Page 54 of The Lover's Eye
Giles tilted the ring this way and that by the hazy carriage window, dark glimmers of light catching the stone’s blue depths.He had been unwise to think the business would be easy now.That just because Isobel had saidyes—that one, singularly brilliant word that simultaneously sated and scorched him—his past wouldn’t follow.
It clung to him like a silent shadow.It was everywhere, forever lurking at the periphery.What sordid tales had Isobel heard about it?What conclusions had she drawn?
He would never know, because in a sudden fit of overwhelming panic, he’d made her promise not to question him about Aurelia.
The request made him feel like some moody rakehell, desperate to shield his bride’s ears from the lascivious exploits of his past.But however distasteful it was, Giles was glad he’d done it.He was protecting her from more than one ugly truth.Figments of the past couldn’t be altered, they could only hurt her—like they hurt him.
That was the frightening part of caring for Isobel.The further he fell, the deeper he dragged his fears along with him.Panic that if she pieced together the truth, she might reject him.Despise him, even.Upend her life trying to right the wrongs other people had made months and years before.
The carriage rumbled to a stop just as lightning blistered the sky the shade of milk thistle.Giles jumped out, surveying the storm and drinking in the cold salt of the air.He had the license, the ring, and the date; he could think of only one thing that remained.
He went inside, going straight to his library, and locked the doors, allowing only Smooch to follow him.
Giles had seen enough of his friends marry to know the procedure: burn your bachelor correspondence and cut any connections your new wife might find unsavory.Erase all trace of former affections.
There was little to be done about the crypt-like bedchamber upstairs, but Giles unlocked the bottom drawer of his desk and pulled out a worn stack of papers.Letters passed between him and Aurelia, notes from her purchases he’d long since paid off, and a lock of golden hair.The curl was fastened with a ribbon of red silk, and as slick between his fingers as the day she had given it to him.
It was the only article he did not feed to the fire.
He did not hold onto it out of affection any more than he burned her letters out of malice.It only seemed a vile desecration to burn something so personal, perhaps the one item of value they had ever exchanged.
Placing the last piece of paper between two glowing logs, Giles unlocked the door and rang the bell pull for Finch.The old butler entered to find Giles back by the fire, his legs propped and a fresh book in hand.
“Finch, see to it that the bedchamber adjoining mine is prepared before Saturday.Make any purchases necessary to bring it up to snuff; it must be as comfortable as possible.”
“Lady Trevelyan’s chambers, sir?”
“Yes.There is to be a new Lady Trevelyan,” Giles said, looking up from his book.“I’ve asked Miss Ridgeway to marry me.I expect nothing but the staff’s warmest welcome.”
Finch seldom showed emotion in his features, but shock widened his hooded eyes.The effect was strange, making him appear younger, not unlike how he’d looked when Giles was just a lad.His pupils were indiscernible from his irises as he stared distantly, somewhere beyond Giles’s outstretched legs.
“Is something the matter?”Giles asked, watching the man carefully.
The bewilderment, once struck, did not grow or alter.Finch’s face stayed in that peculiar, strained expression, the coals sparking red-hot reflections in his black eyes.“Congratulations, my lord,” he said.
Giles closed the book.“Speak your peace, man.Because I’ll not have you treating her ill.”
“It is only, well, it seems to me, as someone who has known your lordship since boyhood, there are certain considerations to think of.”Giles waited impatiently for Finch to continue.“The lady’s sister has cost Lord Pemberton exorbitant sums, has she not?Turned the old Hall into something garish and modern, and …”
Giles’s teeth were tightly clenched, but with effort, he said, “Continue.”
“Well, my lord, it is plain she must be having difficulty in providing him an heir.I thought, perhaps, if Miss Gouldsmith were to return … She was to make such a good countess.A very grateful lady, she was, and there, uh, would certainly be no impediments to the business of—”
Finch left yet another sentence hanging.Giles had tried to remain calm; years of estate management had taught him it was always better to hear people out.Allowing them to give voice to their concerns helped quiet their minds, and he had no issue making changes when he deemed requests fair and warranted.Finch was another matter.
A man of starchy morals that oft tangled with his opinions.He had been so devoted to Giles’s late parents, it sometimes felt he was trying to act quietly in their stead.He hated change, whether it be to the house or its routines.Aurelia had been a single, sparkling exception.Her beguiling charm had worked on the old butler, but more than that, Finch was a longtime friend of Reverend Gouldsmith.Giles encouraged occasional frankness from him, but this?
“What, Finch?No impediments to the business of making an heir?”Giles’s tone was cutting.“You know a great deal about what passes under this roof, man, but not everything.You would be wise to remain silent on the subject.”
The butler’s eyes stayed fixed on that wayward point.“Yes, my lord,” he said quietly.
“As for your comparisons to Miss Ridgeway and her sister, I beg you remember Miss Gouldsmith spent a wild sum beginning alterations tothishouse, and you took no issue with it.”Giles studied the man, trying to rein in his tone.“It is unfortunate, but you and I and the reverend and every-damn-body knows Aurelia must be dead.Do not take your grief out on my wife.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“That will be all.”
Finch wavered for a moment, then turned around and walked noiselessly away.Giles shook his head.
