Page 42 of Aurelia

But that was ridiculous.

It was far more likely that overseeing an entire island—as well as vast holdings on the mainland—absorbed a great deal of his time. His naturalist work, for all that it appeared to consume him, was only a small part of his responsibilities. In any case, Aurelia was relieved that she only had to deal with his disquieting person at the evening meals.

She would have been entirely content at her new job if she had only received some word from home. But thus far, Aurelia had written four letters to Queen’s Bower and had received no answer from Phoebe, Katie, or Doddy, her three siblings who still lived with their parents.

Aurelia had begun to wonder if her mother was intercepting her letters and burning them.

And that was why she was sitting at her desk, already dressed for bed, staring at a blank sheet of paper and contemplating writing to the Countess of Addiscombe to see why her letters were going unanswered.

Every time she tried to start the letter her mother’s final words rang in her ears.

After almost an hour with still nothing on the page other than, Dear Mama, Aurelia sighed and set down her quill. She would wait one more week. And then, if there was nothing, she would put aside her pride and pain and write to her mother.

Relieved to have pushed that decision off for another day, she turned to the sketch that was her current project. The subject was an indigo bunting and there was something about the angle of the bird’s foot that was not quite right.

Aurelia turned to the copy of the specimen index she’d made—which showed every sample and its location—and flipped through until she found the indigo bunting.

It was in the library workroom, which meant she wouldn’t need to go down to the armory, which gave her the shivers—and not just because it was cold.

Aurelia glanced at the clock on the mantle and saw it was half past eleven. There would be nobody about at this hour. She slipped on her heavy flannel dressing gown, slid a thick woolen shawl over her shoulders, and shoved her feet into the sheepskin slippers that had been a gift from her brother Doddy several years back. They were quite hideous, but Doddy had made them with his own hands and she simply could not bring herself to throw them away.

The only sound as she traveled through the empty corridors toward the library was the occasional shifting of ancient timbers. The castle was positively frigid even in the middle of summer, she hated to think of how cold it would be come December.

When she opened the door to the library, she was startled to see Lord Crewe seated at one of the trestle tables.

He glanced up at her, his vague gaze quickly sharpening as he removed his spectacles and stood. “Good evening, Miss Burton.”

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” Aurelia said, intensely aware of her less-than-attractive apparel. She hesitated on the threshold. “I can always return later when—”

“Nonsense. Come in. There is more than enough room for the two of us.”

Aurelia stepped inside and closed the door behind her. Only then did she realize why he looked different: he was not wearing his eyepatch. And there was an eye in the socket. Why… it looked perfect—exactly like the other one!

The earl smiled, and Aurelia swallowed. Yet again she had been caught gawking.

“Have a seat.” He gestured to the table across from him, the one closer to the fire. “There is a chill in here.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, setting down her sketch before turning toward the glass cases and speedily locating number sixty-one.

Aurelia spun the stool two turns until it was high enough and then sat. She peeked at the earl, but his face was tilted downward. He had donned his spectacles, with lenses for both left and right eye, she couldn’t help noticing. She could not see the left eye, but the glimpse she’d caught of it had certainly looked real. But if that were so, then why did he wear a patch?

He shifted in his chair, cleared his throat, and began to look up.

Aurelia instantly lowered her gaze to her work.

Work. That is what you came down here to do. Not stare at your employer.

The tiny indigo bunting in the glass case had been expertly preserved—Arthur Montgomery was a master of his craft—the body mounted with wires that evoked flight so convincingly the creature looked alive.

Her gaze slid from the colorful body to the feet.

Ah, yes. She bent closer, studying the scaley appendages and referring to her drawing. She’d mistaken the angle slightly. Using gum elastic, she carefully rubbed away the light pencil lines, brushed off the detritus, and began to draw.

Within moments, Aurelia was lost in her art.

***

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