Leaving him to his task, I head down the hall. At the top of the stairs, I hesitate.
Below me is the front hall, and to my left is the lofted area overlooking it, which is lined with doors leading outside, onto the exterior balcony that runs along the east-facing front of the house. At the far end of the lofted area is the entrance to the south wing. There’s a door blocking access to that section.
From my earlier explorations, I know that the dining room and ballroom are part of the south wing, on the first floor. If the upper floors of that wing are really in bad shape, maybe that’s why Beresford didn’t want to have parties at the mansion. Perhaps he was afraid the ceiling might collapse on his guests.
But he has plenty of money—enough to redecorate multiple rooms. Why didn’t he make the repairs? Has he run out of funds? He has given no indication of impending poverty. Quite the opposite, in fact.
As the new mistress of the house, I should be aware of any dangers here, and I should have a say in how and when we make the necessary repairs. He’s being overly cautious about my safety. I can certainly take a look at the damage without hurting myself.
On silent, bare feet I traverse the balcony and approach the door. It isn’t locked, but it squeaks a little, and I cringe. When Beresford doesn’t emerge from the game room to investigate, I push the door wider and squeeze through.
The passage beyond is pitch black at first, but once I’ve stood there for a moment, my eyes adjust, and I perceive some faint light issuing through an open door farther ahead. Staying at the edge of the hallway, in case there are weak spots in the floor, I creep toward the room from which the light is seeping.
The chamber is empty except for a couple pieces of ponderous furniture half-shrouded in dust sheets, looming like ghostly giants in the shadows. The drapes are open a crack, allowing the last rays of daylight to slant through. By their glow,I spot a dusty lamp and an even dustier pack of matches on a side table, next to an embroidered armchair. Even when I light the lamp, I can’t really tell the color of the chair, because it’s so thickly layered with dust.
This place doesn’t smell like water damage. When I lift the lamp high and scan the ceiling carefully, I don’t see any moisture spots.
With the lamp in hand, I check the hallway. Once again, it smells dry and old, but not damp. There’s no telltale sourness or reek of rot, no layered, blotchy stains on the ceiling.
I proceed along the hallway, walking as quickly as I can without aggravating my ankle. The dust gets into my nose, and I have to stifle a sneeze against my arm, nearly dropping the lamp in the process.
At the end of the hall is a door painted a vibrant blue, nearly a match for Beresford’s hair. A dozen small symbols are marked at its center—not painted, but scratched into the base color. A stylized lily with curling ends and three distinct sections. An infinity sign with slash marks through each tear-shaped half. An open-mouthed snake devouring itself, with a sunburst at its center.
A few of the symbols are the same ones I’ve seen countless times on the walls of Grandmother Riquet’s cottage. Others are new to me.
When I try the handle of the blue door, it doesn’t yield. I hesitate, wondering if this door conceals the damaged part of this wing, or if it’s hiding something else. I don’t have time to investigate further; I’ve already been gone too long. Hastily I blow out the lamp, leave it in the room where I found it, and blunder through the dark back to the main part of the house.
I find the cider and hurry to the game room, a little breathless, unsure if Beresford might chide me for taking so long. But he’s still meticulously arranging the game pieces andsetting out separate piles of cards as dictated by the instruction booklet.
“The lore for this game is quite detailed,” he says, taking the mug that I hand to him. “Listen to this.” And he begins reading the storyline with a quiet enthusiasm that warms my heart and sends all my doubts to the back of my mind.
It takes us a while to grasp the intricacies of the gameplay, but once we do, we’re both deeply invested in trying to conquer each other’s portion of the fictional kingdom. We play for three hours, then switch to wine and a simple game involving dice and joke cards. I laugh until my stomach muscles ache, and Beresford seems to find my merriment contagious, laughing just as heartily.
This is what I wanted: this peace, warmth, and joy. I don’t care if he has an abandoned wing in his house, a locked room, and a shrouded history. I just wanthim.
Flushed with wine and happiness, I leave my own chair and sit on his lap, twining my fingers through his long blue locks. “Thank you for choosing me.”
He looks up at me, shock in his blue eyes. “I should be the one thanking you.”
“No, you don’t understand.” I brush back his hair and kiss his temple. “No one wanted me.”
He catches my hand. “Did you marry me because I was your only option? Because you didn’t think you were worthy of being claimed?”
The wine is blurring my thoughts. I pucker my lips and say tentatively, “No?”
He releases a sad chuckle. “My darling wife, if anyone is unbelievably fortunate in this marriage, it’s me. You could have found someone easily, I guarantee it.”
I shake my head, but I don’t explain. Not even the wine can force me to confess my ability to him. There’s a chance he’ll discover it for himself tonight. Creatures don’t usually appearwhen I’m asleep, but if I have a nightmare or if I’m wakeful, one of them could pop up.
Against my will, tears glaze my eyes. I turn away, not wanting Beresford to notice, but he does.
“Precious wife,” he murmurs, pulling me down against his shoulder. “It has been a long and eventful day. A good day, but tiring.”
I nod without speaking. He rises from the chair and picks me up, leaving the game and the wine glasses where they are. He walks across the hall with me and lays me on the bed before heading back to the game room to tend the fire.
I slip off the bed and enter the bathroom. All my things are waiting for me in places where they are easy to find, including a fresh nightdress.
Once I’ve prepared for bed, Beresford takes his turn in the bathroom. He returns wearing only his undershorts, the contours of his broad chest highlighted in the dim light of the low fire on the hearth.
