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Chapter 11

CHAPTER11

No one is coming, Joanna realized, beating her fists against the entrance door. Dust tumbled around her, dislodged by the low rumbling that matched the tremble of her nerves.

The ceiling above her head was about to come crashing down, and there was nowhere for her to go. The windows were boarded up and nailed firmly, the other two doors in the eerie room she had found herself in were locked and would not budge, and the door she had come through had locked itself behind her. Either that or something had fallen in front of it when the last judder of old beams had shivered through the dilapidated eastern wing, dropping planks of wood and chunks of masonry to the ground below.

Just then, she heard it—the sound of her name being called.

“Joanna? Joanna, where are you?” The voice was deep and masculine and worried: a mixture she did not recognize.

“Lady Joanna?” Mrs. Hislop’s voice joined in, and Joanna’s body relaxed in a sigh of relief.

“I am here!” she called back, thanking the heavens for this mercy. By rights, she did not deserve it, considering she had been snooping in places that she had been warned were unsafe. Yet, she had looked for the telltale streaks of red and found none.

She thought she heard Mrs. Hislop yelp in gratitude, as sturdy footfalls thudded toward the door that refused to open. From the other side, Joanna heard the hiss of a muttered curse, and a grunt of exertion that was swiftly followed by the scrape of wood on stone. Heavy wood, by Joanna’s reckoning.

The ancient, iron-ring handle turned, and the door swung wide to reveal the pale and anxious face of Edwin, with the equally bloodless and worried face of Mrs. Hislop beside him. It was the latter who ran for Joanna, pulling her out of the condemned room and pulling her into a tight embrace, though Joanna’s eyes remained fixed upon Edwin.

So, there is something other than grim irritation within him, she mused, forgetting that she had almost been crushed by falling debris. How could she think of that when Edwin was staring at her with such open, overwhelming concern?

“Lady Joanna, what were you thinking?” Mrs. Hislop scolded, releasing Joanna from her tight grip as the older woman looked Joanna over, checking for signs of injury. “Are you hurt? Did you get hit? Did you not see the big red stripe on the door?”

Joanna dropped her chin to her chest, shamefaced. “I did not, but I am not hurt. I am sorry if I disturbed you all with my… um… screaming. Truth be told, I cannot recall the last time a sound such as that came out of my mouth. You must have been terrified that someone was being murdered.”

Edwin turned his back on Joanna a moment too slow for her to miss the flinch that twisted his face back into its customary grimace. She had not meant to speak of murder, but his reaction could not be ignored, not after the way he had looked at her at the abrupt end of their dinner.

“Your Grace, did you not warn her that it was not safe to enter the eastern or southern wings?” Mrs. Hislop chided, tangling Joanna’s stomach into knots, for she did not want the older lady to get in trouble on her behalf. She doubted Edwin allowed anyone to speak to him in such a fashion without consequences.

With his back still turned, Edwin puffed out an irritated sigh. “Actually, I did. She did not listen.” He cast Mrs. Hislop a sideways glance. “And do not refer to her as Lady Joanna. She is a duchess. It is unbefitting of her station.”

“Fiddlesticks to honorifics, when your wife has almost suffered a terrible accident!” Mrs. Hislop insisted, breathing hard. “Did you truly tell her not to investigate the old wings, or were you so vague that she could not have known the state of these sections?”

Edwin’s brow furrowed, his shoulders stiffening. “Perhaps, I was not clear enough.” He paused. “I assume it is clear now?”

“Yes,” Joanna replied, her heart in her throat. How could he flit from obvious panic to cold indifference in the span of five seconds? What was wrong with him, that he showed no desire to ensure that she was well, when he had obviously run from his chambers to rescue her? He had heard her screams, for if he had not, he would not have been there. So, what had made him transform so quickly? It surely could not have been her mention of murder, could it?

Mrs. Hislop put an arm around Joanna. “Come, my dear, let’s get you a warming drink and something sweet to steady your nerves.”

“Might you bring paper and ink?” Joanna asked, mustering a brave chuckle.

Mrs. Hislop shot a dark look at Edwin, no doubt thinking the worst—a letter asking for an annulment or something of that kind. “Whatever for?”

“I should like you to draw me a map of the manor and all the places I must not tread. It does not matter if you have no gift for drawing, for I only need the idea of a diagram. Then, I will carry it around with me like a letter from a beloved, so I will never find myself trapped in a room with rather excitable masonry again,” Joanna answered, forcing a smile. “That way, if I should feel inclined to fetch a glass of warm milk in the night, I will not have to rely upon seeing red paint in the dark. Alas, I do not have the eyes for it.”

Mrs. Hislop gave Joanna a gentle squeeze. “Perhaps His Grace could do such a thing for you.” She glanced back at him as she steered Joanna away. “Your Grace, might you?”

“If I have a moment,” Edwin replied stiffly, though his tone seemed to suggest that he would not bother to carve out such a moment to make the map.

Joanna frowned at him as she allowed Mrs. Hislop to guide her to the safety and warmth of the kitchens—a place she had not been looking for when she had gone a-wandering. Edwin had made her curious about the true condition of the manor, and, unable to sleep, she had somehow thought it wise to see for herself.

Did he intend for me to do so? Did he want harm to come to me? She could neither believe it nor fully doubt the possibility, for the more she encountered her husband, the more of a stranger he became. Perhaps, she would never be properly acquainted with him, and perhaps that was for the best.

* * *

Trying his best to be as quiet as possible, Edwin kneeled in front of the offending door that had locked Joanna in the old ballroom of the eastern wing. The lintel had collapsed, blocking it, but he could not risk the ancient locking mechanism trapping someone inside either. Namely, Joanna, if she should decide not to heed his clearer warning to avoid the crumbling parts of the manor.

What did I say that made her curious? he wondered, for that was the only explanation that made sense; that Joanna’s curiosity had been piqued, leading her to venture to such places in the dead of night when no one would prevent her.

“I should not have said anything about these… wretched wings,” he muttered as he worked, his heart still racing from the fear that had gripped him as he had come running to Joanna’s aid. “I should have let them fall to dust and ruin long ago. I should have torn them down myself.”

He jolted in alarm as something splashed on the floorboard by his right knee. With shaky fingertips, he touched his cheek and found a narrow, damp streak that ran all the way to the edge of his jaw, where the traitorous droplet must have fallen.

“I should never have allowed Joanna to come here,” he whispered, closing his eyes to hold back any other errant tears that might escape. “She is… dangerous for me. She has invaded my dreams, she has invaded my home, she has… plans for the parts of this house that should be buried far below the earth.”

“Oh, Your Grace,” Mrs. Hislop’s soft voice almost made him drop the knife he had been using to loosen the archaic bolts that held the locking mechanism in place.

Edwin swallowed, “Do not pity me, Mrs. Hislop.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she said quietly, approaching with hesitant footsteps.

He glanced up at her, astounded to discover that she had brought a tea tray as if she knew he would stay behind to tend to the door. “Is she… well?”

“You should’ve asked her that yourself, Your Grace, but yes, she is well. I gave her a drop or two of tonic in her tea to help her sleep. She’s had quite the shock tonight and could’ve used a comforting word from her husband, but my words and my special tonic had to suffice,” she replied, in a tone that was not quite scolding, but not quite approving.

Edwin drew in a tight breath. “You do realize that you are not supposed to speak to your master like that, do you not?”

“I’ve known you since you were knee-high, Your Grace. I respect you, and I’m loyal to you, but if I see something that doesn’t sit right in this heart of mine, I’ll tell you. You used to appreciate that honesty,” she told him, resting a tender hand upon his shoulder as she leaned down to set the tea tray by him.

Edwin swallowed. “I do appreciate it.” He poured himself a cup of tea and one for Mrs. Hislop. “Are you certain Joanna is well? She was not injured?”

He had peeked into the old ballroom to assess the damage, horrified by the sight of vast chunks of stone and splintered timber that must have fallen so very close to Joanna. He did not know what had caused the disturbance, but the abandoned wings of the manor did as they pleased, falling apart at the merest creak of a foot on the wrong floorboard.

“She was shaken, but that is all,” Mrs. Hislop replied, taking the cup of tea that was offered. “I do not believe it was entirely the fault of the masonry, either.”

Edwin frowned. “What do you mean?”

“She is scared of you, Your Grace. She might have led a sheltered existence, but you can wager everything you have gained from your marriage that she has heard the rumors about you,” Mrs. Hislop explained haltingly, as she did not know how to phrase what needed to be said. “I will not tell her your story, as it is not my place—I told her as much—but you ought to, sooner rather than later. Make it right, Your Grace, for this manor, is in desperate need of her, and I do not solely mean financially.”

Edwin sipped his tea, hoping it might melt the lump in his throat. “She asked about my past?”

“Not in so many words, but she is curious about you,” Mrs. Hislop said, sitting right down on the floor beside him. “She has great promise, Your Grace if you would just allow yourself to see a brighter future. After all, she has not yet fled, though her horse is in the stables and there are not enough staff to stop her if that was what she desired. That must mean something, don’t you think?”

Edwin took another sip of his tea. “I do not want it to mean anything.”

“Balderdash,” Mrs. Hislop grumbled. “Everyone wants to be loved, Your Grace. Everyone wants to be happy, especially those who think it is beyond their reach. Indeed, shall I tell you a little secret?”

Edwin gave a small shrug.

“Those who think it is beyond their reach never bother to extend their hand to find out,” Mrs. Hislop continued. “If you were to reach out, I guarantee you would find her hand, waiting to pull you toward something greater. And I think you would find happiness if you would but let yourself be happy.”

But as Edwin stared ahead at the door he was attempting to fix, thinking of the empty, cobwebbed, decrepit rooms beyond, a terrible chill slithered through his veins. How could he ever tell Joanna his story—the story of what had taken place in those condemned parts of the manor, and at the river he pretended did not exist? Deep in his frosted heart, he knew he would not get halfway through before she took off running, as fast and as far as her legs could carry her.

Let her be afraid of me, he urged in silence, for he could not allow his heart to thaw. If it melted, even a little bit, he would crumble like the manor that had rotted with him for all these years.

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