“Leaning. Go ahead.” I press my back into the walls of the booth and shove aside the sweet memories to make room for reality.
Chapter 21
William, 1947
Williamshovesasidethememories—the ones in which he and Helen are happily married and nothing else matters—to make room for reality. That’s what he needs to hold on to now that the artist is knocking on his door.
He could ignore it, pretend to be out, but she’s found something on Merryn—why else would she come?
He limps over to the door and she’s there, rain pouring down her coat, and her lips aren’t red. They’re pink and she looks almost ordinary. Maybe she’s not such a bad…“Oh,” he says as he suddenly realizes she’s standing in the rain. “Come in, come in.” His mind is elsewhere—on the fact that he has exactly one week until his wife vanishes into oblivion. And the fact that it might be for the best.
She barges past him, trailing water and shedding her coat before the fire. She’s shivering. He offers her tea and a wrap, but she shakes her head, staring into the fire. She crosses her long legs and suddenly William doesn’t know where to look, or what to do with his hands. How long until he can skip ahead to asking her what she’s found? “How was your trip? Here, that is.”
She glares at him, those newly natural lips disappearing.
“Ah, right. Terrible. Well then, I do appreciate you coming all this—”
“She married him.”
“What?”
“Covington. She married him.”
His jaw goes slack. “Merryn?”
She nods. “Although there was some confusion. Men fighting over her…”—she waves her hand about—“money…inheritance…a whole to-do with another man.”
“That would be AJ Winthrop.” He chews his lip. Glances up at the faraway look on Merryn’s face. “So who won?”
“Won?”
“Yes. Which bloke won out in the end? Covington, or the other?”
She shakes her head. “There are legends that tell it both ways. All I know for certain is that Covington does not share his personal life with anyone, so it’ll be near impossible to find out.”
“They ran away together, didn’t they?” A pang. He isn’t certain if he’s glad or sad at this.
“They’ve certainly become private, Covington and his wife. What makes you say they ran away? What did they run from?”
He waves her off. “Long story.” Thoughts churning, he returns to the refectory table, but his visitor makes no move to leave. She has more to say on the matter, but she doesn’t come out with it.
The kitten watches him, imploring with her look of misery. “Ah, there we are, Seph. Let’s get back to it, shall we?” He slides onto the stool and dips the rag into warm water, smoothing it over her crusted, goopy eyes.
“Seph? You’ve named her?”
“Persephone.” The kitten blinks bright eyes up at him, and the difference is remarkable. Her eyes are clear and focused, her face alert. “Lady Persephone of the Palace.”
A snigger draws his attention. The visitor’s anger has been replaced by amusement.
He straightens proudly. “She’s come a long way and thus deserves a name as extraordinary as she is.” She’s quite demanding, this princess of the castle, with her dainty whiskers and light-as-feathers body leaping into his lap when he’s done. “You’re a plucky one, aren’t you?” She twists her head in a questioning pose, then head-butts him again.
An odd delight sluices through him. Here, at least, is one being he’s able to successfully care for. He reties the pink ribbon he bought her around her neck and stands, cradling his tiny treasure as he faces his guest. “Sugar?”
“Thank you, but no.” She’s studying him, still with amusement.
He ignores her and lifts Persephone to his shoulder with a quick rub and turns to the painting, hoping to redirect his guest’s attention to the point of her visit. “Whatdidhappen to you, Miss Merryn?” He turns to his visitor. Francine? No, Florence.“Surely one of the artists in your art school can trace Covington, can’t they? Even if he isn’t publicly accessible.”
She purses her lips again—her signature gesture. “The legends of him are larger than life. I believe if anyonecouldverify them, they’d have done it. He’s such a secretive man, as if he’s guarding something.”
