“Well, what was the last favourite thing you had?”
“I used to love to garden and be in nature like this.”
“Maybe Vail would let you garden at her house.”
“Once you dig a grave for your husband, it’s hard to dig another one for a plant.” I hadn’t meant for those words to slip out, but they did, leaving a heavy silence in their wake.
“Honesty,” Connor said, his gaze steady and sincere.
“What?”
“That’s something else I like about you, you’re honest.” A warm smile graced his lips.
If he only knew,I thought. I could never tell him about myself. Not only would it break his heart, but he might even try to kill me—or worse, get Sam to do it.
“Thank you,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper, emotion thickening the air between us. “This morning means more to me than you can imagine.” Despite the weight of my secrets, I couldn’t deny the genuine connection I felt with Connor at that moment.
TWENTY-FOUR
September 17, 1891
Autumn painted the world in shades of blushing auburn and gold. The roses faded, their petals wilting, while the last summer’s flowers stubbornly held on. I found solace in the gentle transition of the seasons, how the light changed throughout the hours of the day, and the sun rays grew longer and more golden in the evening.
Days stretched into weeks, and weeks into months as I remained at Thornwood Manor. Each night, after his late returns from work, Draven would slip into bed beside me, his arms wrapping around me and drawing me close to his chest. Though sometimes I’d awaken to find him carrying me to bed when I would fall asleep in the library.
I expected it, that every morning when dawn arrived, came Draven’s departure. The autumnal sun’s rays through the soft curtains every morning were a reminder of his illness.
However, this morning was different. Draven chose to sit next to me at the dining table. I had pleaded for him to remain in bed with me, and he reluctantly agreed, only for a short while. I was finishing my morning meal when Imalda entered and handed Draven a letter.
“For you, sir.” She cleared away the dishes and departed.
Draven, absorbed in the book he was reading, left the letter on the table.
“Who is it from?” I asked, trying not to seem too probing.
“Open it if you wish.”
I tore open the envelope and unfurled the thick parchment within. The shimmering letters danced before my eyes, extending an invitation to a full moon Masquerade Ball in the nearby town.
“A ball! Draven, we must go.” I read the letter again, my anticipation growing. “It’s tomorrow!” I exclaimed, unable to contain my excitement.
A subtle curve lifted on Draven’s lips for only a moment as he continued to read his book.
I extended the letter toward him and pouted. “Please, Draven, I have never attended a ball before. Think of all the excitement, the music, and the dancing.” I hoped my pleading would persuade him.
“If you insist.” He took the letter from me, reading it over, and flipped it to see who it was sent from. “I must be off. I will return before you realize I am gone.” He kissed my forehead before exiting the room.
I felt a flutter of anticipation, and the rest of the day slipped by in a haze of joy as I practised dancing in front of the mirror, dreaming of the music that awaited us at the ball.
September 18, 1891
Just after nightfall, Draven returned home in a carriage, accompanied by a horse and a rider up front. The rider wore a long, black coat and a scarf to ward off the cold.
I walked down the staircase to greet him, wearing a deep crimson velvet dress adorned with ribbons and smalldangling rubies. I found it in the back of my closet and was captivated by its beauty, having never seen anything so intricately made before. I almost felt undeserving of wearing such a beautiful dress.
As I reached the bottom of the stairs, my heart raced at the sight of Draven, and he extended his hand to me. He was a vision of elegance in his sleek, all-black suit, his inky hair gleaming in the soft candlelight.
“My heart, you look stunning,” he said with a warm smile.
