Birdie hadn’t even known she could scream like that.
She sat in the mud and allowed the rain to wash over her. Closing her eyes, lifting her head toward the sky, she came to a conclusion.
“Roberta Charlotte Talbot. You ought to be completely and utterly ashamed of yourself.” She struggled up and marched right back.
Why was he surprised?He shouldn’t have expected anything different. The girl had taken half a look at him, screamed and fled from his sight. For the second time.
He sighed.
Yesterday, she’d suddenly stood in his tower room, her hair flowing about her, holding a candle, looking like an apparition for all that was worth. He’d blinked, certain that he was seeing visions. He’d risen from his armchair and had been about to open his mouth to say something when she’d hissed “ghoul!” and thrown her lantern at him. She’d nearly set the entire place on fire.
He’d been certain Miss Burns wouldn’t come to the wedding. After yesterday, he’d been certain she’d pack her bags and leave before dawn broke. He must have frightened her out of her wits. He’d been too cowardly to go after her to see whether she was alright. If he’d done so, he’d probably have terrified her even more. Not that it mattered, because he had managed to do that this morning.
He’d never been vain or concerned about his looks. When he’d woken up in the field hospital and found half his face burnt and his left eye gone, he’d taken it with resignation.
Others were worse off. Others had lost their limbs. Some not one, but both. More than one fellow had lost his arms as well. What did it matter if one no longer looked handsome when others had lost their lives? But he hadn’t counted on people’s reactions towards him. How they averted their eyes with embarrassment. The disgust, or even fear showing on their faces.
By Jove, that scream. His hand shook as he took out a handkerchief to wipe his brow. He’d heard many screams in the many battles he’d fought. Yet he’d never heard a scream of such stark, utter terror. She was, of course, entirely right to run. No one in her right mind ought to marry him, least of all an innocent daughter of one of his father’s friends. He wasn’t doing the poor girl any favours at all. What was he thinking?
Reverend McAloy cleared his throat and snapped his bible shut. “I take it there’s to be no wedding today?”
“No,” Gabriel said through gnashed teeth.
But, at that moment, the church doors opened for a second time.
Lightning flashed, illuminating a figure in dark blue. Her hair, a vibrant red, poured over her shoulders. She looked like a fairy queen.
Caked in mud from head to toe.
Gabriel blinked. By George. She’d returned.
“Excuse me,” she said breathlessly after she came down the aisle, her nose high in the air. “I had to quickly—you know.”
“Eh?” Higgins tilted his head.
“You had to, what?” The reverend stared at her in astonishment, clutching his bible as if to ward off a spirit.
She waved a hand. “You know.” She bent forward and hissed. “The chamber pot.”
The reverend flushed beet red. “Oh. Of course.”
Gabriel was dumbfounded.
Then she lifted her hand, hesitatingly, and prodded his arm. “I just need to make sure you’re real.” He felt her finger poke into his jacket. “That you’re not a phantom.”
“I am not a phantom,” he rasped. But maybe that was a lie. He’d lived the life of a ghost since that blasted war.
“I don’t believe you are, now. I was somewhat out of my depth last night. With the storm and all.” She stared fully into his face.
He flinched and averted his face.
Then he froze and willed himself not to look away; to let her see every inch. Every badly healed scar, every discoloured lesion. She needed to see what she was marrying.
She looked pale, but she did not look away. She pushed the mud-splattered spectacles further up her stubby nose, spectacles that were simply too big for her, making her hazel eyes look owlish. Freckles dusted her nose. Or maybe it was mud, for there were splatters on her milk-white cheek and neck. Her full pink lips were pursed.
She barely reached his shoulders. She was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen, mud and all.
“Does it hurt, still?” she asked.
