She couldn’t lie. She hated the Grange. She hated everything about her new home from the shadows that never ended to the heaviness in the air.
It didn’t matter that she’d always been able to find a way.
She couldn’t bring this back.
Not alone.
…
Ever since they’d met, Rayne had yearned to understand the things Julia left unspoken. Even as they’d grown close, he’d struggled to discern her will. She’d been, from the start, a mystery.
No longer.
From the moment they’d left the carriage, her every sentiment had echoed hollowly in his gut—from shock to horror to despair.
He could blame no one but himself. The Grange was a shackle—a weight that could drag down anyone, even a starry-eyed woman with the most optimistic of intentions. Only ennui blunted the effect…and then, only for a time.
He’d seen her home. He’d known nothing in her life could have prepared her for rot on this scale. Now, she’d finally come to understand the dilemma he’d tried to explain.
Damn tradition. Better to leave a place like this and start over. One could not sweep away centuries of fear and bloodshed and the effects of merciless retribution.
New York’s sense of newness,theboundless buoyancy, had been why he’d remained there for so long. The stubborn belief that the past could be outrun was written into the young country’s constitution. But even they would have to reckon with their violent beginnings one day.
No one completely escaped the past.
Nor was he fated to escape the Grange.
He was married, now. He’d made his choice.Somethinghad to change, and the change had to begin with him.
But what had he ever actually built? What had he ever cared for that had flourished?
“I regret…” His words tangled in throat thorns, leaving them garbled and torn. “I shouldn’t have—”
She swiveled around. “Shouldn’t have?” She rested her hand against his heart—the hand with the sparkling diamond. Her voice rose. “Shouldn’t have?”
He swallowed. He hadn’t been talking about her or the marriage. “I shouldn’t have let the place fall into disrepair.”
Her shoulders fell. “Yes, well. Hardly welcoming, is it?”
“No.”
“We can change this.”
She’d spoken the statement with the undercurrent of a question. Still, she’d saidwe.He could have gone to his knees and wept. He’d given her no reason—no reason at all to believe he was capable of such a feat.
She put her hands on her hips, swiveled around, and pointed to the tapestry. “I don’t care what that’s worth—it comes downbeforewe sleep in that bed.”
“Anything.” He swayed from the effects of holding his breath. “Make any change you wish.”
She frowned up at the wall. “How do we get it down?”
He’d no idea.
Nonetheless, he dragged a wooden chair over to the base of the tapestry, climbed on top, and then waved the tapestry hard. Years of dust choked his lungs as the great piece of fabric flapped back and forth through the musty air.
Using his full weight, he tugged. Great metal rings squealed in protest as they slid along a hidden rail. One final yank and the last ring released, and he was momentarily wrapped in weightless, soaring darkness. Then he hit the hard, stone floor.
Apparently, having your air knocked out of you wasn’t just an expression.
