Chapter 36

Thirty-Six

CADIEUX HOUSE, LONDON - JUNE 18, 1816

WILLIAM

For the first time in recent memory, I woke alone. I didn't like it. I hated it, in fact. I hadn't felt her leave my arms and that was a terrible shame. She should be here, warm, sleep-rumpled, and sweet. Instead, the bed was cold.

A tap , rap , tap sounded from the window. The same infuriating tit from yesterday. "Hush you," I said, feeling every bit the fool. It ceased its tapping but gave an indignant chirp as it stared at me. Good lord, I was talking to a bird.

Something was… not right. I could not point to it and name it. But something was coming.

My clothes from last night were folded neatly at the foot of the bed. I grabbed my trousers and stuffed in first one leg then the second, then I rose to fasten the buttons. And still no sign of Celine, just the two-note song of the damn bird.

Tossing on my shirt, I made for the door only for the handle to twist of its own accord under my hand. Celine stepped inside, a tray balanced against her hip as she shut the door behind her, my position unnoticed. She turned and jumped like a startled cat, her free hand pressed to her breast. Her clothed breast.

Notably, she was fully dressed for the day. Hair tugged back and up. She even wore slippers. Not once, since I joined her here, had I seen her dressed before half past ten. I hadn't glanced at the clock this morning, but it was certainly earlier than that.

"William! You startled me."

"You're dressed."

"Yes?"

"Why?" She set the tray on the edge of the bed before straightening. Her shoulders rolled back nearly imperceptibly with a heavy but delicate breath. And her eyes met mine.

And I knew.

"Do you want something to eat?"

I considered the bed for a moment. I wasn't entirely certain my knees would hold for the blow that was coming. But the bed… the bed where, for two perfect nights I had loved her and she had loved me… No. Standing was better.

"If it's all the same to you, I'd rather not." I'd rather not have this moment at all. I'd rather still be in that bed with you snoring softly in my arms. I'd rather still be at that ridiculous ball with my ridiculous attempt at waltzing. Anywhere else.

I had the brief notion at the start of whatever this was, that this moment might be easier for knowing it was coming. It wasn't. If anything, it was worse. Because even knowing it was inevitable, even though I was ready for it, I hadn't seen it coming. Not really. Not like this. Not when I had the vague notion to sneak upstairs at the office and find my mother's ring.

"William…" There was no warmth, none of the usual affection. I hadn't noticed until just this moment.

Part of me wanted to urge her on, to force her hand. But the petty, jealous, broken part of me wanted her to suffer for it. To drag it out. And the rather delusional part clung to hope, desperate to give her one last moment to change her mind.

"William, I…" Her gaze cast about the room as she searched for the right words. Anywhere but at me. "I think it's time you returned home."

A fist tightened around my chest, heart, lungs, esophagus, all of it. The tears were there, of course they were, but that—that was the one thing I would not do.

"I see." The words ripped from me, my tone far steadier than I felt.

"I-I've been using you." Even now, even in this, she was beautiful. It wasn't fair. That the sun should halo her so, that her cheeks should flush that delicately—it was cruel. "I've been using you. I don't love you. I can't love you."

There it was. The crack. The physical agony that burst from my chest. I tried to swallow it but it lodged there, suffocating me.

"I'm sorry, William."

And with that, she turned and stepped out, leaving me open and bleeding on her frilly purple carpet.

I took a great ragged, rasping breath. There was pain, Lord there was pain. At some point after the door shut, my knees gave out and I landed in a ragged heap. Ironically in very much the same position I had found last night with her in my arms.

But I felt relief too. The waiting was over. No more worry over whether this thing, or the next, or the one after that would be the one. The thing that did it—that reminded her how far beneath her I was.

This feeling, this bone-deep agony, this was the worst it would be.

I didn't know how long I sat there. Not crying, surprisingly. My eyes were dry. But breathing. It was a difficult enough task at the moment, each breath taking consideration and will. But eventually I managed to stand.

When I slipped into the hall, I found my bag packed. And wasn't that just charming? Had she informed the entire staff this morning? Or merely the essentials? The snap of irritation was a balm against the devastation, and I clung to it, fed it. I grabbed my bag and hurried down the stairs to the door.

Bouvier hovered uncomfortably there, a carriage waiting through the doors. "Monsieur… I'm?—"

"Don't. Please." I could not manage the man comforting me.

I could feel wide, downturned green eyes behind me. It took everything inside me not to turn and beg, scream, cry, anything.

"Would you prefer the carriage, sir?"

The carriage… The carriage with a desperate Celine whimpering for me. Certainly not.

"I think I'll walk. Can you have my bag sent at your convenience?"

"Of course."

I nodded and set the bag aside. I stepped purposefully through the door when he opened it, out into the deceptive sunlight. On the little railing sat the damned bird, silent for once in its damned life.

CELINE

The ease of it was the worst part. Not on my end, of course. I felt an agony that was at once the same and entirely different from the torment of Gabriel's death. That I managed to get the words out with any semblance of steadiness was owed entirely to determination and the numbness that had settled over me.

But his acceptance—that was a pain I would not soon forget. There was no fight in him, not a single word of protest. Even beneath the hurt in his eyes, a shade of ice blue that was entirely new to me. There was no steel, merely resignation and almost… relief. And wasn't that a sickening thought?

The man had worked his way into every facet of my life within days. My bed smelled of citrus and sage and him. His cravat and waistcoat were still spread on the edge of the bed. The lilies he brought me were still in bloom on my bedside table. Everywhere I turned, reminders of William. My door reminded me of him. My flesh was a reminder. Under my skirts, sets of five finger-shaped bruises lined my upper thigh. My neck bore similar marks. He was everywhere.

And gone.

I climbed into the unmade bed in a pathetic ball. The fabric was cold and stark, wrinkles the only reminder of his presence, that and the divot from his head on the pillow.

I wrapped the bed coverings around myself, swaddled tight like an infant. That was when the tears began to flow, fast and hot in enduring rivulets down my cheeks. My breathing, too, came ragged in harsh pants that filled the silent room.

There were no sobs. Those were for people who were not the cause of their own suffering. They were a relief to the knot in my throat that I did not deserve.

I must have fallen asleep eventually because I woke, still bereft of his warmth, to an irritating chirp outside the window.

Damn bird.

"Go away," I mumbled, my throat raw and sharp, in the direction of the bird. If anything, the chirping increased in volume and frequency, with an added tap on the window between each two-note repetitions.

Over and over again he continued, chirp twice, tap, chirp twice, tap. I ignored it. I yelled at it and ignored it again in a similar rhythm. Eventually, I could take it no longer and flopped my way out of my pile of bedding to yank the window open with no ceremony and far more irritation than the situation deserved.

Far from startled by my efforts, the bird made two little hops to sit on the inside of the sill. It tilted its head, staring at me curiously, judgmentally.

"What?"

Chirp-chirp , it answered. It hopped over to the side of the sill where a pile of pebbles sat. After grabbing one in its little beak, it bounced over and dropped it in front of me. It was bizarre. I would have thought I'd imagined it if a tiny pebble didn't sit before me.

I glanced about the room, searching for something, anything. My eyes fell on the breakfast tray still on the opposite side of the bed from where I cried myself to sleep. I stepped away and grabbed the pastry and the empty teacup. I tore a tiny bite off the edge of the pastry and handed it to the bird. He ate it in one, two bites with a pleased two-note chirp.

Skipping back, he grabbed another pebble and set it next to the one in front of me. I traded him for a piece of pastry. This continued twice more until he returned, looked at the bite, looked at me, sauntered over to the empty cup, and tapped it.

Taking it to the basin, I filled it and returned and watched in awe as he flitted to the rim and dipped down to take a drink before returning to the pebbles and bringing another one to me.

After that trip, he took no more bites and drank no more. Instead, he tapped the sill next to his stones.

"Yes, it's a nice pile." He tapped it again with his beak. "Thank you."

Three quick hops and he found my finger resting on the wooden frame and gave it a sharp peck.

"What?" He pecked at the finger once again before returning to his pebbles. He straightened one or two before stepping away and quirking his head at me.

Finally, I looked, truly looked at the pebbles. They were arranged in a W .

"I'm losing my mind. This is what going mad feels like," I muttered under my breath.

Chirp-chirp.

"Gabriel?"

Two chirps.

"I don't know what this means." He pecked my hand and tapped his pebbles again.

"I don't know what you want from me. I don't understand." He grabbed the tip of a finger in his beak, dragging my hand to the pebbles. "You want me to find W ?"

Chirp-chirp.

"I can't. They'll kill William. I can't let that happen. I'm sorry, Gabriel. I would give almost anything to find out what happened to you. Anything but him." That statement earned me a flurry of angry cheeps and taps and a slightly more vicious peck at which point I pulled my fingers away.

"I'm sorry. But no. Not him. I won't let anything happen to William."

He gave one more irritated series of chirps before he flew off, leaving behind a thousand questions and no answers.

Anthropomorphizing a bird who wanted breakfast, that was madness. No question.