Whether he liked it or not, rumors would continue to haunt him.
“I must warn you, sir, the story of a grave will still spread, unfortunately. We can only turn the light to it and expose the truth for what it really is.”
His jaw clenched, a tiny muscle jumping once again. “The truth? It may cause more pain than it’s worth.”
He was no longer speaking about the mosaics and the grave site.
“Leave no stone unturned,” I answered firmly. “How can we learn or grow if we do not understand the past? How can we heal if we do not fully examine what happened to us?”
He folded his arms across his chest. “I know how poorly you think of my family’s name.”
My cheeks heated. “I spoke hot, rash words that evening wefirst met, my lord. Words from an impetuous woman fretting over a damaged sketch. I am sorry for any offense I caused.”
“But you spoke the truth. In my experience, neither my father nor my uncle cared much about anyone else’s needs,” he said in a low voice. “Unlike your family. You might be the most outspoken woman I’ve ever met. One with a stinging quip and a healing balm. I am indebted to you in more ways than one. You seem to work enchantments, even with your tinctures, bringing healing wherever you go, whether with Mrs. Eacher or... myself.”
“It is my pleasure.” I could not hide my smile, relieved that he had not chosen to take offense at that first meeting or my suggestion to bring in the societies. “And, speaking truthfully, you will find a ready friend in my father, as he was to your uncle. He cared deeply for the former viscount.”
Lord Hawthorn looked over his shoulder to where my father stood speaking with the tenants. Had I overstepped my bounds by saying that a viscount and a vicar could find friendship? I bit the inside of my cheek, ruing my frank speech. I had lived in the countryside for too long, far away from the well-ordered rules of the ton. My manners must seem rustic.
The viscount turned to me. “And you, Miss Littleton, may I also consider you a friend? I find them a precious commodity.” His voice had dropped to a husky note.
The words were innocent, but the way he said them, it was almost as if...
My breath caught as his gaze held mine.
“Yes, I should like to think we could be friends.”
His mouth tilted in a full smile. And it was quite a pleasant thing, completely transforming his face. His admission settled within me, stirring sympathy as he left me to join the tenants.
A man could have everything and still be very much alone.
Later, within the comfort of the drawing room, I removed the doll from my satchel and gently laid her on the desk just as Mrs. Herriot brought the requested bowl of warm water and a soft cloth.
“La!” She curled her upper lip as she leaned over my shoulder to see better. “A naked woman.”
I skimmed a gloved finger against the smooth ivory stained from centuries of earth. “Once clothed, Mrs. Herriot. But you see if your clothes will last over a thousand years.”
She did not appreciate my flippant answer, yet she remained by my side as I dipped a scrap of fabric into the bowl. I recognized the scrap of cloth as having been snipped from one of my brother’s shirts.
Daniel.The fine weave brought a host of memories of him. Better days. Awful days, especially when I tried to raise him just as I had promised Mother.
How I loved him, even if I wanted to throttle sense into him. If only he knew how his absence, his weakness of character, continued to hurt Father. And hurt me in equal measure.
Why couldn’t we recover from my mother’s death? Why did Father bury himself in work, and Daniel turn to vice? Was this how we managed without her?
“I do hope you didn’t bring an idol into the parsonage,” Mrs. Herriot told me as she leaned even closer, smelling of lemon oil. “This obsession of yours won’t garner the respect of the rectorship.”
“On the contrary, I’ve met many a curate or rector who appreciates history, especially since that era connects to our Lord and the early church. And this isn’t an idol. It’s a child’s toy, created to be as lifelike as possible.”
Each stroke of the cloth revealed a yellowed hue of ivory. And joints for the slender legs to bend and the elbows to swing.
“At any rate, that ugly thing seems scratched.”
My pulse sped as I cleaned the ivory, coaxing two symbols to emerge on the back of the doll. An inarticulate sound escaped me as I stared at the antiquity, scarcely believing my eyes.
Not scratches, but rather letters of the Greek alphabet. A faint line curled to make aPand a crookedx.
Frustrated with my lack of conversation, she abandoned me to my pursuits, which truthfully, were as intense as Father’s obsessions.
