Page 18 of Heir of Uncertain Magic

The confirmation didn’t surprise Hulda, but it weighed on her. “He was a little off at dinner.”

“Not just at dinner, MissLarkin.” MissTaylor’s full lips tugged into a frown. “And not just the insomnia. I’ve sensed great trouble in him for a while now, even before the abduction. But yes, especially at dinner. The moment he saw Mr.Portendorfer ... well, it felt like he’d slapped me with it.”

Hulda pressed a hand to her stomach as though she might keep it from sinking. “Even before?”

She nodded.

Hulda leaned against the wall for support. “Everything that happened with Mr.Hogwood, MissMullan”—neither name she enjoyedsaying, one being a murderer and the other Merritt’s once-fiancée—“he seems to be handling it well enough.”

MissTaylor nodded. “Seems that way. But.” She glanced over her shoulder again, as though needing to ensure herself the man of the house wasn’t coming up the stairs. “That carefree attitude of his ... it’s a farce.” She lowered her eyes as though ashamed. “There’s something raw and hurting inside him. I try my best to cheer him up, but ... I’m not sure what to do.”

Hulda released a long, controlled breath. “I’m not sure, either.” She glanced back to his bedroom, envisioning him there. Stuffing down feelings of uncertainty and inadequacy, worries that she wasn’t enough for him, that he wasn’t happy because of her, she milled about for reason and logic. “It’s likely bad right now because of unfinished business. He needs to make amends back home.”

Rolling her lips together, MissTaylor tilted her head into a half nod.

Hulda pushed off the wall, standing straight. “Surely that will resolve something. This trip to Cattlecorn will be good for him.” It had to be, else Hulda didn’t know how to fix any of it. Fix this, fix BIKER, or fix this mess with Myra.

“I hope so,” MissTaylor murmured.

Hulda did not respond, for fear her doubts would leak into her tone and give her away completely.

Chapter 5

November 3, 1846, Blaugdone Island, Rhode Island

Merritt was not going to Cattlecorn.

He made the declaration after Hulda returned downstairs to announce Mr.Portendorfer’s room was ready. She pushed away the urge to bite her nails—a nervous habit from childhood—and pasted on a smile for their guest. When that was done, she found Merritt retired to the sitting room upstairs, slumped in a wingback chair and staring out the window, though it was too dark to see anything beyond the glass. The sitting room was, in Hulda’s opinion, the finest area of the house, which was probably why Merritt had retired to it now and why Owein, in his angry spiritual state, had guarded it so closely. It was matched well with colors of cinnamon, blush, and cream, unlike the garish green and burgundy of the living room downstairs. There was a bust of a laughing child beside the white-paneled fireplace, or at least there had been until Owein decided it was worth the side effects to change it once more. If Hulda recalled correctly, that bust’s countenance had changed six times during her stay here. The worst had been the third iteration, which had included fangs, horns, and an oversized bowtie.

Worrying her hands, she entered, wondering how to broach the topic of Cattlecorn and Merritt’s well-being, but Merritt spoke first.“Stay the night, Hulda.” His voice was low, soft. His eyes still watched the window. “You can bunk up with Beth if it makes you feel better.”

The sight of him, the sound of him, eased into her like a mild tranquilizer, softening her backbone and shoulders. The night was dark and cold beyond the window. Dark enough that neither of them would be able to make out anything, save a distant lighthouse. “I suppose it is rather late.”

“Yes, but I’ll take you back to BIKER if you decide you’d prefer it.”

She didn’t respond immediately, instead taking a moment to study him. He had a good nose, not too large or small, and it widened slightly at the center of the bridge, adding character. His eyelashes were the same light brown as his hair, but when she got close enough, she could see how thick they were, how long. His hair looked more unkempt than usual, which meant he’d been running his fingers through it, something he did when he was troubled. His waistcoat hung over the settee—she didn’t see his vest—leaving him in just his long-sleeved shirt, the collar of which was unbuttoned.

He glanced over, his blue eyes curious, tired, and deep, and Hulda chided herself for not seeing what MissTaylor had. She shouldn’t need clairvoyance to determine the man was bothered by his past, not just the life communing with him every night. She’d just been so absorbed with Myra and BIKER—

She crossed the room, grabbed a pink-upholstered armchair, and hauled it across the Indian rug so she could sit close and face him. “I’ll go first thing in the morning. But why are you postponing Cattlecorn?”

Merritt grimaced, and she almost wished she hadn’t asked. “Gifford, of course.”

She frowned at him.

He sighed. “I have a few things to get in order first. Lost track of time.”

Gifford was an excuse, and the remainder half truths at best. She debated pressing the issue, but he looked so exhausted. So worn down. “I can go with you, if you’d like. To Cattlecorn.”

He raised an eyebrow, and the faintest,genuinesmile touched his lips, sending a quiet thrill through her. “Traveling alone with a man to meet his family, eh?”

Hulda rolled her eyes. “We can, of course, include Mr.Portendorfer and even MissTaylor. Not that anyone in Cattlecorn knows or cares who I am.”

The smile lingered a moment before fading. “You’ve got this mess with BIKER.”

“I’m sure the foreign affairs department can get along without me peeking over their shoulders.” Though in truth, nerves built in her stomach like a swarm of gnats. How poorly would it reflect on her to take what would be excused as a sudden vacation when the institute was in such a poor state? “And MissSteverus is capable,” she added, though there was little gumption behind it.

“And if Myra responds? You wrote her all those letters in care of her friends.”

---