If only she could shake the feeling that Sebastian was still hiding something from her. Something of his past.
But no matter how hard or gently she pressed him, he offered her no insight into the deeper workings of his mind, and she was forced to let the matter rest.
And so, she turned her attention to the house. Alongside the new drawing room curtains, she was having the wallpaper replaced.Instead of entirely replacing the furniture, she was merely having it reupholstered, and she was rearranging the room a little. It was a shame to relegate the rather beautiful pianoforte to the corner of the room.
Of course, they might not entertain often, but if they did, it would be good to have the musical options widely available.
When she informed Sebastian of these intended changes—and a few others she had in mind for the entrance hall and the library—he merely teased her about how much this marriage would cost him.
“It will cost you a wife,” she shrugged. “They are never cheap, you know.”
“So I am discovering.” He flicked the end of her nose. “Will these changes make you happy, little mouse?”
“Yes.”
“Then what else have I to say about them?”
“I hope,” she murmured, suddenly shy, “that you will like them too.”
“I’m certain I will, if you chose them.”
Aurelia beamed up at him, her heart full to bursting. He made such casual comments of affection and adoration; it was hard to believe he could mean none of them.
She played the pianoforte for him later in the evening, and then they would curl up beside the fire, his arm loose over her shoulders as she lay against his side. And she felt at peace. Sometimes, he would lie her down on the sofa, or on the plush carpet, and make love to her there, too.
Aurelia bathed in her happiness. And Sebastian, too, seemed content. Sometimes, there was a distance in his eyes she didn’t like, and he took plenty of walks to the lighthouse still. After everything he’d told her about Catherine, she couldn’t believe he still loved her. But perhaps there would always be guilt.
Perhaps he even felt guilty for marrying Aurelia and entering a state of marital bliss.
Regardless of the reason, she prayed that he would forget whatever troubled him and fully engage with the present, withher. Not merely when they were lying together, but every moment they spent.
Sebastian stepped out of the library side door onto the lawn. After the last time Aurelia followed him, he made sure to only leave when he was certain she was otherwise occupied—and he could hear her practicing the pianoforte for her little evening showcases for him.
The guilt gnawed at him more than ever with all the changes she made to his house. She treated it as though it were her home too, and he supposed that for now, it was, but that wouldn’t last forever.
So why hadn’t he told her?
The sky scowled in agreement as he made his way along the old, familiar pathway to the lighthouse. The first time he had come this way had been in the depths of winter, when the world had been plunged into an icy storm that had threatened to swallow everyone inside it. This time, although the wind was cool and a few drops of rain splattered against his cheek, there was no chance of freezing to death.
Not like Kate.
Something about Aurelia made it impossible to keep Catherine from his mind. Whenever he spent too long with Aurelia and felt himself feeling too contented, her memory would arise like a specter, haunting him. Reminding him that he had been the reason a lady had died, and he should never feel too content with his life without her.
And hecertainlycould not invite another wife to spend her life with him.
The lighthouse rose to greet him, painted in swathes of red and white, the lantern flashing at the top. On occasion, he had spoken to the lighthouse keeper, but the man worked alone, andSebastian preferred to keep to himself, too. Thus, these visits were largely conducted in silence—just as he liked it.
As he stepped to the edge of the cliff, the wind picked up, battering him. Below, the waves flung themselves, white-tipped, at the cliff sides. Spray mingled with the rain as it dampened his cheeks, salty when it dripped into his mouth. Here, he felt on the edge of the world, and although he knew France was not too far in the distance, he could never see it. Everything felt more raw.
When he looked at the rocks jutting through the water below, his stomach churned.
Kate may not have fallen here, but she had certainly ended up in this water, her body battered and bruised.
Dead.
Because of me.
He tipped his head back to the rain and the scowling, dark sky above. The clouds vied for prominence, and the wind howled. A reminder that nature was far greater and grander than he would ever be.
