Page 6 of Lover
She was saying this purely for my benefit, with neither of us believing it would.
“Professor,” she began, cautious, then for the first time in years she held my gaze with stout resolution, “are you sure this is the best idea?”
She wasn’t asking about the tea, and I lost my footing. Felicity wasn’t the sort to ask these types of pointed questions. If even she would voice her trepidation about the plan, there must be obvious flaws.
“I don’t think we have any other choice,” I replied.
The worry returned to her eyes, darkening them, and I was troubled that she was being forced to take part in this. “We’ve known each other for a long time, Felicity. I count you as a friend, and I’m forever grateful to you for going along with this charade, as hard as it is.”
Something happened to her countenance then, a momentary yielding of worry, her timidness replaced by a warmth I’d rarely seen but always found endearing. If we hadn’t grown up together, if I hadn’t come to appreciate her more as a little cousin than a woman, I had no doubt I could have fallen forthose wide faeish eyes. It was a strange pity she chose to seclude herself at this estate with no one to admire her, no prospects for friends or lovers. I would have told her so, but had a sneaking suspicion it wasn’t her own decisions keeping her at Willowfield. Rodney was a powerful character, and I doubted he would let his sister roam far beyond where his eyes could see.
“I’ll be sure Mrs. Hughes gets the tea, Professor,” she agreed by way of acknowledging both my gratitude and my remorse, tucking the pleasant-smelling satchel in her apron pocket.
“Thank you but…” I said, offering one more small smile and tapping the side of my nose. “It may be best to refrain from calling her Mrs. Hughes.”
She nodded her understanding, then left again without a sound, always quiet as a ghost.
Abandoning my coffee, I lit a candle and departed the library with little idea of where I was headed. I could go to the parlor and pour myself a drink, but I was worried about what I might do if my inhibitions were tampered with. I should go to my room, turn in early, and thank the stars that my Millie was under the same roof, but instead of heading down the hallway that would take me to the place I’d slept the past two years, I took a turn toward the room where she would be staying. I wanted to stand at the door, to hear her moving, to know she was there.
Fortunately, my plan was foiled by Ms. Dillard, shuffling quickly in my direction. As she came close, the lantern held high, I could see the tears making tracks down her face.
“Callum,” she gasped when she reached me, and I put a reassuring hand upon her arm as she took in one deep breath of air after another, battling her desire to sob. “That was the hardest thing I have ever done in my life, surpassed only by having to stand at that child’s funeral.”
My heart lurched, and I pulled her into a hug. The woman rarely accepted comfort, but this was an outrageous circumstance.
“You’ve been braver than me today,” I said, placing an affectionate peck on the top of her graying head. Though Ms. Dillard had never tried to take the place of my mother, she’d always been a sturdy, loving presence, and despite what I often said out loud, I was glad she’d refused to leave when I kicked everyone else out and boarded up the house with my grief.
“We do what we must when we’re handed trials,” she replied, wiping away her tears. “We’ve certainly lived through worse, haven’t we?”
She patted her cheeks one last time to make sure they were dry, then straightened the collar of her blouse.
“Let me tend to the fires, and if you were planning on wandering down this hall to check on her—don’t. She’s settling. Let her memories talk to her if they’re going to, and greet her tomorrow when you’re less perturbed. She already thinks there’s something wrong with you.”
“Well, isn’t that just a perfect start.”
“Go on,” she commanded, shooing me in the opposite direction. “Get out of this hallway.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She bustled away, and I glanced one more time down the hall toward the white doors of the room I’d picked for Millie—the one she and Ms. Reeves had taken during their visit to Willowfield nearly five years ago. After the elderly Ms. Reeves had passed, Millie had not wanted the room touched by the hands of our renovations, and though the gas had been turned off to the lanterns to prepare for electricity, it was all still as it had been.
I would break the rules if I stood there much longer, so I headed instead to the only other place I thought might bringme any solace. The hallways were dark, nearly impossible to navigate with sight, but I knew the way by heart.
The narrow staircase leading to the tower creaked in greeting underfoot. I’d locked the door at the top landing, but produced the key from my vest pocket and let myself into the small parlor where so many happy moments had been spent, all now a graveyard of dust sheets and unused furniture. I still came up from time to time to work, and to be alone. Not alone the way I was when I walked the empty house, but alone the way you are when it’s only you and the soft, mournful company of your past.
I was here now because it was no longer a brutal memorial to a life abruptly ended, but a reminder of what might be recovered.
I’d heard her voice. My wife was alive.
I collapsed into a covered chair, face in my hands, and wept.
CHAPTER 5
I COULDN’T STAY in this place. Not tonight. I needed to be closer to Millie in case something went wrong, and because I craved to be. I locked the door at the top of the landing. If she was still my Millie, she’d be driven by her curiosity, and despite any directions given to her to stay put, she’d eventually find her way to these stairs. I didn’t want to risk the first memories returning to her to be ones of the nursery, of the family we wanted that never came to be.
I made my way through the belly of the house, candle flame flickering in the cool draft, lost in thought until I heard a sound that raised the hair on my arms. I was so used to the utter silence, any new shuffling or creak was unexpected. I narrowed my eyes, peering through the gloom, slowing my step as I came to the corner, nearly jumping out of my skin when a woman in white rounded into the hall and collided with me.
In even just the momentary contact, I recognized the shape of the body against my chest.
