She took his arm and he allowed her to lead, scooping up the lantern on their way out. The next two rooms were largely empty: a hodgepodge of busted lanterns and wax for candles. Then the corridor emptied into a light-filled, glass-walled room cluttered with tree stumps in large pots.
“An orangery,”Danielle proclaimed, going from pot to pot, testing the soil and plucking at the stumps. “Mr. Abbott must be watering them, or they’d be entirely dead. Can you imagine, citrus in winter?”
It would never occur to Luke to dedicate a room to growing oranges on a cold island, three thousand nautical miles north of the equator. “No,” he said, “I cannot imagine it.”
“I’d no idea Eastwell Park housed an orangery. But these should be pruned, and this one needs to be repotted immediately. Perhaps Mr. Abbott could see it done.”
“Careful, the mere mention of his name may conjure him,” Luke said, frowning into the dry basin of a tile fountain.
“I should’ve brought graphite and parchment,” she was saying. “I suppose there will be plenty of time for notes after we—that is,after.”
He watched her poke around the glass room, tsking over plants and foggy windows. Several times today, she’d neatly avoided speaking the wordmarriage. In theory, these citrus stumps would becomehercitrus stumps. But she wouldn’t go so far as to say the words.
The result of not talking about the wedding was, of course, not having to explainthe reasons for it. And so he did not press. Instead, he drifted through this house with her on his arm and listened to her chatter. Instead, he simply existed. With her. Contented. Slightly aroused. Wholly intrigued. After months of bitterness. It was too satisfying to disrupt with life-changing revelations about her identity. Not yet. Another hour, perhaps. Half a day more.
He felt guilty for how much he enjoyed the tour of the house. This was never part of marrying her, and he felt like a traitor to his dead friends. He felt even more guilt toward Linus.
Linus, who was rotting in a French dungeon. Luke touched a hand to the fossil in his pocket. Linus, who waited to be rescued.
Luke tried to do right by all of them, to think of the starless night, and the cold sea, and their cries. When he slept, the horrifying dreams flooded in; every detail replayed. But here in this house—here with her—the memories came in short flashes, disjointed, diluted. His consciousness was sinking, he was drowning in the smell of her, the feel of her on his arm, her laughter.
“This next door must connect the orangery to the salon we saw at the other end of the great hall,” she said. “Unless I’m mistaken, we’ve traversed the length of the house along the back. The great hall comprises the front. By my count, we’ve missed only a dining room?”
“Or a library,” Luke said. It had been the only room of interest to him.
“The library is just through there, sir,” interjected a mournful voice.
Luke spun, startled. “Bloody hell, Abbott.”
“You asked about the library, sir?” The old retainer lurked among a grove of potted lemons.
Luke glanced at Miss Allard. She’d fallen against a potting bench on a gasp.
“You were nearly to it,” intoned Abbott. “The library.”
“Thank you,” said Luke, tugging his lapels and scooping Miss Allard from the bench. “Might I request that you announce yourself when you come and go? You’re scaring the devil out of Miss Allard, and I’m no better. A small knock might be in order? A click of the heels? A little cough? Anything to alert us to your presence?”
“Very good, sir,” said Abbott. “But shall I admit you to the library?”
“The door is locked?”
“It is, sir.”
“And none of the fifty keys I was issued by the estate agent would unlock it, I suppose?”
“?’Tis a lock I installed myself, sir,” informed Abbott. “It is the only room in the house into which I regularly come and go.”
“Of course you do. Lead the way,” grumbled Luke.
They stepped from the hard, cold brightness of the orangery into the dark, leather oasis of the library. The room was dominated by richly stained wood, plush chairs, and towering bookshelves. Miss Allard snuggled closer, not expecting the contrast, and Luke held the lantern high, taking in the magnificence of it. There were hundreds and hundreds of books. On the floor, he saw stacks of periodicals and journals. The desk was strewn with what appeared to be diagrams and charts. Large globes floated on their axes and, in the corner, a model of a human skeleton kept watch.
Just look at it, Luke marveled. Now it was his turn to spin.
“You enjoy reading, Captain,” realized Miss Allard, releasing his arm.
“I enjoyknowing,” he said.
“Well, there is much to be known in here, I daresay.”
