Page 38 of An Acquired Taste

“Hm.” It would be more convincing if he didn’t sound like he was reciting sums, all stiff and awkward like the compliment is uncomfortable on his tongue. Deciding I don’t particularly care about impressing Sebastian right now, I lick the crumbs of the lost cookie off my finger. His eyes follow the motion, and he swallows.

“I’m afraid I’m doing this all wrong,” he says. “I hadn’t thought you’d be injured when I invited you to tea.”

I stare at him, curious enough that I forget my lingering irritation. “You mean you didn’t invite me here just for the doctor?”

“No,” he says. “I wrote the invitation yesterday. I was coming to your room to deliver it when I found that you were missing.”

“Oh…” I sit back in my chair and fold my arms over my chest. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

His mouth works for a few seconds before he manages to produce any words. Then his expression drops to my injured ankle, and he shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter now,” he says. “You should focus on resting.”

So cold. As if the intimate moment never happened last night. I frown down at my tea, and a moment later he gets up, eager to excuse myself.

Another thought occurs to me as I think again about that walk last night… and the grave I found, with the fresh roses. “Sebastian?”

He pauses. “Yes?”

I lift my eyes to meet his. “Who was Etta Langley?”

I’m looking right at him, so I see his facial expression freeze, then shutter, every hint of emotion hidden as suddenly as though he’s turned off a switch. He hesitates, and then says, “Never ask me that again.”

Then he turns and leaves me stunned and stung.

Chapter Twenty

After tossing and turning all night, I wash, dress, and limp down to the parlor on my still-tender ankle. Ellen finds me waiting at the table before the sun is down, bleary-eyed and rumpled.

“Ah, there you are.” She sets down my breakfast tray. “No blood today. Lord Sebastian said you’re recovering from an injury.”

“M-hm…” I take my coffee. “By the way. Do you know what Sebastian’s surname was before he was turned into a vampire?”

“Beaumont,” she answers.

So whoever was in that grave wasn’t a relative. “Do you know who Etta Langley is?” After all, Sebastian told me not to askhimagain. He didn’t tell me not to ask anyone else.

But Ellen shakes her head. “Should I?”

“Hm.” I sip my coffee and glance up at her. “That’s weird, because she’s buried on the grounds.”

Her eyes widen. She turns away before I can read her expression. “Oh… well. Whoever she was, must’ve been before my time.”

She rushes out before I can ask anything more, and my suspicion heightens. It was possible she was an old relative of Sebastian’s, or a staff member who passed away… but then, why not tell me?

I eat my breakfast, throw on a few more layers of clothing, and limp determinedly down to the kitchen.

Bridget waves a spatula at me. “Get out of here! I swear your mere presence is enough to make things start burning.”

“First of all, ouch!” I press a hand to my chest in mock-woundedness. “Second of all, who’s Etta Langley?”

The question is unexpected enough to make her pause. “Etta? Sounds familiar…”

I perk up. “Really?” The gravestone didn’t have a date, so perhaps the older staff members knew her.

Bridget frowns thoughtfully and pulls a cookbook from a stack on the counter. She shuffles through it before stopping. “Is this what you mean?”

I take the book—an older, yellow cookbook with clear 1950s flair—and look at the recipe within.Lemon Chiffon Pie, the top of the page reads. Beside it, someone has scrawled with pen:Etta’s favorite!

“Hmm…” I hand the book back. It’s not much information, but it’s proof that someone named Etta was here, once. “Nothing other than that?”

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