looking very flustered, holding a vase of fresh white roses in her arms. There was something distinctly different about these flowers, however—and after a moment of looking at them, Dora realised that they sometimes looked more like mist than like roses. Those are from Hollowvale’s gardens, she thought.
“These are for you, Miss Ettings,” Lady Carroway told Dora. “I think they are to entice you downstairs.” She settled the flowers onto the dresser and shook her head with a smile. “The Lord Sorcier would like a private audience with you. We all know he is not here to ask about French translations. Should I have him wait downstairs while you dress, or turn him away in order to save his pride?”
Vanessa caught the implication in a moment, having just finished her own private audience with Edward only a few days prior. She let out a delighted little gasp and clapped her hands over her mouth.
For once, Dora felt a real smile spread across her face. “I will be down to see him as soon as I can,” she said.
Lady Carroway sighed at that, but there was a fondness in her expression. “We shall all depend on you to keep him in hand, Miss Ettings,” she said.
Vanessa hurried to help Dora get dressed. “We must have a maid do your hair and makeup—” she started, but Dora shook her head.
“I do not need either,” Dora said. “I know I do not seem happy, but I am. I would like to see him as soon as possible.” If she were truly honest with herself, there was still a hint of irrational dread in her heart, in spite of it all. What if Elias had changed his mind now that Dora would never be cured? Surely, he had thought quite a lot about matters on his way back from faerie, and if there were any doubts in his mind at all, they must have come to the forefront.
It was not her imagination, Dora thought, that Lady Carroway’s servants were all watching her keenly as she headed down the stairs. One of the maids led her to a side room; Dora opened the door, and the last of her lingering worries instantly dissipated.
Elias glanced towards Dora as she headed inside. He had been pacing, but the moment that she came into view, he stopped himself abruptly. The shadows under his eyes had nearly gone now, though a faint memory of darkness still hovered there. He was dressed more finely than usual, and his neck cloth was neatly-tied—and while this made him look quite handsome, he was also clearly unused to it.
Dora closed the door gently behind her, and Elias straightened with an awkward cough. He seemed uncertain just what to do with his arms, and so he settled for clasping them behind his back.
“I was beginning to think you had been waylaid by brownies,” Dora told him with a smile.
Elias blinked. “By brownies?” he said in a flustered tone.
“Well, that would explain your attire,” Dora pointed out. “You are looking nearly like a gentleman today, and we both know that is not your preference.”
Elias’ mouth dropped. “I am not—“ he started. “I have never been—” But he was still so muddled that he couldn’t seem to settle on a single retort.
Dora threw her arms around him.
Elias stiffened for only a moment. In short order, however, his rigid posture relaxed and he tightened his grip on Dora with an audible sigh of relief. She pressed her cheek against his chest and closed her eyes, taking in the now-familiar scent of myrrh that he always carried with him.
“It’s good to see you well,” he murmured. “I could not help but worry that perhaps you hadn’t woken up.”
“I am very well,” Dora told him softly. “I have not been allowed to exert myself at all, you know. If plenty of rest makes for good health, then I must be the healthiest woman in the country.”
Elias brought his hand up to run his fingers through her hair, and Dora found herself very glad that she had not paused to pin it up. “I did bring flowers this time,” he murmured.
Dora opened her eyes and saw him looking down at her with a strange intensity. The gold of his eyes mesmerized her in a brand new way, and she tightened her fingers in his jacket.
“I am not certain what to say,” Elias admitted. “I am sure that I had words in mind, but they suddenly escape me.” His tone was nervous now, and Dora thought that very odd indeed, for a man who had just faced down the Marquess of Hollowvale in his own realm.
“You should say whatever you like,” Dora told him. “I am happy to see you. Surely, you know that the rest does not matter.”
Elias knitted his brow. “I do feel that it matters,” he said, and there was suddenly a note of contrariness to his voice. “One does not simply say let us go and get married, if you are amenable.”
“But you did say that.” Dora beamed gently at him. “And I was amenable. I still am.”
“Would you not argue with me for once?” Elias said with a flush. “Listen here, Miss Ettings! I am in love with you. You deserve to hear that. I love your wit and cleverness. I love that you are kind but almost never nice. I love your eyes and your hair and your freckles, and the fact that you smell like some monstrous floral perfume all of the time.” He paused, now looking somewhat offended at himself. “And I love to dance with you. That is the worst of it by far.”
Dora blinked slowly. Each word heated up her heart bit by bit until it was a bewildering bonfire. That fire burned its way down into her mind, consuming all of the ugly things that still lingered beneath its surface. When she was alone or tired or uncertain, Dora knew that these would be the words that came to her now instead of all those others, and she could not help but smile in a silly, dreamy way.
“And obviously,” Elias said with a huff, “I would like to marry you. I cannot say that I recommend myself very fondly, but I make the offer all the same.”
Dora reach
ed up to pat at his cheek. “Then I shall recommend you instead,” she told him. “I already have, you know. I told Lord Blackthorn that I thought you were the most virtuous man in all of England.” She considered for a moment. “I should rather ask if you are sure you will be pleased with me like this forever. I will never feel things quite as other people do.”
“Dora,” said Elias. “I am sure that your other half is very lovely. But I fell in love with you exactly as you are. And perhaps that is for the best—if you were suddenly twice as charming, then I should be utterly overwhelmed.” He curled his hand around hers, and she felt a pleasant tingle against her skin.
Dora looked down and saw that there was a silver ring against her finger, set with a single glimmering star.
Elias slid his fingers just beneath her chin and lifted her eyes to look at him. “You have yet to say yes, you frustrating woman,” he breathed. “Do not leave me in anticipation.”
Dora felt his breath along her cheek as he said the words. The whisper burrowed down beneath her skin, making her shiver.
Dora’s heart did a little flip. “Yes,” she whispered back softly.
Elias leaned down towards her. His lips brushed hers. The touch was so light, so painfully gentle, that Dora might not have believed it had happened at all except for the cascade of dizzying tingles it sent down her spine.
His thumb stroked down her jaw. His lips pressed just a bit harder, as though to test her reaction. Dora wound her arms around his neck in response, leaning up towards him. His body was warm; the heat of him melted through her completely, washing away any other awareness of the world around them.
For the rest of my life, this will be the dream in which I live, Dora thought. It was a blissful thought indeed.
Epilogue
Dora had the distinct pleasure of attending her cousin’s wedding brunch with her fiancée on her arm. It was everything that a proper wedding brunch ought to be—and more besides. Elias had been in an unusually pleasant mood for weeks by then, and he was feeling so whimsical that he made the swan-folded napkins get up and flutter around for everyone’s entertainment. Vanessa’s resulting smile was nearly a magic spell all on its own.
Dora’s own wedding was small, but Lady Carroway insisted on hosting a brunch at Carroway House for her as well. Albert’s mother had not forgotten her plans to open another orphanage, and much of the morning’s conversation ended up scandalously centred around those plans, rather than around the weather or the wedding. Dora thought it was the perfect sort of brunch.
Life after marriage was much different than Dora might ever have imagined. In fact, it was much better in nearly every possible way—but she suspected that had much to do with her choice of husband. As a married woman, she was far more free to spend her time as she pleased; and since she was of a mind with Elias on most things, he was only too happy to let her roll up her sleeves to help both Mrs Dun and the new orphanage. Most women of the nobility had only a few children, Dora liked to say—but she had very many, and she loved them all the same. And though it was rare for Dora to feel any sense of breathless joy, she carried with her always a soft, contented glow, rather like the star upon her finger.
The ton soon began to murmur that married life quite agreed with the Lord Sorcier; for while Elias would never be well-mannered, he was certainly distinctly happier. There were times, of course, when dark things threatened and great evils endangered his rest—but if he sometimes came home to sit awake in the dark, Dora always insisted at least on being with him.
Miss Jennings never did quite return to her previous employer. In fact, the lady was astonished to receive a quiet offer of marriage from a very respectable physician. She and Mr Albert Lowe had a wedding in the country, far away from sharp tongues and miffed matrons who gasped over the indiscretion of a well-bred gentleman marrying the chaperone of the woman he was meant to be courting. Mr and Mrs Albert Lowe were not ever invited to any respectable parties outside of the Carroways, which did not seem to dim their happiness even by a bit. Mrs Henrietta Lowe did spend quite some time helping with the new orphanage, however, which meant that Dora had the pleasure of spending far more time with her as the years went on.
England did not, alas, become a better place for the orphaned, the poor, or the infirm. In fact, contrary to all protests by Lord Carroway and the Lord Sorcier, laws were passed to make the workhouses more punishing than ever, on the assumption that the poor were naturally lacking in virtue. But there were two orphanages in London, at least, which solved some of the small evils—and as the workhouse masters grew ever more cruel and punishing, children began to murmur that a faerie lady with two mismatched eyes sometimes came to steal away the worst offenders, who were never seen again.
One day far in the future, Elias and Dora visited their closest friends and family in the manner of a final farewell. The next morning, England discovered that the Lord Sorcier and his wife had both quite disappeared, never to be seen again.
But somewhere off in faerie, it is said that Lady Hollowvale finally fixed her mismatched eyes—and she and her husband rule there to this day, from their place in the Hollow House.
THE END
Thanks for reading Half a Soul! Don’t worry—there’s more Regency faerie tales to come! Keep an eye out for the sequel, Ten Thousand Stitches, scheduled for release in 2020!
If you’re already craving more Regency faerie tales, however, you can keep reading to get access to The Lord Sorcier—a free, exclusive novella that tells the story of how Elias Wilder became the Lord Sorcier.
If you enjoyed Half a Soul, I would be greatly obliged if you left a review. I promise—I read them all.
Afterword
There is an apocryphal story about fishes on the beach that has stayed with me my entire life. I do not remember where I first heard it, but I have always been able to recall it to mind with absolute clarity. It goes like this:
A great number of fish had washed up on the beach; there, they flip-flopped, gasping for breath. A little girl had taken it upon herself to walk up and down the beach, however, picking up fishes and throwing them back into the ocean. A bystander marvelled at this, and headed out to talk with her.
“Why are you throwing these fish back into the ocean?” he asked the little girl. “It won’t even matter, in the end. There are so many of them! You cannot possibly hope to save them all!”
The little girl frowned at the bystander and held up the fish that she currently had in her hands. “It matters to this fish,” she told him. And then, she turned herself back down the beach and stubbornly continued throwing fish back into the ocean.
The story normally ends there—but I like to think that the bystander then joined the little girl, and that a great deal more fishes were saved as a result.
I have often found myself in despair at how nonsensically awful other human beings can be. As much as we like to believe that we are capable of learning from history, I’m afraid that we are very prone to repeating the exact same mistakes as a society, time and time again. But every time I am confronted with some inescapable proof of the lowness of human nature, I am also reminded that I have within me the power to improve my own nature. There are plenty of fish upon the beach who would be grateful for a bit of kindness—and if you take the time to rescue even one, then perhaps you may even convince a bystander to join you and rescue another.
I do not mean to say that we should ever stop trying to solve the big problems in the world. But—as Elias would say—sometimes, when you cannot force the world to come to its senses, you must settle only for wiping away some of the small evils in front of you.
Every fish you throw back into the ocean is a triumph of the idea that human beings can be better. I do my best, every day, to throw at least one fish back into the ocean. I hope that you will join me.
With regard to this particular book, I must thank my husband for his constant love and support—and most especially for the coffee. I would like to thank my alpha readers, L
aura Elizabeth and Julie Golick, for their boundless enthusiasm and occasional nitpicks. I must surely thank Sophie Ricard for her help with the French in this book, however few the phrases might have been—truly, Sophie, you are the Albert to my Elias when it comes to French grammar. I must give heartfelt thanks to Tamlin Thomas for numerous historical corrections. Without any one of them, this book would not have been nearly as good as it is.
I would like to thank you as well, dear reader, for coming this far with me. I hope you enjoyed this book as much as I enjoyed writing it.
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About the Author
Olivia Atwater writes whimsical historical fantasy with a hint of satire. She lives in Montreal, Quebec with her fantastic, prose-inspiring husband and her two cats. When she told her second-grade history teacher that she wanted to work with history someday, she is fairly certain this isn't what either party had in mind. She has been, at various times, a historical re-enactor, a professional witch at a metaphysical supply store, a web developer, and a vending machine repairperson.
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