He could have told her to leave it on the floor, but then he risked the cook stomping up the many stairs to his workshop and smashingdown his door. Better to indulge her and dispose of whatever she’d made some other way. Perhaps he’d wrap it up and bring it to the pigs.
He accepted the tray and waited for the maid to scurry around the corner of the spiral staircase before he glanced out the window. The slight tightening in his chest warned him he would have to rest soon. That was perhaps for the best, as his limbs were heavy with fatigue.
But when he returned to his bedchamber and saw what was waiting on his desk, a familiar fluttering started in his chest. He dug through the envelopes until he found the one he’d been waiting for, ripped it open, and read.
My dear Marcus,
I hope you know how much I anticipate each of your letters. You are the only person I know who truly understands historical fact, even if your bent is more scientific. I have tried to express the importance of research to my parents, but they insist on preparing me for my future, as they see it.
I have acquired the volumes you suggested and must thank you for such excellent selections. When I close my eyes, I can see the soot-filled sky, hear the roar of lava pouring down the mountain, and feel the soft kiss of ash landing on my skin. It is said some inhabitants of Pompei were engulfed with such speed that they remain where they perished, statues guarding the ruins of an ancient city.
He chuckled as she went on about everything she’d learned from the books he’d recommended. She was as obsessed with natural disasters as he was with finding a way to prevent his attacks. Not that he’d told her the truth. She believed he was investigating a peculiar illness in his cattle that no one else had been able to identify. He was embarrassingly grateful for the twist of fate that had redirected her letter to his desk all those months ago. Corresponding with her was the only thing that had kept him sane, as the pleas from his brothers and sisters to rejoin them in London had intensified.
Yet she was risking far more. If anyone discovered their writing, the consequences to her reputation would be severe.He should have stopped long ago, but whenever he held one of her envelopes, it was like a different person took control of his body. In the rare moments when he was not consumed by his work, he acknowledged the awful truth: he wanted her to get caught. The cruel, jealous part of him that hated anyone able to move about in the world without being paralyzed by fear demanded he make others join in his suffering.
He swallowed through the pain in the back of his throat and continued to read.
Regarding your experiments, if your mixtures are not having the desired effect, the removal of heat might prove efficacious in enhancing the potency, or perhaps the addition of heat. Such methods have been used for millennia. The ancient Egyptians even heated herbs on bricks as a treatment for maladies of the lungs, as indicated by the Ebers Papyrus.
That was an interesting idea. He had tried adding heat but had never considered the opposite. It would be challenging to maintain a consistent temperature, but perhaps if he constructed a miniature icebox in his laboratory…
Yes, that was worth pursuing. He ran his fingers over the slanted print. Once again, Winifred had proven helpful, despite him carefully concealing the exact nature of his experiments. It was terribly unfortunate her letters were delayed, as was necessary for post to travel from the newly established country of Canada. He could have benefited greatly from having her opinions much faster. For that reason, despite itching to jot down ways to apply her suggestions, he read through the rest of her letter, eager to see how he might help with her difficulties in exchange.
Furthermore, it seems that the crux of many of the concerns you have raised are rooted in a lack of assistance. I appreciate the mystique and solidarity of a lone scientist, but I cannot help but think you would benefit from a second pair of hands. When my cousin visits, she allows me to prattle on at length, even though she is entirely uninterested in history. Her company has proved very useful in helping me focus. Is there, perhaps,someone you could invite into your laboratory to sit while you work?
He sighed. He wished it were as easy as she suggested. The last time he’d attempted to hire another scientist, he’d ended up losing his patience and scaring the man into fleeing the castle in the dead of night.
I admit, my cousin’s presence this month has been all that has kept me from tearing out my hair in frustration. My parents have grown even more insistent in their demands that I find a husband. They do not understand the value of my research and have threatened to close up the library and sell the books if I am not wed by the end of the year.
He rubbed his thumb over a dark splotch on the paper as he imagined her heartbreak when her parents presented her with the ultimatum she described. As the daughter of newly wealthy textile merchants, she would be expected to marry well, preferably to one of the few titled men in Canada.
A future he’d placed in turmoil through their correspondence.
His thoughts came to a sudden halt as the solution to both of their problems hit him like a punch to the stomach. What he needed was someone to keep him from slipping into despair, an assistant who was sufficiently submissive that his vampire half would not see them as a threat while also being brave enough to endure his occasional bursts of temper.
None of his previous assistants had lasted because they had all been men.
In exchange for Winifred filling the role, he could offer the escape she so desperately desired. Given what she’d said about her parents, he guessed they’d give up their daughter if it meant achieving the social connections they wanted. It was so obvious, he couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of it before.
He scrambled for a sheet of vellum and began laying out their future in ink.
Chapter Four
September 12th, 1867, Toronto
“Are you evergoing to tell us the name of your mysterious suitor?” Felicity asked as she flipped through the pages of yet another occult manuscript. Winifred assumed it would soon join the teetering stack beside the upholstered mustard velvet divan Felicity had occupied with her brother for most of the morning. It was one of many battered, mismatched pieces of furniture that Winifred’s mother had banished to the library for being too hideous to allow guests to see.
“I might,” Winifred said. She tapped her slipper-clad toes on the carpet and tried to focus on the tiny print in the textbook lying on the table in front of her, but she felt as tightly wound as a clock spring. It had been several weeks since she had reluctantly admitted she had a gentleman in mind as a potential husband, and every moment of that time had been spent with both Felicity and Vincent nipping at her heels for information. She hadn’t intended to offer them further details—a lady neededsomesecrets of her own—but Marcus’s latest letter had come as such a shock that she felt she would burst unless she told someone.
She removed an envelope from her pocket and held it out to her cousin. “Here.”
“What’s that?” Vincent asked. He reached out and would have snatched the item from Winifred’s hand if it weren’t for Felicity swatting him like a misbehaving dog.
“Not for you,” she said. Then she took the letter and unfolded it.Winifred stood behind her cousin and leaned over her shoulder as she read.
Winifred,
Please forgive my frankness, but I have come to the startling realization that our problems are complementary. You need a husband who will allow you free rein to pursue your interests, and I require a competent assistant. If you are amenable to an arrangement, it would be my pleasure to have you as my wife. You have my solemn vow as a member of the House of Lords, and as a gentleman, that I will never impose upon you any duties beyond those required to avoid scandal. Anything you desire, I shall provide.
