Page 4 of The Curious Story of the Missing Lady
“And do you believe that’s possible?”
“What?”
“That fire can reveal truth.”
She nibbled her lip. “Well, fire does bring light, does it not? And light is truth, is it not?”
“I suppose so.”
“You don’t think so?”
He stopped walking, and she stopped with him. He stared out into the distance. The aspens that gave the house its name lined a verdant knoll in the distance, giving the place the look of a secluded spot that had suddenly arisen just for them. He started towards it.
“I do know one thing,” he said, not taking his eyes from the distance, “that a fire burns within every one of us. Whether it is lighting some path of truth, or else destroying everything it touches, I do not know. But I do know that all fires must have fuel.”
He turned to her. His eyes smoldered.
“And I know that I need my fire. And it needs to be fed. And I don’t believe that anyone could fuel it like you.”
She felt herself weakening at the knees. She grasped his forearms for support. They were rigid like the branches of an oak.
“Lord Oliver,” she said unable to say much else.
“Lady Madeline,” he said, lowering himself to a knee, “it would be the highest honor any person on Earth could bestow to me if you would accept my hand. Be the fuel to my fire, My Lady, and I assure you, it will never die.”
Something arose within her. She couldn’t identify it at first, but it was nothing that anything could have prepared her for. It was a strange feeling, one she had never felt in his presence.
“Oh, Lord Oliver,” she said, “I ... don’t know.”
A blow to the head with her palm wouldn’t have left a deeper mark on his face.
“But, we are meant—”
“Oh, no,” she said disarmingly, “you don’t understand. I believe we are meant to be with one another. I would die for you, Oliver.”
His chest rose and fell upon hearing those words.
“But understand,” she continued, “my life is one of ... complication.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You know of my other suitors.”
He turned his head to the ground. “I do.”
She took a knee before him. “Rest easy, My Lord, you are not in competition. It’s just that, my father ...”
“I thought as much. He talks to me as if I’m a footman or something.”
She chuckled. “I wouldn’t say that.”
“Oh, but it’s true. I am not your equal, not in his eyes. And to be honest, I am not your equal in my own eyes either.”
“Oh, tosh! Papa’s notions of love are grounded in antiquary. He believes onegrowstoward love. Absurdity of the highest order.”
She reached over and touched his chin. It was the first time she’d ever touched any part of him that wasn’t covered by cloth. She quickly withdrew her hand when his head lifted, and his face softened.
“Yes,” she said.
