Page 5 of The Dreaming Beauty
Aster’s eyes crinkled with concern. “Ofttimes a change of scenery can do a world of good. However, disappointment is natural. Don’t dismiss your hurt too soon. We’ll be here if you need to talk to someone.”
How did Aster always know the exact thing to say? Even so, Tansy was too familiar with disappointment to demand they listen as she continued to describe the flood of emotions inside her. “I would rather focus on the thrill of Rose Cottage.” Mother would be there. She’d be in the walls and in the wind and in everyone’s minds. No man would ruin this for Tansy.
Chapter 3
Whitfield, Westmorland
This was no dream. Tansyblinked back the fatigue blurring her vision. Sleep had evaded her for several days, and she could not trust her eyes. She pushed ahead of her aunts, and her view sharpened. The two-story red-brick house had a dozen windows and a whitewashed door. Overgrown rose bushes—white, red, yellow, and pink—lined the front of the house. Tansy opened the gate on the picket fence and stopped a few steps into the yard, her eyes widening.
Aster caught up with her first. “It’s uncanny, is it not? I couldn’t believe it when you showed me your painting.”
“Are you sure I’ve never been here before?” Tansy couldn’t deny the air of familiarity and a nagging sense that she had stood in this same spot at one time.
“I don’t understand how you could paint it so perfectly either,” Aster said.
Tansy tasted a tear on her lips. “My dream was years ago, and yet it was so vivid it feels as if it were yesterday.”
“It’s the magic that comes from the moors,” Daisy said, stopping on Tansy’s other side and wrapping her arms around herself. “It bewitches the senses and makes the imaginary seem real and the real feel imaginary.”
Iris stepped into the line they had formed to admire the house. “’Tis the driving winds betwixt the hills and the heavy rains that appear as if from nowhere you’re remembering, not any fabled fairies. But even I would say there is a bit of magic here somewhere.” She sniffed. “It’s been too long, Sisters. It wasn’t right to stay away.”
Tansy caught sight of tears shining in her aunt’s eyes. Iris never cried. She was always hard and fierce on the outside, protecting a heart as soft as the petals on flowers.
If Rose Cottage meant so much to them, whyhadthey stayed away? The urge to explore the house smothered the question before it could leave her lips. She picked up her skirts and rushed inside.
She devoured every inch of the cozy interior, only slowing when she reached the second floor, taking in the three bedrooms she had heard so much about on the carriage ride. She started with the farthest room, running her hand along the bed that had belonged to the grandparents she’d never known. They had had five girls and no sons. What would they think of their posterity? Would they be disappointed that Tansy was their only grandchild? Or would they be proud of her family’s collective resilience after years of sorrow?
The next room was done up in vanishing pink, the blush color so dull from age it was nearly absent. Aster had shared this room with Lily—a fourth aunt, who had become quite estranged to the family. The last room captured Tansy’s fullest attention. The old yellow room had been her mother, Rosie’s, as well as Iris’s and later Daisy’s once she was born. The paper on these walls was faded too, and the rugs would need to be replaced, as many of them had been gnawed on by mice over the years. But Tansy soaked up the warm essence the years had left behind. She could feel her mother there, just like she had hoped. But would time here reveal the name of her father or the reason no one spoke of her parents’ marriage?
That night, the yellow room was hers and Daisy’s to share. But even after several days without sleep, Tansy lay wide awake listening to her aunt’s soft snores. Her exhaustion should’ve been paramount, but her habits of avoiding sleep were strong. She closed her eyes, and an image of Mr. Robinson kissing Miss Evans made her eyes jolt open once more. A fierce yearning to be alone, to mourn as she had yet not allowed herself to do, overtook her. She pulled out the small likeness she had of her mother and ran her finger over it. The dark room made it impossible to see the image, but she had it memorized and saw it perfectly in her mind. Usually holding it was enough, but tonight the lack of answers about her mother and father, combined with her heartache, made the room begin to close in on her.
Where had her mother gone when she had needed to be alone? The answer came clearly to Tansy’s mind. Outside. She had been named after a wildflower because her mother loved being out of doors, as did Tansy. Daisy’s snores drowned out Tansy’s footfalls as she crossed the creaking floor.She didn’t bother donning shoes or even grabbing a cloak to cover her frill-less nightgown. She simply needed fresh air and wouldn’t stray far, and there were no close neighbors in the rambling countryside to worry about.
With Thomas, their man of all work; Betsy; and Cook sleeping on the other end of the cottage, it was easy for Tansy to slip out the front door into the cool spring night, her long, thick hair whipping against her face and arms in the strong wind. Tilting back her head, she hoped to see the gleaming stars—her favorite wonder of the heavens—but heavy gray clouds blanketed the night sky, glazing the full moon.
Not a single star to comfort her.
She pushed on, without a light to lead her, letting her heart guide her forward. Her mother had walked these steps. The thought warmed the cold swirling inside her. She had meant for Rose Cottage to be an escape, but it had instead brought her disappointed hopes and loneliness fresh to her mind.
The short grass along the road tickled her ankles, and it was no chore to ignore the prickle of rocks beneath her feet, as she had always preferred to be barefoot. Her steps became a comfortable rhythm, soothing her as she walked against the wind. Soon she was lost in her thoughts and time had no meaning. The soft rain on her shoulders snapped her attention into focus.
The gray clouds were now black, and thunder rumbled directly overhead. She needed to get back. She turned around and moved quickly, hoping this was not one of the intense and sudden storms Iris had gloomily predicted. She had not gone far when she met a fork in the road. Had it been there before? Which way should she go? Right? Left? Just as she feared, the heavens opened, unleashing an angry waterfall from the sky and soaking her to the bone in a matter of seconds. Hugging herself, she glanced at the path through her limited vision. Heaven help her, which way had she come?
She stayed left and broke into a run, trying to get ahead of the rain. Rocks now jabbed at her soft feet, but her need for shelter outweighed the pain. Her fatigue finally caught up with her, and each step proved harder than the last. Cold pierced her skin and seeped through to her core. Where was Rose Cottage? Surely, she had not gone so far as to lose it.
Tansy pushed herself to run faster, her head throbbing and her heart pounding as she searched desperately through the darkness. Had she chosen the wrong way? She was about to turn around when she made out a dark house ahead of her. It wasn’t Rose Cottage, but it had walls and a roof, and that was all that mattered now. She pushed closer, realizing the incredible breadth of the house. Instead of the dozen windows at Rose Cottage, there were thirty at least, and instead of a quaint picket fence and overgrown roses, there were two foreboding pillars and perfectly manicured bushes. Intimidated or not, she must propel herself toward it or suffer the freezing rain.
She rushed up the steps to the oversize door and pounded on it with her fist. A roar of thunder nearly smothered the noise. Would they hear her over the storm? She prayed they would. Embarrassed as she was in her underdressed attire, the chill nearly stole her breath away. “Please let it be the housekeeper who opens the door,” she pleaded. When no one came, her hand found the latch. Desperate and exhausted, she pulled down hard and the door swung open. “Anyone home?” Her chattering teeth muffled the sound of her voice.
No one answered. A heavy wind chased her inside the dry, dark entrance hall. She shut the door, barring out the weather, and shivered against it. Running a hand along the wall, she searched for a room, her feet no doubt leaving puddles on what seemed to be a marble floor. The first door she came to was not quite shut, and she let herself in.
Hot embers in the fireplace caught her attention right off. Tansy rushed toward the possibility of warmth. Grabbing the poker, she stirred up the red ashes until she saw a meager flame. Her limbs ached, but she found some tinder and two sticks of wood in a basket to the side of the fireplace, added them to the fire, and adjusted the grate to let the soft glow of the growing blaze surround her. The hearth was warm on her feet, and she laid down, eager to warm her arms and chest and rest her pounding head. Her nightgown clung to her, and she absently tugged at the wet fabric. She caught sight of one row of books and then another. A library. The idea of books keeping her company, with stories stranger than her own and without eyes to judge, allowed her to relax against the hearth.
Her eyes drooped, begging to close. No! No, she couldn’t sleep. Not here. Her eyes fluttered as she fought the pressing fatigue. She mustn’t be caught in a strange home, dressed in her night things. Despite her shivering, her eyes and limbs cried out for sleep. One moment and then she would leave. Just one moment.
Chapter 4
While the world slept, Marcus’smind came awake. With the crack of thunder and a brilliant streak of light piercing through the gap in his curtains, he sat up in his bed. Sleep often evaded him, but even trying tonight seemed useless. Flipping his covers off, he donned his robe and slippers, and it was back to his makeshift study in his brother’s library, where he’d research until his eyes drooped and his dreams were empty.
