Now, she looked at him with a smile, thinking that it was a rainy afternoon, there were occupations other than being in the library to intrigue her.
“Are you writing?” he asked, beginning to ascend the curved iron staircase.
She felt warmth flow through her at his words.
“What do you know about my writing?” she asked.
He held up one hand, palm toward her. “After your mother died,” he said gently. “I thought to find records of how many aprons were washed, or the number of soup bowls at Chavensworth.”
“There are records like that. Mrs. Williams keeps them,” she said. “But you read my journal?”
He nodded. “I didn’t mean to pry,” he said, “but I must confess, it wasn’t easy to put the story down. You tell a very good tale of adventure.”
“Really?” She searched his face, but there was nothing in his expression but interest. No derision. No amusement. Had he seen himself portrayed in her journal? He’d featured prominently in the pages. “I like losing myself in telling a story,” she said, a confession she’d made only to one other person—her mother. “I would love to write about the Tullochs of Kilmarin,” she added.
“Which reminds me,” he said, pulling something out from behind his back. He extended a drawstring bag to her.
She looked at him quizzically and reached for the bag, opening it slowly, revealing the mirror she’d brought from Scotland.
“The Tulloch Sgàthán,” he said, and when she glanced at him, he explained. “The Tulloch Sgàthán—Gaelic for mirror. I’ve altered it a little, and given it a bit of beauty.”
Ever since the day at Kilmarin when she’d seen her reflection in the mirror, she’d not looked at it again. Her caution might be foolish. But what she’d seen in the mirror had come to pass. Had the mirror the ability to foretell the future? Or was that a foolish thought? It might well be, but she didn’t want to look at her reflectionand see anything other than the bliss she’d enjoyed in the past weeks.
Douglas had, indeed, given the mirror a bit of beauty. Around its circular back were a hundred tiny diamonds. She smiled, enchanted at the sight.
“It’s lovely,” she said. “But where did you find all the diamonds?” She lowered the mirror and looked at him in concern. “You’re not making diamonds again, are you? Isn’t the chance of explosion too great?”
He shook his head. “I found them,” he said. “Alano and I lifted the observatory door, and they were in the grass. I think they were shot out of the furnace before the explosion.”
“How is Alano?” she asked, smiling.
“Determined. He’s taken on Jason’s education.” He smiled. “Jason reminds him of me, two decades ago, of course. Alano has him reciting the capitals of Europe while we rebuild the observatory. And Mrs. Williams has deigned to unbend long enough to send him lunch from time to time, so I suppose his campaign is working on that front.”
She chuckled, retreating to the table, where she put down the mirror and picked up a letter before returning to his side.
“A trade,” she said, handing him an envelope. “I have something for you, as well.”
“A letter?” He glanced at the envelope but made no effort to take it. “Who would be writing me?”
She smiled. “You won’t know until you open it,” she said. “A messenger delivered it, but he wouldn’t say from where or why.”
He opened the envelope and read the contents of the letter, glancing at her when he finished.
“I’m sorry, love,” he said softly. “I’m sorry. It’s your grandfather.”
“He has died,” she said.
He nodded.
Donald Tulloch had been, essentially, a stranger to her. Perhaps later she would weep, for the death of the man she’d never known. Now, however, she could only feel the loss in a detached sort of way.
“There’s something else,” he said.
His eyes were glittering, and the flush on his cheeks wasn’t just from the weather.
There were two letters, one that Douglas had already opened, and one inside, addressed to her with the seal intact. Her name had been written in a delicate script, so lightly on the page that it was barely there, like the filament Douglas used in making his diamonds.
She broke the seal, tilted the page toward the light, and read:
