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If anyone knew if all three ships landed, Draven would.
“Lionel’s. He’s made annotations in the margins.” Charlotte handed the book back to her father. “And library books are not acceptable.”
“Not good enough for you?”
“No two editions are the same. Details are missing or removed entirely. I’m tired of comparing editions and piecing together a complete work,” she said, reciting the very complaints her father expressed many, many times.
It was frustration they shared. She was interested in early accounts of the colony, diaries, and log entries from the very first settlers. Unfortunately, what was socially acceptable had changed greatly in the two hundred and some years since humans arrived on Nexus. Society had drifted toward being more conservative, and “offensive material” had been removed from newer editions.
Her father nodded in agreement. “The truth has been censored.”
“I wouldn’t go that far, but getting my hands on a primary source would be ideal.” Those were under lock and key at a museum in Founding. No amount of money in the world would buy her access without academic credentials.
Nathan took the Beckford book from Charlotte and set it aside. With her hands in his, he said, “If you are trying to punish yourself with exile, don’t.”
“Why would I punish myself?” She gave a nervous laugh. Why did he have to be observant? This wasn’t like him. Usually, he spent his days working on his manuscript about the lost ships and barely noticed the outside world.
“No one could have guessed about Lionel. It’s not your fault.”
She swallowed, her throat suddenly very dry. “He hurt people.”
People she cared for deeply.
“Yes, he did,” Nathan said in a level, reasonable voice. “That is his doing, not yours.”
“I should have known. Suspected. I was blind. I should have—” Charlotte didn’t know what entirely she was meant to have known or done. Her excitement at escaping the fate of an old maid dazzled her, making her overlook Lionel’s true nature. He had acted oddly in the days leading to the wedding, but she brushed away her concerns about his behavior. She had a wedding to plan, after all.
Nathan watched her inner struggle, his eyes soft and compassionate. “He had the entire village fooled. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”
“Don’t I? I hear the whispers when I go into the village,” Charlotte said.
The last time she walked into the tavern, the entire place went quiet. No one looked at her directly, but she felt eyes on her. Always an odd duck in the community—too educated, from money but impoverished, from the village but she had city manners—she never fit neatly into the village’s social structure. Solenne was her dearest and only friend, another odd duck who didn’t quite fit in. Having a compatriot, another woman who didn’t meet society’s expectations, made it less lonely. Now that Solenne was married and Charlotte not, she felt alone.
She wouldn’t be so dramatic to call herself a pariah, although at times it felt like it. She did have Lionel’s fortune and his estate. Money solved a great many problems. If the villagers regarded her with suspicion and were less than friendly, so be it. They accepted her coin.
“Let them talk,” Nathan said.
Pointing out that her father placed no value in having society’s good regard would be a waste of breath. Instead, she said, “My reasons are sound.”
“Research,” he said in a dubious tone.
“If Draven is as old as the rumors claim, then he knew Beckford, Reeve, Stoker—”
“And Radcliffe,” he said, cutting her off.
Charlotte fought the urge to shiver at the name of the infamous butcher, the scientist who went rogue after the ship landed and whose experiments caused the monster mutation. So many died at his hands. Ethan Radcliffe was the name children whispered to scare each other and parents used to warn against bad behavior.
Behave or Radcliffe will find you.
That was a story designed to frighten and not a historical fact. She was only interested in facts. Although, being strictly honest with herself, there was one particularly lurid historical novel that involved Radcliffe seducing a naïve woman. Charlotte read it cover to cover.
Being pure of heart, the heroine resisted Radcliffe and escaped to the loving embrace of an equally virtuous hero. Charlotte had been immensely disappointed that Isadora Starling chose the rather bland Bram Finch over the far more intriguing and appealing doctor. She may have written an impassioned letter to the author of The Curse of Dr. Radcliffe, but she’d never admit it.
“You won’t change my mind.” She lifted her chin, determined. “You are my father and I love you. As much as I wanted your approval, I don’t need it.”
Her father did not respond immediately. The air in the room grew tense.
He smiled, causing wrinkles around his eyes. “You look like your mother when you’re being stubborn.”
