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Truth Teller paused but did not turn around. “No.…”
—from TRUTH TELLER
She was avoiding him. By midmorning, when a tray of tea and biscuits were delivered to his study by one of the new maids instead of his maddening housekeeper, Alistair was sure of it. Had he repulsed her with that kiss? Frightened her with his clear intent? Well, to hell with it. This was his castle, dammit; she was the one who’d insisted on disturbing his peace. She couldn’t hide from him now. Besides, he reasoned as he ran down the tower stairs, it was past time to inquire about the morning mail.
When he entered the kitchen, he saw Mrs. Halifax huddled with the cook over a steaming pot on the hearth, and she didn’t see him at first. Near the hall door he’d just entered, the boy and girl played with the puppy. No other servants were in sight.
“Are you come for luncheon?” Jamie asked, clutching the wiggling puppy to his chest. “We’re to feed Puddles a bowl of milk soon.”
“Mind you take him out afterward,” Alistair muttered. He started for the hearth. “And do think of another name for the pup.”
“Yes, sir,” Abigail called behind him.
Mrs. Halifax looked up as he neared, and her eyes widened as if startled by the sight of him. “Can I get you something, Sir Alistair?”
There was wariness in her gaze. Or maybe she was simply appalled that she’d let such a disgusting beast near her, a mocking voice taunted.
The thought made him frown as he said, “I came for my mail.”
The cook muttered something and bent over her pot. Mrs. Halifax glided to a nearby table, where a small bundle of letters lay. “I’m sorry. I should’ve had them sent up.” She held out the bundle.
He took it, his fingers brushing briefly against hers and then frowned down as he shuffled the letters. A reply from Etienne wasn’t there, of course—it was much too soon—but he’d hoped it would be nonetheless. Alistair had been brooding over the Spinner’s Falls traitor since Vale’s letter. Or perhaps it was Mrs. Halifax’s advent and the knowledge of all he’d lost along with his face in that terrible massacre.
“Were you expecting a letter?” Mrs. Halifax interrupted his dark thoughts.
He shrugged and tucked the letters in a pocket. “A missive from a colleague in another country. Nothing terribly important.”
“You correspond with gentlemen abroad?” She tilted her head as if intrigued.
He nodded. “I exchange findings and ideas with other naturalists in France, Norway, Italy, Russia, and the American Colonies. I have a friend exploring the wilds of China right now and another somewhere in deepest Africa.”
“How wonderful! And you must travel as well to visit these friends and explore yourself.”
He stared at her. Was she mocking him? “I never leave the castle.”
She stilled. “Truly? I know you like the castle, but surely you must travel sometimes. What of your work?”
“I haven’t traveled since returning from the Colonies.” He could no longer meet those wide blue eyes, and he glanced away, watching the children play with the puppy by the door. “You know what I look like. You know why I stay here.”
“But…” Her brows knit before she took a step toward him, forcing him to meet her solemn gaze once more. “I know it must be hard to go out. I know people must stare. It must be awful. But to shut yourself up here forever… you don’t deserve such a punishment.”
“Deserve?” He felt his mouth twist. “The men who died in the Colonies didn’t deserve their deaths. My fate has nothing to do with whether or not I deserve it. It’s simply fact: I am scarred. I frighten little children and the sensitive. Therefore, I stay in this castle.”
“How can you bear to live the rest of your life thus?”
He shrugged. “I don’t think of the rest of my life. This is simply my fate.”
“The past can’t be changed. I understand that,” she said. “But can’t one accept the past and still continue to hope?”
“Hope?” He stared at her. She argued her case too intensely for it not to be personal in some way—but in what way he wasn’t certain. “I don’t understand your meaning.”
She leaned toward him, her blue eyes serious. “Don’t you think about the future? Plan for happy times? Strive to better your life?”
He shook his head. Her philosophy was entirely foreign to his way of thinking. “What point in planning for a future when my past will never change? I am not unhappy.”
“But are you happy?”
He turned to the door. “Does it matter?”
