Chapter Ten
Cassandra’s slippers glided soundlessly against the chilled hardwood floor of the library. Silence filled the empty halls of the Manor, and all she heard was the scraping of her woolen shawl against her dress. The dawn’s grey haze blanketed the wooden bookshelves with a pale glow while shadows cradled well-tended books. A diamond dusting of light stretched in from the windows, giving an eerie, haunted feel to the room, as if she were underwater.
She loved mornings like this. Before the world woke up, before she had to rush about and accomplish her to-do’s, or tend to some sort of emergency, or—she sighed—play pretend.Before sunrise, she didn’t have to be strong or useful. Be a big sister, little sister, best friend, manager, accountant, or socialite.
Once the sun rose, one at a time, she would stack these roles and responsibilities like bricks until they formed a wall strong enough to keep her upright, firm against her back, pushing her forward. Sheneededit to push her forward, or she would collapse under its weight. But here, in the space between night and day, one by one, she could let those bricks fall and be able to breathe in the emptiness.
There would be hours before breakfast. Jasmine and Aunt Valentine were both late sleepers, and most of the guests held similar habits. It was fashionable to socialize long into the night and sleep until the afternoon, and it had been a busy night. There was no shortage of entertainment following the target competition. Ladies playedcharades while the gentlemen played poker and smoked cigars, carrying on long past midnight.
Mr. Reeves disappeared after the meeting with Duke Kendall. All night, guests bombarded Matthew with questions about the telescope, and he hadn’t had a moment’s peace. When asked about it, she redirected questions to her brother. In truth, the telescope had been as much of a surprise to her as it was to everyone else.
Matthew kept it from her.
“We have something that no one else has.”
Caroline said something that night too, “…if you didn’t try to keep things from me.”
If Matthew was hiding little things, he was hiding big things. Would she find out about them randomly in a crowd, too? Or maybe not at all. Maybe….
Maybe he doesn’t trust me.
In a flash, she missed the telescope completely, so focused as she was on Mr. Reeves. During that final shot, his features changed, as if he had banished himself. Unfeeling and cold. Deadly focused.Dangerous. Then, surrounded by people, his eyes darted back and forth like a hunted animal. Hands shaking, he bolted after the competition. He hadn’t shown up for any meals. When she retired for the night, his room was quiet.
Cassandra slippedPractical Botanyfrom the shelf, lit the oil lamp on the desk for extra light, and curled into the sofa tucked into the windowsill. Fog-dampened glass chilled her back and shoulders when she arranged her skirts and shifted into a comfortable position. She wiped a fine layer of dust off the cover of the book with her sleeve and gently flipped it open in her lap.
She turned the pages idly, scanning diagrams and annotations on medicinal herbs, noting varieties that her own garden lacked. It never hurt to have extra medicine on hand. Perhaps Matthew could purchasethe seeds when they were in London. It would be something to keep her busy when….
She sighed.
When I won’t be there anymore.
A floorboard creaked under a heavy foot and she jumped, the hair on her arms standing on end, her book toppled into her lap as she swiveled to the intruder.
Mr. Reeves approached, hands in the air with his palms facing her. He wore a white undershirt with a gaping collar, strings hanging loosely by his navel, flannel trousers and matching slippers. He raked his hand through his hair, mussed, muted, and sticking up in the back with an aggressive cowlick.
Her hair did the same thing whenshetossed and turned all night.
“I didn’t mean to startle you.” He tightened the string on his shirt and put both hands in his pockets.
With him standing before her, the silence descended once more, welcoming him into its fold. Concern rose within her at the deep purple indents under his reddened eyes, the sickly sheen to his skin, and how he wobbled where he stood. It wasn’t that he had slept poorly.
He had not sleptat all.
Perhaps not in days.
In his eyes was the vacant expression that he sometimes wore in the mornings at Cooper House. Mornings when he walked past the door to the dining room, not bothering with breakfast or waiting on her brother. When he would stare into the distance as if he could see something far away. Mornings when he wouldn’t meet her gaze or speak to her.
Mornings that came after nights of whimpering, shouting. Screaming. Primal and raw.
She hadn’t known that a person could make a noise like that until a week after he moved into Cooper House. Standing in the hallway inthe dark, holding Caroline, terrified, for them, forhim, because surely they should wake him. Caroline cried, and they both pleaded, but Matthew shook his head and spoke gently.
“He’ll be all right. Leave him be.”
“Please, don’t stop on my account.” He gave her a tranquil smile. “I won’t be here long.”
Vulnerable, but endearing, his smile was sad and heavy. It broke something in her to see it, and in the silence and the still of the in-between, she met his smile with one of her own, as bright and cheery as she could manage.
“Good morning, Mr. Reeves.”
