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“We’ve been through that. I wasn’t dead.”
She dropped back into an armchair, drawing her feet up beneath her. “Please leave.” She stared into the dying fire, shoulders heaving as if she sought to settle herself. “You were right to call me fickle. I’ve betrayed Gordon. I’ve kissed another man.”
“I kissed you.”
“Yes, but do you think I would have let you if I didn’t want it?” She covered her face with her hands. “What have I done?”
“Lissa—”
“I said don’t call me that. You promised me earlier tonight you’d be gone from here by morning.”
The taste of her still on his tongue, her smell still heavy in his head, he offered a brief nod. “And so I shall. Goodbye, Elisabeth. If the luck of the gods is with me, I won’t trouble you ever again. “
Walking away was far more than difficult than he’d ever imagined. Yet staying was impossible.
five
Elisabeth cut a wedge of cake, licking the sugar frosting from the flat of her knife. A further rummaging through the kitchens unearthed a tin of gingerbread and a box of candied apricots. So much for the latest alterations to her wedding gown.
Carrying her plate into the front salon, where a fire burned high and bright, she sought respite from her whirlwind thoughts in a comfortable wing chair with the final chapters of The Baron of Falconberg open in front of her. But no amount of drama between the pages or sugarcoated joy dulled her mind’s mad spinning.
Tomorrow she would marry Gordon. No second thoughts. No backing down. She refused to experience the mortification of another broken engagement. She’d lived through the horrid tittle-tattle and sidelong stares once before. She’d not survive them a second time.
Yet, Brendan’s unexpected appearance had exposed some ugly and uncomfortable truths. Pieces of her heart still belonged to the brilliant, mercurial boy of her youth. He’d exploded into her world again, stirring to life long-buried hopes, and just as abruptly vanished in an eerie duplication of his disappearance seven years ago. No word. No sign. As if he’d conjured himself away in a puff of black smoke.
Not out of the realm of possibility, given who and what he was.
Flames danced in the grate, a breeze sputtering her candle. Shadows moved over the walls, shapes tangled in the crowded midnight gloom. The feeling of spirits lingering just beyond her vision, and creatures living within the space between the candle’s flickers quickened her heart until it thudded against her ribs. Her throat closed as she sought to catch the twitch of a gown or the flash of a wing. A pulling back of the curtain
between the everyday world she inhabited and the fascinating impossibilities lying at the core of Brendan’s life.
Had this awareness come from her grandmother’s tales of Ynys Avalenn, the summer kingdom of the Fey, and the wonders to be found there? Was it a result of her family’s straddling of Other and Duinedon? Acknowledging that world without accepting it?
Nervousness tightened her stomach, making her skin crawl as the breeze ruffled the collar of her robe. The candle flamed high then died in a thin stream of acrid smoke. The only light now coming from the fire. Her breath caught in her lungs.
In the ear-ringing tension, the shush of a footstep stopped her heart. The rattle of a knob and the soft creak of a door being opened froze her in her chair, breath held. But it was no wraith or faery who appeared at the door swathed in nightcap and wrapper.
“Aunt Fitz,” she sighed heavily. “You nearly frightened me to death.”
Her aunt eyed the plate at Elisabeth’s elbow reproachfully but kept silent. “Having trouble sleeping?”
Elisabeth shrugged. “It’s been a . . . trying . . . few days. But tomorrow, it shall all be over at last.”
Aunt Fitz crossed to sit in the chair opposite. In her nightclothes, she seemed smaller, slighter, and older than usual, and Elisabeth’s heart went out to her. Despite her prickles, Aunt Fitz had been everything to Elisabeth growing up. She would miss her sorely when she and Gordon relocated to London.
“You look dour for a bride on the eve of her wedding.”
“I was thinking about how much I’ll miss you and Aunt Pheeney. It’s fine to say we’ll see each other often, but we all know it won’t be near as frequently as we’d wish. Gordon won’t want to leave London and his work, you hate to travel, and remember Aunt Pheeney’s last sea journey.”
Aunt Fitz puffed out her chest, a martyred look in her eyes. “As Gilbert said, ‘We are near to heaven by sea as by land,’” she quoted. “And we all know what happened to him.”
“Exactly. You’ll never get her back on a ship.”
Her aunt waved away her worries. “Once you’re married, you’ll be too busy to brood over us old ladies. And we’ll be fine. We have Lord Kilronan close by, should we need a man’s assistance. I hear his sister is home, though none have seen her. They say she’s ill.” Her gaze slid sideways as if she might catch Elisabeth out.
“I don’t know any more than you. I was told it was the measles, though I’m almost certain Sabrina and I had them the same summer.”
“They also say His Lordship is away from Belfoyle right now,” Aunt Fitz continued calmly. “The talk is that he might have heard from his brother after all this time.”
