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“We’ve established how I feel about your library.”
His eyes sparked with amusement. “Quite.”
She didn’t bother to ask if Draven missed his parents. He never answered personal questions and he’d likely deny he had parents, springing fully formed from the void. Or friends. Instead, she asked, “What was chocolate like?”
“Chocolate?”
“I’ve always been curious. It’s mentioned in several books as being akin to ambrosia, but we don’t have it here.”
“Yes. The seeds didn’t survive the trip. Corrosion and a water leak took out a portion of the seed bank, which I doubt Captain Beckford shared with anyone.” He sighed. “Shame. We don’t have the climate for cacao trees, but we manage to grow coffee, so it could have been done. To answer your question, chocolate is bitter on its own. We sweetened it with sugar and milk to form blocks.”
“Like fudge?”
“Harder, but you have the principle. Wonderfully versatile. We added it to everything, pastries. Melted it down and dipped in strawberries.” He paused, gauging her reaction. She had to admit, a chocolate-dipped strawberry sounded decadent. “Sometimes we drank it hot.”
“But what did it taste like?”
“Like chocolate.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes at his non-answer. “Helpful. Thank you.”
“Warm and nutty. Sweet.” He shook his head. “It’s versatile. There’s no one flavor. I particularly enjoyed chocolate with salted caramel. The bar would be studded with salt crystals and it’s a wonderful contrast to the sweetness.”
They sat for a few moments in silence. Draven continued to push his spoon around the bowl of stew, not eating a great deal and presumably reminiscing about chocolate.
“I’ll miss midwinter in the village. The decorations are lovely. The night market is filled with treats you can only get this time of year,” Charlotte said, describing the village’s holiday celebration with enthusiasm. But it wasn’t the sweets or the ice skating that she’d miss. “Papa and I would read aloud the papers we were working on and give critiques.”
Draven’s brows went up. “Scholarly papers?”
Charlotte nodded. “I know it’s silly, but it started when I was young. Papa was always working, and I wanted to spend time with him, I guess. I’d scribble in a notebook and make up some story and he’d listen.”
She remembered her father’s patient expression and her mother’s smile as Charlotte babbled about whatever fancy caught her imagination. It was one of the few clear memories she had of her mother. That was probably the reason Nathan carried on with the tradition as it grew from indulging a child to two scholars sharing their enthusiasm for their latest research project.
“It’s silly. We should have outgrown it long ago,” she said.
Draven reached across the table and took her hand. “It sounds charming. I miss discussing research with my brother. We were in similar fields, and he often had insights.”
“You’ve mentioned your brother once before.” Charlotte’s entire body perked, hoping that Draven was in a sharing mood. Personal information came in drips and drabs with him.
He yanked his hand away, as if he had been burned, and stood abruptly. “I trust I answered tonight’s question to your satisfaction. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
Charlotte sighed when he left the room and served herself a slice of the apple tart. Draven had unintentionally revealed more about himself than he intended. Interesting.
Chapter Seventeen
Charlotte
The Aerie
Draven’s Library
Charlotte closed the journal.
Well, that was certainly something.
She didn’t know what was more upsetting. The fact that the pieces had been there the whole time, waiting for her to put them together, or that Draven had done such a poor job hiding the information.
It was right there in the open, and if Charlotte had given Draven’s proposition proper thought instead of impulsively saying yes, she’d have realized sooner. Well, it was too late now. She was here. More fool her.
