Mina coughed, disguising the watering of her eyes as nothing more than hay fever.
“Perhaps it is too stuffy for you in here, mistress,” Sofia said, concern flickering across her face. “I can take you back—”
“No, no,” Mina said quickly. “My throat is only a bit dry. Would you fetch me a drink, please?”
Sofia hesitated, clearly reluctant to leave her alone, but Mina gave another cough for emphasis. At last, Sofia nodded. “Yes, mistress.” She turned and disappeared into the corridor beyond.
Left alone, Mina turned back to the room, her intention momentarily forgotten as her gaze was drawn to the shelves lining the walls. What kind of books did her husband keep? She had always believed that a person’s reading revealed something of their spirit.
What, she wondered, would a library like this reveal about the Count?
She walked around the couch, her eyes scanning the shelves, and felt a tinge of disappointment upon realizing that most of the volumes were not fiction, but history. Politics. Economics.She supposed she should not be surprised that a man of such noble standing might wish to fill his mind with knowledge of every kind.
Then she realized what was so strange about the collection—every single book was in English.
She frowned, looking closer, searching for some evidence to disprove herself. But as she examined each spine, she found only confirmation. Not only were the books in English, but many of them were specific to England. She paused, wondering if he had done all of this for her—if he had been studying in anticipation of her arrival. It was also possible, she supposed, that he wished to be well versed in English matters for his dealings with Jonathan and the Carfax property.
She blinked, uncertain what to make of it. Was it a thoughtful gesture—a man preparing himself to converse with his new bride? Doubt crept in at the notion. A man like the Count, steeped in tradition, seemed unlikely to believe a woman capable of matching his intellect. It was an attitude she had encountered often, and in her experience, the more traditional the man, the more deeply entrenched the belief.
But if the books were not for her, then why? Did he truly see fit to educate himself on England’s politics and geography simply to purchase land?
“Here you go, mistress.”
Mina jumped, spinning around to face Sofia as though she had been caught in some transgression. “Thank you,” she said,pausing only a moment before stepping forward to take the glass of water.
“You won’t find any writing utensils over there, mistress.” Sofia crossed to the desk, drew a key from her pocket, and unlocked a drawer.
As Mina sipped the liquid, she wondered what the Count could possibly keep in that desk that required a key. Considering she had arrived only the day before, it was unlikely to be the result of her presence. And yet, given the emptiness of the grounds, who did he fear might go rifling through his things in his absence?
Sofia pulled paper, quill, and ink from the desk, slid the drawer closed, and locked it.
“The Count does not like us lingering in his library without him,” she said.
“Of course,” Mina replied, setting the glass down on the desk. She accepted the supplies with a tight smile and turned toward the door. But when she glanced back, she found Sofia lifting the water glass and carefully wiping away the ring of condensation it had left behind.
CHAPTER 13
Just before sunset that evening, Sofia arrived to escort Mina to the dining room. As Mina followed the woman through the corridors—trying to track their steps, mapping out the halls in her mind—she felt a persistent tug of distraction. Had the Count returned from his brief trip? Her heart thrummed at the thought of being alone with him for the first time, without Jonathan to ease the weight of conversation. What did one say to intrigue a Count?
Mina swallowed her nerves as the dining room came into view. She stood a little taller, took a steadying breath, and prepared to see her husband for the first time since Jonathan’s departure. But when she stepped inside, she found the room empty save for herself and Sofia. Her gaze skimmed the table laden with meats, cheeses, pickled vegetables, and bread—then caught on the single place setting.
“Is this all for me?” she asked.
“Yes, mistress,” Sofia said. Then her brows furrowed. “Does the selection not please you?”
“Oh, of course,” Mina said, offering a tight smile. “This looks wonderful. It’s just—I suppose it seems a waste, if all this effort was put into a meal only for me. I wondered if the Count might be in attendance.”
“I cannot say when the Count will return,” Sofia said, her frown deepening. “He comes and goes as he sees fit. I am simply here to serve him—and to serve you as well, mistress.”
Discomfort stirred in Mina. How did the Count treat his servants, for them to see themselves this way? As Sofia pulled out her chair and Mina eased into it, she wondered if this was simply how things were done here. She had not grown up amid wealth or nobility—her life had been firmly middle-class. Perhaps this was not uniquely Transylvanian at all, but merely the nature of aristocracy.
Sofia lifted Mina’s empty plate and filled it. Mina swallowed her unease. What would Sofia think if she knew that Mina had been a schoolteacher only a week before?
Mina cleared her throat. “Will the priest be joining me?”
Sofia stilled. For a moment, Mina feared she had misspoken, but then the woman resumed her task as though nothing were amiss. “No, mistress. The priest has gone with the Count to return to his home.”
“Oh,” Mina said, confusion tightening in her chest. She thought of the footsteps she had heard earlier, long after the Count was meant to have left. “So it is just you and me, then?”
