Chapter Twelve
Anya didn’t understand why or how she managed to engulf herself in situations that were questionable. If she, as Anastasia, hadn’t felt the need to do her part to save the world, she may not have been shot and killed. Though she still wondered if that was a figment of her imagination or not. How could it have been real? She needed some evidence to prove to her it; until then, she’d never fully accept it. If it had been, then she’d done the right thing. The children had been saved and hopefully lived a full life. Surely that had been worth the pain and suffering she’d endured to make that happen.
She shook those thoughts away because she had to focus on her present and where Mathias, Lord Blackthorn, was leading her. He hadn’t let go of her hand as they walked through Weston Manor, leading her into a large library with several books lining the shelves. Some of them appeared quite old…
A large mirror with ornate scrollwork down the sides called to her, and she couldn’t explain why; it seemed special. As if touching it would take her places she could only imagine, but hadn’t she done enough of that inside her own head? Anya had no desire to visit anywhere more exotic than England and the time she currently resided in. As far as she was concerned, her adventuring days were done. She forced herself to glance away from it and turn her attention to the elusive man beside her. Anya faced him and asked, “Why did you want me to come in here with you?”
He shoved his hands into his pockets and lifted his lips into a devastating smile. It turned her insides to liquid, and it embarrassed her how much he affected her. She’d just met him…this older version of him. “You don’t have much patience, do you?”
“If it is warranted, I can have an endurance that far outlasts anything you could imagine.” She tilted her chin upward. “My fortitude is boundless, but that doesn’t have anything to do with the here and now. I let you lead me here, and now I expect you to answer some of my questions.”
“Only some?” He lifted a brow.
“Are we using semantics now?” She rolled her eyes. He was delaying answering her for some reason. She didn’t want to play these games with him. “I suppose I should consider there are some questions that might be to uncomfortable for you to answer, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to abstain from asking them.” She folded her arms over her chest. “Now. Let’s start with an easy one: why did you expect me to come here? You still have not told me what you want from me. How many times do I have to ask.”
“As many as it takes?” His lips twitched. “I agree that is perhaps the simplest question, as is its answer, but I suspect you already know.”
She narrowed her gaze. “You’ve mastered answering questions without actually giving information away. That’s almost…spy worthy. Do you work with some government agency that specializes in espionage?”
“No,” he replied and shook his head lightly. “Wrong branch of the family tree, so to speak. Though my father did act as a spy during the first world war, it is usually not a Kendall trait.” He walked over to the shelf and pulled a book off. He started flipping through it. “You met Catherine, the Marchioness of Seabrook, correct?”
“I did.” What was he saying with that question? Was he about to admit that she told him that Anya would arrive at Weston? “What of it?”
“Her husband and my father worked together in the war. Our family is related by several generations removed.” He stopped and stared at one of the pages. “Catherine is special. She has…certain gifts.”
“She mentioned she used to be a nurse,” Anya offered. “Some believe nurses find it a calling.”
He closed the book over his finger to mark his page and strolled over to her, carrying it. “Catherine has her reasons for becoming a nurse. She wanted to help and had a vision about the war. She’s also…empathetic.”
Empathy?She could feel a person’s emotions? And did he say vision? “Uh huh,” she replied noncommittally. If any of that was true, then Catherine must have known the turmoil inside of Anya’s head. Had she had a vision of her? Could she know what had actually happened to her? She had considered finding Catherine again before, but now she really wanted to speak to her again. The entire thing made her incredibly uncomfortable, and she didn’t have any idea what to make of it all. “What does this have to do with me, and why I am here?”
“She’s the reason we knew when to expect you, but the reason you are here isn’t answered so easily.” He held the book to her. “Please read this.”
She took it from him, ensuring she kept the page open to where he’d wanted her to read. It was a poem. That hadn’t been what she’d expected. Anya kept her finger on the page and flipped back to the title of the book. A compilation of poetry by John Keats. Her heart skipped a beat. What were the chances he’d want her to read a poem by Arthur’s favorite poet? What one had he chosen? She prayed it wasn’t the same one Arthur had quoted from, if so, she might lose control of her emotions.
Anya flipped back and read the lines of the poem…the first one standing out to her—“Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art”— Not the same poem. She was grateful for that, but still confused. “Why did you wish for me to read this?”
“You like poetry, do you not?” He took the book from her. “This poem…like most of Keats’s work, is extraordinary. He wrote it when he was facing his own death.”
She frowned. “Are you dying?”
He chuckled. “No. I’m quite well. Are you worried over my health?” He closed the book. “Never mind that.” Lord Blackthorn tapped the book. “This book is about our mortality. Keats was staring up at the sky, wishing he could have their longevity, but didn’t envy them for their lack of human warmth, the loneliness.”
“That even in death in the end we accept our fate because we have those we love with us.” She paraphrased what he was trying to say without understanding for one second why he brought up the topic.
“Yes,” he smiled. “If we are fortunate enough, as we take our last breath, the love of our life is there beside us through it all.”
“This poetry lesson has been fascinating.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She had to try to keep control. It wouldn’t do anyone, especially her, any good to give in to any emotional upheaval. Her life had taken a strange turn. Mathias couldn’t know that or what the poetry might mean to her. “But I must say it isn’t the enlightenment I sought. Are you ready to have a real conversation?”
“Will you spend the day with me tomorrow?” he asked. Amusement echoed through his tone. It irritated her.
“I’m not certain that is wise.” She waved her hand dismissively. “This has been quite the useless endeavor.”
“I disagree,” he told her. “I’ve shared a great deal and learned more about you. You’re not open to the information I presented to you, so it seems out of place. In time, the truth will be evident. Let me prove it to you.” He moved closer to her. “Please spend the day with me.”
Anya didn’t feel as if she could say no. She wanted to, but… “All right,” she said before she could stop herself. “I will.”
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