From The Ashes (Ministry of Curiosities Book 6)

by C. J. Archer

  Alice smiled. Seth beamed back and flicked his hair off his forehead with a jerk of his head.

  Lady Vickers cleared her throat. "Come sit by me, Son," she said, patting the seat beside her.

  "I'd rather sit near Miss Everheart," he said, not taking his gaze off Alice.

  Lady Vickers looked as if she would order him, but must have thought better of it. She knew her son wouldn't obey, no matter how much of a scene she made. "We were just asking Miss Everheart about her family and connections."

  No one countered her lie. Alice was an extremely unflappable girl and quite capable of navigating the treacherous waters of social politeness. She could cope with concerned mothers of bachelors better than me.

  "I'm from Dorset," she said.

  "Fascinating." Seth topped up her glass of wine from the carafe. "Go on."

  "There's not much to tell. My father is a businessman. He's in cloth, mostly, but trades in other commodities from time to time." She picked up her glass and smiled over the top of it at a horrified Lady Vickers.

  I smothered my own smile with my hand. Poor Lady Vickers. She loathed talk of trade and business, particularly at the dinner table. She probably hated even more that her son couldn't take his eyes off the daughter of a merchant.

  "Fascinating," Seth said again. "Isn't it, Mother?" he added with a hard edge.

  Lady Vickers set down her fork. "Your father sounds very astute, Miss Everheart. I imagine he's quite successful."

  Gus and I exchanged glances. We both knew where this was heading. If Alice's father were rich, Lady Vickers would forgive him for being involved in something as 'vulgar' as trade.

  "You would think so," Alice said. "But he's much too conservative to take risks and it's really only the risk takers who do well in business. And those who marry off their daughters to more successful men than themselves, of course," she said for what I suspected was my benefit. Her father had tried to do precisely that, until her supernatural affliction presented itself.

  "What a shame," Lady Vickers said with genuine sympathy.

  Seth glared at his mother.

  "Even more of a shame that my parents have disowned me." Alice picked up her glass and sipped elegantly.

  I bit my lip to hide my smile. She had taken only a few minutes to get the measure of both Seth and his mother. It was going to be a pleasant diversion watching her settle into our household.

  Lincoln still did not emerge the next morning. According to Doyle he slept off and on, and finally managed to keep down some broth that Cook had prepared using a rescued cast iron pot and the hot coals of the dining room fireplace.

  "Can I see him yet?" I asked.

  "No," Doyle said without looking at me.

  "Why not, if he's feeling better?"

  "Sorry, Charlie, he specifically said you weren't to be allowed in."

  I thrust my hands on my hips, but there was nothing I could do about it. If Lincoln didn't want me in there, I had to accept his wishes. It wasn't easy, however, and by lunch time, I decided to accost Seth and see if he had a different answer. He'd spent most of the morning with Lincoln, giving Alice some much needed breathing space.

  "Why not go for a walk?" Alice asked gently as we sat in the sitting room, alone. "It's cool outside, but not raining."

  I shook my head. "I don't want to be away from the house."

  She sat in the window seat and looked out. The sky hung ominously low, but I did long to be in the fresh air. Once I'd seen Lincoln for myself and knew he was well, I'd walk with her.

  I joined her on the window seat. "You should go," I told her. "The estate is lovely at any time of year. The orchard is my favorite place, even without fruit or leaves."

  She smiled wistfully and blinked damp eyes.

  I touched her hand. "This is hard for you," I said softly. "But you are very welcome here. Perhaps, in time, you will see it as your home too."

  She dabbed at the corner of her eyes. "Thank you. I do feel welcome, but also misplaced, like a doll left outside, forgotten."

  I put my arm around her but didn't speak. I remembered that feeling all too well, even now, years after my father had thrown me out.

  "All I want, all I've ever wanted, is a home where I felt safe." She turned to me. "How did you do it? How did you live for years without knowing if the place you lay your head one night would be the same the following night? How could you live with the uncertainty hanging over you like a guillotine? And you a child, too."

  I lifted one shoulder. "I never lost hope, I suppose. I hoped to have a home to call my own again, where I would never have to leave unless I wanted to." I stared out the window, but saw only my own reflection and that of the room behind me. "You will have your own Lichfield one day, Alice, but until you do, you can share mine."

  She leaned her head on my shoulder and stared at our reflections too.

  Another face joined ours. I gasped and spun round, knocking Alice in the nose. "Lincoln!" How long had he been there? How much had he heard?

  His face was still a little pale and the bump on his head was the size of an egg, but he looked wonderful compared to the last time I'd seen him. His damp hair hung loose to his shoulders, begging to be tucked behind his ear, and his eyes gleamed like polished jet.

  "You're better," I said, standing. "I mean, you look better. But you shouldn't be down here. Seth and Doyle were supposed to tell me when you were up and about so I could visit you. Why wouldn't they, if you're better?" I needed to stop rambling, but I couldn't help myself.

  "I told them not to," he said.

  "Why?"

  "I had my reasons." He put out his hand to Alice. "You must be Miss Everheart. Seth has told me all about you."

  She shook his hand. "Pleased to meet you."

  They exchanged polite pleasantries for a few minutes before Alice excused herself. "I'd like to go for a walk before it rains."

  I found myself alone with Lincoln. I'd wanted to be alone with him for days, yet now I didn't know what to say. My tongue felt thick and dry and my heart wouldn't cease its incessant hammering.

  He sat on the window seat beside me, but didn't speak. After a moment, I hazarded a glance at him. "Do you feel all right? Do you need to return to bed?"

  "I've spent enough time in bed. Now I want to spend time with you."

  I swallowed and nodded at him to go on.

  His fingers tapped on his knee. "I'm trying to think of a way to begin."

  "Then I'll begin." I breathed deeply and let it out slowly. "There's something I need to say."

  Chapter 21

  "I accept your birthday gift. The house," I added when he simply stared at me. "I still think it's too generous, but…" I trailed off. Any further comment would probably sound avaricious.

  "It's only generous if it's something I cannot afford to give. It's hardly a grand gesture." He sounded disappointed in himself.

  "It is grand. You thought of the one thing I wanted above all else, and gave it to me in the only way you knew how."

  "Not the only way, but even by marrying me you wouldn't become an independent woman until after my death." His lips twitched into a crooked smile. "I didn't want to tempt you."

  I nudged him with my elbow and laughed softly.

  He gently took my hand and turned it over, palm up. He rubbed his thumb along mine. "Charlie—"

  "No. Wait. There's something else I have to say first." I closed my hand around his and blinked up at him. "I forgive you, Lincoln."

  He looked down at our linked hands. "You shouldn't."

  "I should have told you earlier. If you'd died without knowing…" I cleared my throat, but it remained tight. "I understand why you sent me away. I do."

  "But I shouldn't have done it." He leaned forward, and rested his elbows on his knees and buried his head in his hands, pushing back his hair. "I heard you and Alice just now, talking about home and belonging… I didn't think about any of that when I sent you away. It never occurred to me that I was doing exactly w
hat Holloway did. That doesn't excuse it; it doesn't absolve me of blame. It should have occurred to me." He tilted his head to the side to peer at me. The gleam had vanished from his eyes, replaced with a haunted look. "I profess to love you, yet I don't fully understand you."

  My heart tripped. He loved me. It was the first time he'd even mentioned the word. I was relieved he at least knew what it meant and that he could identify it within himself. It felt like progress, so I didn't tell him that he'd never actually professed to love me. Not to my face, anyway.

  I tucked his hair behind his ear to see him properly. "If men and women understood one another completely, life would be dull. You and I are different and I can't expect you to know what I'm thinking. You made a mistake, Lincoln, and you regret it. You apologized, and I know you'll never make the same mistake again."

  "I won't, but…" He shook his head. "How can you forgive me, Charlie?"

  I cupped his cheek and he sat up straight, his wide gaze on me. He seemed to have stopped breathing, whereas my breaths came short and sharp. I had to say this. I had to tell him. I'd never felt surer of anything in my life, never felt more confident of myself and of his feelings for me. We had a future together, as equals—I knew that now. "Not forgiving you hurts me as much as it hurts you. I want you in my life, Lincoln. I want to be with you, and love you, and be loved by you. I want—"

  His mouth closed over mine, cutting off my rambling. He kissed how I remembered—confidently, with a little desperation and a lot of heat. But it quickly changed to a more tentative one, as if instinct had suddenly been pushed aside. He was thinking too much. I didn't want him to think, just feel.

  I grasped his face with both my hands and touched his lips with my tongue. He smiled briefly, then dug his fingers into my hair. He deepened the kiss and I responded, not holding back. I wanted him to know how much I wanted him, that I forgave him unequivocally, that we should never be apart again. All the intense feelings I'd had in recent months filled me until there was no room left. They flowed out of me with that kiss, dripped down my face, washed over us. Joined us.

  He gasped against my mouth and pulled away. He pressed a shaky hand to his forehead and swallowed hard.

  "Lincoln? What is it? What's wrong?"

  "I'm not sure. Visions, I think."

  "You saw the future?"

  "I don't know. There were a lot of jumbled images. It's difficult to separate them."

  "What did you see?"

  "You. Us. The seaside."

  I smiled, relieved he hadn't seen awful things. "Does that mean we're going on a holiday together?"

  He touched the bruise on his temple. "That was…unexpected."

  "You've never experienced anything like it before?"

  He shook his head.

  I didn't know if I liked our kisses being the trigger for his visions. We'd kissed before and he hadn't experienced them, so perhaps the experience wouldn't be repeated.

  He looked a little pale again, so I touched his cheek, but it wasn't overly hot. "Does your head ache?"

  "Not too much." He caught my hand and pressed it to his lips. "I'm going to give you time, Charlie. I won't rush you."

  "We did progress very quickly last time." Part of me wanted to move forward, very much, but considering the madness of the last weeks, it was perhaps best if we took steady, measured steps.

  "Entering into a relationship with me won't be easy," he said.

  "I know that."

  "I want you to be certain."

  I nodded. I felt certain, but I couldn't deny the prudence behind waiting. Last time, there'd been a sense of giddiness about the engagement itself. This time I wanted to be giddy about being engaged to him.

  "You know where your ring is," he went on. "When you're ready, I want you to put it on."

  "I will." I twitched with the effort of remaining seated and not running up the stairs to his room. "Why did you leave it there on your desk and not put it in a drawer or safe?"

  "To remind me of what I threw away." He pressed his forehead to mine. "To remind me of the things you said when you gave it back to me."

  I winced. "They were awful things. I shouldn't have said them."

  "You were angry and had every right."

  "I spent too long being angry."

  He scooped me round the waist and drew me against his body. I snuggled into him, my head beneath his chin and listened to the steady throb of his blood through his veins. "It was your anger that gave me hope that I could salvage something from the mess I created."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Do you remember leaving Barts Hospital after meeting Dr. Bell for the first time?"

  "Not really."

  "You were outraged with me for being nice to you. If you hadn't been angry, if you'd been indifferent, I would have known there was little hope for us."

  I circled my arms around his waist. "It's fortunate that I don't know how to hide my emotions, then."

  He laughed softly. "We balance one another in that regard."

  "We work well together." I drew back to look at him. "Speaking of which…about the ministry leadership… are you going to insist you be reinstated?"

  "Do you want me to?"

  "It's part of you, Lincoln. You really are the best person to be leader. Think of the alternative."

  He grunted. "Imagine Gillingham in charge."

  "No thank you. So you'll tell them?"

  He nodded. "But not today. Perhaps not tomorrow either."

  I stroked his forehead near the bruise. "Good. You need to rest. Perhaps in the new year, if you're feeling ready."

  He tipped his head back against the window frame. "I can't avoid the ministry anyway. I'm also now on the committee."

  "You're Eastbrooke's heir?"

  "As far as I know." He drew my hand to his lips and kissed my fingers gently. "It doesn't feel right."

  "He thought of you as his son."

  "I saw little evidence of that."

  "Perhaps he had difficulty expressing himself." Of all people, Lincoln should understand that. "He was involved in a disastrous military campaign in Bhutan, many years ago. That affected him, and led him to search for a remedy for death. Perhaps it affected his ability to love you, too."

  "Perhaps."

  "He wanted me to tell you that he's sorry. He wants your forgiveness."

  He twined his fingers with mine and gently lay our hands over his steadily beating heart. He kissed the top of my head. "I forgive him for his lack of affection for me, but I can't forgive him for trying to kill you."

  It was, perhaps, too much to ask. I couldn't forgive the general for the lives he'd taken, and for almost taking Lincoln's, even if the explosion had been an accident.

  We sat together on the window seat, the sun warming us, Lincoln's arms around me and my head on his shoulder. I thought about the past, and our future together, and I assumed he was doing the same, but after a while his breathing became even and deep. He'd fallen asleep.

  I smiled. Not every woman could make the most active man in England relaxed enough to fall asleep with her. Only me.

  Cook managed to present a Christmas feast like I'd never experienced. Even Lady Vickers was impressed, although that quickly passed when she realized the entire household was going to eat together in the dining room, not including Bella who had the day off to spend with her parents.

  "How did you manage all this without a kitchen?" I asked Cook, helping myself to potatoes. "You're a miracle worker."

  He admired with pride the spread of oysters, bouillon, potatoes, sweetbread patés, peas, roast turkey with cranberry sauce, and a salad of cold potatoes, beets and celery. "A good cook ain't worth his salt if he let Christmas by without setting a feast on the table for his family."

  "You think of us as your family?"

  He blushed and dipped his head. "With two annoying brothers."

  Seth and Gus beamed at one another across the table.

  Lady Vickers' lips pinched. "If you
don't put a stop to this, your servants will swindle you blind, Mr. Fitzroy."

  "Mother!" Seth stabbed a potato. "No one asked your opinion."

  "Do you think they would dare?" I said to Lady Vickers.

  She glanced at Lincoln, sitting beside me. "Perhaps you'll be the exception."

  "Have you forgotten George so quickly?" Seth asked. "My mother's lover," he said out of the side of his mouth to Alice. "Also our footman."

  "Husband," Lady Vickers snapped. "We married in America. And no, I haven't forgotten him. He was a dear fellow, and not at all typical for a servant."

  "How decent of you to exclude him from your sweeping judgment." Seth and his mother glared at one another. Their relationship had turned frostier since Alice's arrival. Seth had given our new guest a great deal of his attention, much to Lady Vickers' disapproval. According to her, her son's first marriage ought to be for advancement or money, not for love. Seth disagreed.

  Alice didn't seem aware of the fuss at all. She carried herself serenely and effortlessly, more ladylike than Lady Vickers.

  "These potatoes are delicious," she said to Cook, as if she hadn't noticed the tug of wills between mother and son.

  "A la maitre d'hotel," Cook said with an effortless French accent.

  Gus screwed his nose up at the potato on his fork. "What's wrong with English potatoes?"

  Cook looked as if he was about to spit back a response, but a glare from Lincoln shut his mouth.

  "Have you two discussed costumes yet?" Lady Vickers asked Alice and me. "The ball is only a week away. We must get started on outfits."

  An old friend of Lady Vickers' had invited us to a masquerade ball to welcome in the new year. It would be my first in costume, and Alice's too. We were both looking forward to it.

  "Princesses," Seth announced. "They should both go as princesses, with highly distinctive masks so we can find them easily amongst the sea of ladies."

  "You can't tell the ladies apart if you can't see their faces?" Lincoln asked with genuine curiosity.

  "Er." Seth's cheeks reddened. "Of course I can. Some. Usually."