Page 99 of The Curious Story of the Missing Lady
“Lady Madeline,” he said with a gladsome look.
“Hello, Oliver.”
“It is a surprise to see you here, and I must admit, a not all too unpleasant one.”
“I’m sorry to surprise you so. I have a matter that has been weighing on me and could not allow it to sit any longer on my soul.”
“What is it, my dear?”
She paced toward the pianoforte, stopped and ran her finger along the top of it. A slight patina of dust came off with it. No one had played the instrument in quite some time. Sadness filled her heart at the notion. She could provide the musical accompaniment to his lonely life.
No.
She turned. “Oliver, I hurt you that night at dinner. I behaved like a petulant child. I was a little girl all over again. Spoiled, entitled beyond my worth—”
He came toward her. “Oh, Madeline, you mustn’t say such things.”
“Oh, but ’tis true, Oliver. I’ve come to many a revelation about my own nature. Such a strange thing to say. Do we not know ourselves better than anyone? Oh, Oliver, I don’t know what I’m talking about.”
He shook his head slowly. “Madeline, please, if there is anything on your heart at the moment, I beg of you, release it now. Unburden yourself.”
“You say that as if doing so would not bring this wonderful house down brick by brick upon your head!”
“Madeline, what are you talking—”
“I must release you, Oliver.”
She felt as if the words were pulled from her throat by an unseen hand. And she was shocked by them. And she was ever the more shocked when she realised the impact they had on Lord Oliver, whose face froze for a moment, then turned from her.
“How long have you felt this way?” he said after a long moment.
“As long as you have,” she said, her voice full of tiny holes.
He shook his head slowly. “No.” He swung around to her in a most violent manner. “No!”
She took a step back and saw, out of the corner of her eye, the maid rise from her chair.
Oliver shut his eyes tightly, his lips clamped shut. His body rose and fell with a deep breath, and then his eyes opened. “I apologise, Madeline.”
“Oh, Oliver, I don’t want to hurt you. But look into your heart, my dear one. Do you not see that this has been on our horizon for longer than we care to admit?”
“The things you said to me on the day of our engagement—”
“As true as they ever were ... at the time. You cannot expect a sculpture in sand to be free from erosion by the elements.”
He laughed sardonically. “So, is that all your sentiments were? Bits of sand?”
“You know I don’t mean that, Oliver. It was a poor choice of words.”
“No, the choice was apt,” he said.
“Search your heart, Oliver.”
“Please refrain from allowing my name to pass your lips, Madeline. I cannot bear to hear it.”
“Search your heart.”
“I’ve searched it! And I cannot find a single spot in which you have not made a home!”
