Page 96 of The Unknown Birds

Visit, a heart I have forgot,

A self that I have never met,

A secret shrine—and yet, and yet

—Charles Hamilton Sorley

Expectans Expectavi

Lazy and content, Ash watched as Rook prepared to dress the next morning. He’d always been beautiful in a striking, rugged way, and the remnant of his leg was no different.

“I forgot you were a nurse,” he said, when he caught her looking.

She blushed but didn’t turn away. “Your surgeons did a wonderful job. You don’t have phantom pain?”

“Rarely anymore. The cold can be a bother.”

“Then I shall have to keep you warm,” she said, stretching towards his thigh, but stopping short, and gazing up at him. “May I?”

He nodded, and she leaned down to gently kiss his leg. When she looked up at him again, a wicked smile had spread across his face.

They didn’t make it down to breakfast.

The week passed far too quickly, as blissful days are often wont to do. Ashley and Rook spent as much time as possible enjoying the idyllic grounds of Collingwood Park, strolling in the sunny garden, intoxicated by each other as much as the scents of lilies, calendula, and hollyhocks. They read side by side in the library and ate more delicious food than they had any right.

Without ever asking, Davies seemed to know some shift had taken place, and he couldn’t have seemed more delighted, offering them ample opportunities to be alone while he worked in his study.

In the evenings they dined early, keeping country hours according to the captain, and afterwards they played cards or simply chatted, sharing memories of days long past.

“Here now, Rook, you must give us a tune,” Davies said on Thursday after dinner when their stories had all run dry. “Did he ever tell you how he used to play for me when we were convalescing? My, but we were a pathetic pair, all bound up in our own private misery, only each other for company like two sad old hermits.”

“Until you dragged me back to London.”

“It wasn’t me who dragged him back,” Davies confided to Ash.

“No?” she asked.

“Course not. It was the hope of finding you.”

She turned to Rook, who pretended not to hear them, as he sat at the piano, but a flush had crept up the back of his neck.

Ash reveled in the chance to hear him play again.

He started with “It Had to Be You,” which made her feel warm and syrupy inside. She darted a glance towards Davies, but his head was tipped back, eyes closed, a placid smile gracing his lips.

Rook moved on to Cole Porter next and then Irving Berlin. It was as though he were playing a whole concert meant only for her.

When he began “My Blue Heaven,” Davies opened one eye. “Bit on the nose, don’t you think old chap? What would you have played if she hadn’t been wearing blue?”

Ashley’s cheeks burned, but Rook seemed to ignore him for a moment until he replied, “ ’Twas you who demanded I play,” and then reaching the end, he deftly transitioned to Gershwin.

When the final notes of “Someone to Watch Over Me” filled the room, Davies said, “That’s more like it. And now I think I’ll take myself off to bed, if you two can find something to keep yourselves occupied.”

“He’s not very subtle,” Ash said, once the door had closed behind him and Rook had joined her on the settee.

“That’s an old soldier for you.”

Ash smiled to think what her mother would make of Davies, not yet fifty, being described as old.