Page 52

“Not quite,” said Nathaniel, looking up. His eyes were full of sadness and, no doubt, memories. “This door was unlocked today for the first time in fourteen years.”

His voice rasped slightly, and there was a broken edge to it. He cleared his throat and threw her a glance. “Mrs. Nicholson should have prepared everything by now. Follow me.”

Calliope watched him step onto the stairs and ascend them, the light of the lamp illuminating the old wood, spiderwebs, and footprints in the thick layer of dust that lay on the steps. With her heart beating quickly, she followed Nathaniel, who held the candle so that it would also illuminate the way for her.

At the top of the stairs, he opened another door, and moonlight fell through it.

He walked through the door first. When Calliope followed, a gasp escaped her throat.

They were on a roof terrace, closer to the sky than she had ever been, looking down at the endless London rooftops, dark against the starlit sky. Buildings surrounded them, and yet, Calliope had an odd sense of being alone with Nathaniel.

The terrace was as large as the drawing room, surrounded on three sides by the roof itself. On the fourth side, a stone railing faced the distant silhouette of Buckingham Palace. Beautiful golden lights of lanterns glowed all around. In the middle of the terrace lay a large quilt with a little basket and a bottle of wine with two glasses.

And around the perimeter of the terrace were pots and pots of yellow irises.

Calliope’s hand shot to her heart, feeling as though it was going to break through her chest and fly straight into the glowing stardust above.

“Nathaniel…” she whispered, tears prickling her eyes.

He watched her with a look of wonder.

“Do you like this?”

She nodded. “This is breathtaking. How did you manage this? When?”

“Ever since you told me yellow irises were your favorite flowers, I keep seeing them everywhere. I saw someone at the market selling them when we were on our way from Newdale to here, and while Mrs. Nicholson cooked dinner, I asked Joshua to go and buy them, then put them here. They will have much more light here during the afternoon than down in the backyard. Then you can decide where you want them.”

She nodded and had an overwhelming urge to kiss him, to press her face against his chest and inhale his godly scent, to be surrounded by him and the lanterns and the stars and the irises.

“Come to the railing,” said Nathaniel, taking her hand again. “You’re not afraid of heights, are you?”

She chuckled as she shook her head. “No.”

They went to the time-worn stone railing, and Calliope’s breath caught all over again as she watched the dark streets of Mayfair illuminated by the moonlight and gas lamps, and the lights spreading into darkness as her gaze traveled farther. The roofs, appearing silver in the moonlight, were mostly flat, with rows of chimneys poking into the air. The air here was fresh, and the wind played with stray locks of her hair. It was quiet. A carriage passed slowly on the street below, then another one. Servants argued a few houses down the street. Pigeons cooed. A gentleman walked on the street to the left, his dark figure appearing under the light of the lamp, then disappearing into the darkness.

She gazed up into the sky and was lost in the myriad of stars that shone over them.

She looked at Nathaniel, who observed her, his face relaxed and soft for the first time perhaps since she’d met him.

“Why haven’t you been here in fourteen years?” she asked softly. “This is such a beautiful place. The gem of this house.”

He nodded, his eyes clouding with sadness. He looked at his hands gripping the railing.

“This was my mother’s favorite place in the house, too,” he said quietly. “She hid here with me from my father. He never thought to look here.”

Calliope’s face fell. “Hid?”

“My father was not an easy man.” Nathaniel chuckled. “How could he, when he was the richest duke in England, the most powerful man below the king. He was relentless with his expectations of me. Of my mother. And he was persistent in telling us exactly what was wrong with us.”

Calliope’s skin grew cold. Her own father had been strict, too, but there was no doubt in her mind he had loved all his children, and he’d worshipped Mama. “What did he do?”

“He knew the exact words to say that would cause the most damage. He said Mama was too weak and too fat for a duchess. Indulging too much in food. When she started eating less and then acquired the habit of vomiting her dinners, she became too thin, which also greatly displeased him. With him, she was a shadow. When she was away from him, she was the light itself. Before the girls were born, we came here and watched the city from above. We sat on this very quilt she had stitched herself.”

“Nathaniel…” She covered his hand with hers, feeling his anger, his disdain, his pain. “What a terrible man.”

He chuckled. “And I was never smart enough, never well behaved enough. I never finished Oxford. After my mother died, I drank, went to the wrong kinds of soirées, gambled, and wasn’t interested in being a duke in the slightest. Since he had no other heir, he couldn’t just disown me or his line would have died. So his way of getting what he wanted was his will. But it all got so, so much worse when he learned of the true reason for my mother’s death.”

Feeling like she wanted to encompass him in her arms, Calliope stood close to him, so close she pressed against the side of his body. “What was the reason for your mother’s death?”