Marchioness by Fate’s Accident (Preview)

Prologue

1807

The morning was quiet and just by looking at the stones, one could tell that they were cool to the touch. Philip kept to the dry part of the beach and held his shoulders square, as if posture could keep the day correct. At the age of eleven, he was already growing into what felt proper and what didn’t. His little sister, Selina, scampered forward, paying little to no regard to anything else.

“Walk, Selina. Do not run,” Philip warned, the edge in his tiny voice evident.

“I am not running. I am just flying very close to the earth.”

“You must not say such things. Your dress will be wet.”

“My dress is brave.” She responded, flicking the hem and laughing. Before Philip could get another word in, she bent for a small scallop. “Look, Philip. A fairy fan.”

“Selina, you are seven,” he said, making his voice deeper than normal. “Father said I am to watch you properly.”

“He said that because you forget to admire things. Will you admire the fan at least?”

He took the shell and examined it, if only for her sake. The pink was soft and the ridges were clean. He wanted to call it pretty but that was the last thing expected of him.

A gentleman does not indulge in things that frivolous.

“It is common,” he said.

“Regular is not pretty.”

“A gentleman observes. He does not say pretty.”

“Then observe that it is pretty.” She placed it in her reticule and moved to a bright tide pool. “There are gardens below. See them wave.”

“Do not lean,” he warned, reaching for her before she could even tip to the other side . “You will fall.”

“I shall not. I am only bowing.”

He heard his father as if the waves carried the words. Even in his absence, he still managed to command some sense into the little boy.

You will watch over Selina properly and you will set a steady example.

“Take my hand,” he said eventually, reaching forward.

“You may have one.” She gave him her fingers and regarded him with solemn delight. “Now I am the most proper lady in this village.”

“Lower your voice. We cannot let people hear us.”

“No one is around to hear us silly” she said, breaking into a laugh. “You can scream as loud as you like.”

Philip swallowed but said nothing else. A gentleman does not argue with a lady. He only corrects her. A gasp escaped Selina’s lips as her eyes settled on a space beyond the mountains. She had seen something else that had tickled her fancy. Before he could speak, she drew him along the rock path.

“There,” Selina said. “Do you see them?”

“What.”

“Girls,” she said, lifting her hand. “They are collecting the stones by the sea.”

Philip followed her gaze. Two girls moved where the beach waves rose toward the cliff. One carried a willow basket, the other had her hem pinned up. Their feet looked pale and dirty. They also glistened in the overhead sun. He felt a tug in his chest partly from curiosity and partly from caution. His thoughts leaned more into the latter when Selina raised her hand at the girls.

“Do not wave,” he said. “Selina, do not.”

“Why.”

“You must not speak to poor children.”

“Why must I not.”

“It is a wrong thing to do.”

“Why is it wrong?”

“Because we do not know them,” he said. “Because Father would not like it.”

“Father does not like eating bread either, and yet we do.” She tipped her head, grave for a heartbeat. “Are they unkind?”

“No.”

“Are they dangerous?”

“No,” he said, and his throat grew hot. “They are only poor.”

“Then we are in danger of being rude.” She lifted her arm and waved, neat and cheerful. “Good morning.”

“Selina,” he whispered. “Please.”

“Good morning,” she called again, not loud, only clear. “Your basket is handsome.”

The two girls paused. The older one straightened with care and the younger one stared at Selina’s ribbon as if it were a bird. Philip heard the small clicks of pebbles under their feet.

“We should keep to ourselves,” he said. “It is only proper.”

“It is also proper to be kind.”

“Selina, this matter is not up for debate.”

“It costs nothing to be kind.” She squeezed his hand. “Come, Philip. We will only look.”

For the first half of the next minute, he did not move. His father’s training hammered in his head instead, like a stone pressing cotton.

A gentleman does not run.

A gentleman does not shout.

A gentleman prevents mistakes.

He looked at Selina’s bright face and at the girls, and he could not find an instruction that fit.

“What if they think we are improper?” he said.

“They will not.” Selina stepped and pulled him two small paces. “Come along.”

“Selina, stop.”

“I will be polite.”

“You are a child,” he said, trying for eleven to sound older. “You do not understand such distinctions.”

“You are only older than me by two years!”

Philip frowned. “That is not—”

“Look, I know you are afraid,” she said, without sting. “I am not.”

Heat rose to his ears. He did not want the girls to hear. Instead, he set his jaw, allowed two steps more, then two again. The air smelled of salt and iron and that, in this particular moment, for now kept him steady.

“They are coming nearer,” Selina said, pleased. “You see. It is simple.”

Philip swallowed. Selina was right. They were getting closer. The older one had darker hair than the younger but Philip could tell that they were sisters.

“Stand straight,” he said to Selina as they grew closer. “And do not let the wind take your bonnet.”

“I like the wind.” She squared her small shoulders. “Do you like it?”

He opened his mouth, about to say something in response, when the girls reached them. The taller one set her eyes on Philip for the better half of a minute before shifting her eyes to Selina. Philip wondered what his father would have done if he was in this situation. He swallowed, the sound getting lost in the wind.

“Good afternoon,” she said eventually. “I am Alicia, and this is my sister, Lucy.”

Selina brightened. “Good afternoon. This is my brother and we are seeking treasure.”

“It is a good shore for treasure,” Alicia said. “If you know where to look.”

Philip bowed. “Good afternoon.” He edged forward.

“What is in your basket,” Selina asked.

“Oh just stones,” Alicia said as she drew out a flat, dark piece with a fern caught in it. “This one grew when your grandmother’s grandmother was not yet born.”

Selina gasped. “How do you know?”

“Everyone knows.” Alicia lifted the slab to the light. “See the stem, and the small leaves like fish bones. Mr. Cole at the blacksmith shop calls the pattern a frond.”

“Mr. Cole is wrong,” Philip said, then flushed almost immediately. “My tutor says the great flood put these stones here, all at once. So they cannot be so old.”

Alicia looked at him, steady. “New ones appear after every storm. They do not come all at once.”

“My tutor says otherwise.”

“Your tutor does not walk the shore after a gale, does he?” she said. “They do not appear all the time. Lucy found three after last week’s rain, did you not.”

Lucy nodded, shy and proud. “They lay together like sisters.”

Selina clapped softly. “May I touch?”

“You may,” Alicia said, placing the fern stone in Selina’s hands. “Do not scrape it.”

Selina stroked the smooth bits. “Philip, look. Is this not the prettiest thing you have ever seen?”

“It is neat,” he said, and kept his hands behind his back before he cleared his throat. “You ought not to correct a gentleman’s tutor.”

“I did not mean any rudeness,” Alicia said. “Only to tell what I see.”

“What you see may be wrong.”

“Then the sea is wrong.”

Philip opened his mouth to speak again, utterly astounded by this strange girl standing before him. Selina however, chose that exact moment to speak as well.

“Do you know shells?”

“A little,” Alicia said, pleased. “This is an ammonite. If you break it, there is a shiny point inside, but that would make it look rather ugly. It is better to keep it whole.”

A brief pause settled between them as Selina continued to examine the rock. Alicia, in that moment glanced at Philip, a low tease on the edge of her voice. “Sir, perhaps your tutor knows what an ammonite is.”

“He did not say those names,” Philip answered. “He says a gentleman must not grow too excited about things like rocks.”

Selina looked grave. “That is very sad. Rocks are beauty”

“They feed our fire,” Lucy said. “Father says that is enough excitement for a lifetime.”

Alicia dug her hand into her basket and pulled out a small grey shell with a broken rim. “This one is not perfect, but it shows the turn very clearly. Lucy, shall we give it to the young lady? She might like it very much.”

“We shall,” Lucy said, quick and happy.

Selina held out both hands. “Thank you thank you!.”

“It costs us nothing,” Alicia said. “There are many after a storm.” She placed the spiral in Selina’s palms. “It will keep you company with your fan shell.”

Selina turned in triumph. “Philip, see. A true treasure.”

“You must thank them properly,” he said, because it was safe. And because he had nothing else to say.

“I do thank you again.” Selina said, with a small, earnest curtsey.

“You are welcome,” Alicia responded. Her eyes met Philip’s and he looked down almost immediately. She hesitated, then reached into the basket again. He watched her pull out another rock, darker this time. Then she looked at Philip, her eyes clear.

“Sir, perhaps you would like one as well.”

Heat rose under his collar. “I thank you, but I do not need charity.”

“It is not charity,” Alicia said, quietly. “It is a shore gift. A present from the sea.”

“My father would not like it.”

Selina touched his sleeve. “Do not be proud.”

“I am not proud,” he said, which sounded exactly like pride. He looked at the ammonite. The coil drew his eye inward until he feared he might step through. The rock did look rather pretty.

He should refuse. A gentleman did not take from strangers.

He thought of his father, then of Selina’s bright face, before slamming his eyes shut and stretching out his palm. Alicia laid the ammonite in his hand as if it were an egg, her fingers brushing his skin for a fraction of a second.

“Thank you,” he said eventually.

“You are welcome.”

He closed his fingers and felt the ridges mark his palm. Warmth climbed from his fist to his ribs. It unsettled him.

Selina peered. “You like it very much.”

“I do not hate it.”

Alicia laughed. “Perhaps you may like to join us down the cliffs. There are rocks far more beautiful there.”

Selina’s eyes grew wide and Philip threw his head back. He knew where this was going and he knew he would not like it. Not even a little.

“Thank you very much but we must return—”

“It will not take long,” Alicia said, a mischievous smile on her face. Selina reached for Philip’s sleeve and began to drag it, solidifying the fact that his resolve amounted to nothing more.

“Alright but we are not going to stay long.”

Selina beamed and Alicia stepped aside for the two siblings to fall in step. Philip exhaled as he stuck his hands in his pocket. He was only doing this to keep an eye on his sister. No more no less.

They had not gone twenty steps before Alicia looked back.

“Keep your ammonite close,” she said. “Tom is right behind us.”

Selina blinked. “Who is Tom?”

“The village rascal,” Alicia said. “He takes what is not his and forces people to be happy about it.”

Lucy pressed near. “He pulls hair,” she whispered.

Philip drew himself up. “A gentleman cannot be disturbed by boys who laugh.”

Alicia’s mouth tipped. “Tom is not disturbed by gentlemen either.”

Something about the way Alicia had stated those words sent fear down his spine for some reason.

“Do we have to fight him?”

“Heavens no,” she said. “No one fights Tom.”

Selina hugged her little spiral. “He will not want this,” she said. “It is not very shiny.”

“Unfortunately, it does not matter if it is shiny or not,” Alicia said in response. “He will take what he wants.”

The stones rustled behind them and a long shadow crossed the hard ground. Philip felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise on end as a boy of twelve or more strolled out from a pile of rocks, hands in pockets and hair tousled by the wind. Philip exhaled and examined this Tom. He grinned as if the shore belonged to him.

“Afternoon, ladybirds,” he said. “What have you there?”

Selina held tight. “It is nothing.”

Tom’s eyes lit. “Does not look like nothing.”

Philip stepped half a pace forward, then checked. He placed his shoulders as his father had usually instructed, square and still. “You will keep your distance.”

“Oh will I?” Tom asked, mocking Philip’s voice. “I think I will not.”

“Leave us, Tom,” Alicia said. “We are just here to pick rocks.”

“So am I except I am interested in the rocks in your hands,” he said.

Philip and Alicia exchanged slightly confused and slightly fearful glances.

“Let me see.” He reached with a quick, easy motion.

“Do not,” Philip said.

“Do,” Tom answered, and he snatched the spiral from Selina’s grasp. Selina let out a thin cry and grabbed after it but Tom held it high.

“Look at the lady. Tears for a pebble,” he said, laughing.

Alicia’s chin lifted. “Give it back.”

Tom weighed the little fossil in his palm. “I like the turn. It will buy a sweet,” he said, pleased with his wit.

Philip felt his heart kick. His father’s rule rose, cold as morning water. A gentleman never tussles with common boys. He pressed his lips into a hard line and tried to make words do the work.

“Sir, you will return the item at once.”

Tom made a bow that was not a bow at all. “Sir,” he said, rich with mockery. “Come fetch it, fine sir.”

“Do not bait him,” Lucy whispered to Alicia. “Do not anger him again.”

Alicia did not shift her gaze. “You took from a child. You will give it back,” she said.

“Make me,” Tom answered.

Philip’s fists closed, then opened. His throat felt tight, his back straighter than any drill. Concern hammered at his ribs, useless against the rule that sat in his head like a weight.

“Please,” Selina sobbed. “It is mine.”

“Nothing is yours,” Tom said. “This shore feeds us all.”

Selina reached again and Tom let the fossil drop toward the stones, then snatched it back just before it struck. She cried out again. Philip saw it like a portrait. His sister’s wet eyes, the quick toss of Tom’s hand, and that smug and satisfactory smile on his face. He could step forward and take hold. He could break the gentleman rule and rescue his sister’s pebble from the big boy. His feet however, did not move.

Alicia’s on the other hand, did with no problem.

She dashed at Tom almost like a storm. He jerked his arm high, surprised, and she fastened both hands at his elbow, then jumped and caught his wrist with her teeth. Tom shouted and flung his arm, but she hung on, fierce and silent. The rock sprang loose and clattered to the floor.

“Let go,” Tom yelled.

“Give it back,” came out muffled, sharp.

He tried to shake her off but she would not be shaken. He screamed, then hissed as she bit harder.

“Ye witch,” he spat. “Take it then.”

He kicked the ammonite toward Selina and wrested his wrist free, clutching the bitten place with outrage. Alicia stood, her hair slightly rougher than before but her eyes bright as a campfire.

“Leave,” she said.

Tom backed away two steps and glared at Philip. “Fine sir,” he said, his voice ugly. “Your hen fights for you.”

“I said leave.” Alicia said again.

Tom’s eyes darted between the four, decided they weren’t worth his time and made his way out of sight. Selina scrambled and scooped up the rock, then pressed it to her chest and shook.

“He is horrid,” she said.

“He is a boy,” Alicia said, still breathing fast. “They are all horrid.”

Philip found his voice just a while later. “You should not have bitten him,” he said.

“I should have let him keep your sister’s rock,” Alicia said. “Is that the gentleman’s way?”

“I did not say that.”

“Well you did not say anything at all,” she said, quiet now.

Selina turned to Philip, her cheeks flaming red. “Alicia is brave.”

Philip ground his teeth and opened his mouth to respond. A familiar shrill voice pierced the air instead, freezing him and Selina in place.

“Children, children, where are you, this instant?”

Their governess came down the beach in a flurry of ribbons and a face filled with fear and relief. “Selina, your gloves,” she cried. “Philip, what have you done? Your father is in a rage.”

Selina clung to the fossil. “He tried to steal.”

The governess saw Alicia’s hair and Lucy’s bare feet, then saw the boy still running away from them in the distance. A sharp exhale escaped her mouth.

“Good heavens. Tradesmen’s children. Philip, step away at once.”

Before Philip could respond, the sound of footsteps pierced the air again. Their father, Lord Rodlington bore down, his hat in hand and his eyes hard like iron. Philip swallowed.

“What mischief is this?” he said. “What company is this?”

Philip drew himself up. “Sir, there was an attempt—”

“Silence,” his father snapped. “I see enough.” He seized Philip’s arm, firm and punishing. He turned to Selina. “You, child, come here now.”

Selina held her fossil tighter. “Please, Papa, Alicia—”

“Give me that stone,” he said, and he snatched it. Selina twisted away and kept it, small and fierce. “Impudent,” he said. He took her wrist and pulled her close.

His gaze cut to Alicia and Lucy. Disgust entered his face as if it had always lived there. “You,” he said. “Mind your place. If you approach my children again, you will answer to me.”

Alicia stood straight and said nothing in response.

“Come,” Lord Rodlington said once again, dragging Philip forward. The governess on the other hand, fussed around Selina, scolding and soothing by turns.

Alicia lifted her chin. “Good afternoon, Selina,” she said. “Keep your treasure near.”

Selina stretched her free hand toward Alicia, then lost it in the governess’s fuss and the pull of Lord Rodlington’s stride.

Philip stumbled, then found his feet under the hard hand on his arm. The shore blurred, the ammonite in his pocket a weight that would not shift. He did not speak. He could not.

They were a few yards ahead when he looked back. Alicia stood where they had left them with her hair blowing in the wind and her eyes steady. A small smile, quick and rebellious, flickered at the corner of her mouth.

It struck him like salt on a wound.

Chapter One

1815

Rain beat the cottage slates, paused, then returned heavier. Alicia bent over Lucy, small as a folded bird on the narrow bed.

“Listen to the sea,” Alicia said. “Do you hear that?” She warmed Lucy’s fingers between her own. “That is the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks.”

Lucy’s eyelids fluttered, then then grew still. Her breath came in shallow intervals and her body continued to shiver.

“Do you want to hear a story?” Alicia asked in her ear. “Father used to say a story could stimulate the mind and renew the body’s vigor.”

Her eyes turned very quickly to the kettle on the fire just a few yards away from her. There was no steam from it. Instead, it shook vigorously, trying to also bear the chilliness outside.

“Keep breathing,” she said. “I will try again.”

She rose to her feet and crossed to the grate. The ash smelled sour with wood and old soot. She set the scrap on the embers and bent to blow on them as hard as possible. Sparks rose, causing her eyes to widen in hope. Then they fell back dead and the wind drew out all the smoke into the room.

“No no no, please,” she whispered. “Please just once more.”

She blew again.

It didn’t work but the determination to get her sister warm ignited something in her. So she blew again and again until light swam at the edge of her sight. The embers did not glow and the little fire that had been trying to light, gave up. Alicia sat back on her heels and folded her hands to keep from striking the grate.

Lucy stirred and a weak sound came from the bed.

“I am here,” Alicia said. “I am here, Lucy. I will always be here.”

Lucy’s lashes did not lift. They only fluttered ever so gently as Alicia smoothed her hair. The room’s one candle burned short in its pewter dish, scenting the air with smoke and wax. The wick trembled whenever the wind found its way to it.

“Do you remember our song?” Alicia asked, soft and even. “The one we sing when helping father arrange the house?” She paused. “Do you still remember?”

Lucy gave a breath that trembled. Alicia counted the next one, steady as a clock.

“Try to save your strength sister. Tomorrow, I will find some help,” she said.

The wind dropped, and in that small silence a slow, heavy knock settled at the door. The noise went through the weak floorboards and then through her.

Alicia lifted her head and placed a hand on Lucy’s bedframe. The knock came again and forced her to rise to her feet, instinctively placing herself between the bed and the door. Who could possibly be out there in this heavy draft?

Her heart beat hard against her ribs and her hands curled into tight fists, slightly to generate warmth and slightly to get ready for whatever intruder might be on the other side.

Or just someone in need of shelter. The cold outside is intense, is it not?

The third knock came, still with the same patience as the first. She closed her eyes, kept her body square and moved forward. Taking one more look at her sister, she lifted the bar and pulled the door in against the wind.

“I am sorry for the dark,” she said at once. “The storm kills our fire. Do you need shelter?”

A tall man in a drenched coat bowed his head to clear the lintel. Another followed, smaller, his hat in his good hand, his other arm cradled close in a wet sleeve.

“Forgive the liberty,” the first said. “Our carriage axle snapped on the lower road. The coachman waits with the horses. May we stand out the worst of it?”

“You may,” Alicia said. “Mind the step. There is a low beam.”

Alicia closed the door and kept her back to it to shield the bed. Lucy lay small under the quilt, her breath thin.

“The candle died,” Alicia said. “There is no fuel.”

“Pray do not trouble yourself,” the first replied. “We intrude upon you.”

She looked at the second man’s arm and saw what his sleeve tried to hide. The wrist sat wrong above the hand, the skin white with strain.

“Your wrist is hurt,” she said. “Sit, sir. Keep it high. Do not move it if you can help it.”

“It is only a turn,” he answered, brave without success.

“Let him sit,” the first said. “He fell when the wheel gave way.”

Alicia drew the one chair closer. “Take this,” she said. “I will bring a stool.”

“You must not stand on our account,” the first said.

“I am not standing for you,” she said. “Frankly, it is quite better than sitting.” She moved a bowl beneath a drip and set the stool by the practically dead fireplace. “There.”

“You are very kind,” the first said.

She gave the man a brief nod and bent near the wrist of the other. “There is swelling. If I had cloth, I would bind it and a bean stick would serve for a splint.”

The injured man smiled, small and gentle. “You have an eye, miss.”

“When you have been treating wounds all your life,” she said, “you tend to see things others might have missed.”

He laughed, then caught his breath and held still.

“Forgive me,” Alicia said, suddenly breaking out of her reverie and realizing just how rude she had been the entire time. “I should have offered names and did not. I am Alicia. That is my sister. She is asleep, or at least is trying to be.

“You have our thanks, Miss Alicia,” the first said. “I am—” He began, but the wind shrieked in the chimney so that the name tore and fled. “—lip,” was all she heard when the gust passed.

“Sir,” she said.

The injured man gave a little nod. “I am his friend. That is enough for tonight.”

“It is enough,” she said.

She saw good wool dark with rain and boots finer than any that crossed her step. She saw the loosened cravat tied about the bad wrist.

“You are wet through,” she said. “You must have a dry place. You shall take my room.”

“We cannot accept that,” the first objected. “We will do quite well by the door.”

“You will do better in a bed,” she said. “There is a small closet beyond the curtain which is completely dry. I will not hear a refusal.”

“You are helping us a great deal,” he said, almost smiling.

“I wish you to be dry,” she said. “That I can manage.”

“Miss Alicia,” he said. “We will carry no complaint if we remain on the bench.”

“You will not remain on the bench,” she said. “Sir, take the stool. You, sir, give me your coat.”

“I cannot allow that,” the first said.

“You are in my house. You must follow my rules so you do not freeze to death,” she said all with a smile on her face. The first man nodded and handed her the coat. She took it and hung it by the hearth.

“I have bread,” she said. “Though I must warn you, it is coarse.”

“We ate at the inn, thank you very much,” he said. “We shall not take your share.”

Alicia nodded and said nothing else.

He glanced toward the bed, then looked away at once. “We are sorry to disturb your household.”

“You did not disturb it,” she said. “The storm did that long ago.”

The injured man shifted. “I thank you for the chair.”

“May we repay this,” the first asked.

“You may sleep,” she said. “In the morning the storm will determine whether you can leave or not.”

She examined the man before her. Without the coat he looked much younger. She gathered her blanket from the curtain and put it over the stool.

“Wrap this around your shoulders,” she said to the injured man.

She drew the curtain and winced at the tidy poverty of her small bed. Not very often did she have guests and not very often did she have to worry about the state of her room when the so-called guests were around. For some reason, the first man had some sense of familiarity around him. Perhaps it was someone she must have seen in the market place? Was he like those kind of noblemen that do not leave their carriages? She didn’t have the time to keep trying to point out the familiarity. Instead, she let her back touch the wall by Lucy’s bed frame and exhaled. The other two men had gone into her room and a part of her hoped that it was at least a little warmer in there.

**********

The wind pressed close to the house, shaking the rafters and window shutters. Alicia lay awake by Lucy staring at the ceiling and trying to steady her thoughts. It had been hours since the men had gone to sleep and she hadn’t been able to get even a wink. Her eyes shifted to Lucy, who still lay on the bed shivering like her life depended on it, and she exhaled. That was a good sign at least.

A shape appeared in the kitchen doorway and caused her heart to skip a beat. The tall gentleman stood there, his hands hanging by his sides. It took all the shreds of Alicia’s will not to scream. A part of her wondered if he noticed the fear on her face though or if the darkness had helped her in that regard.

“Forgive me,” he said, his hands tightening into fists. “I could not sleep. Storms put me in mind of…well, unpleasant memories.”

Alicia cleared her throat, unsure of what to say to that. “Would you like some tea?”

“You have no fire,” he said.

“I have no tea either,” she said, and gave a small laugh that shook loose her chest. “I had forgotten.”

“It is quite alright. I could pretend to drink it,” he said. “It might have warmed me.”

“We may pretend very well,” she said. “Sit, sir. The chair is sound.”

He kept to the shadow so the light did not find his face. “You should sleep, Miss Alicia. We leave with the light.”

“I will sleep if Lucy sleeps,” she responded, her voice more earnest than she thought it would originally be.

He looked at the bed frame and she recognized that demeanor without even seeing his face clearly. It was the usual sympathy she got from people who witnessed their living conditions. However, there was something of an edge to his. It wasn’t laced with pity like others. No, his sympathy had admiration on the edge of it.

“Your sister will mend. You care for her very well.”

“I try. But sometimes trying is not always enough.” “What is it you remember in storms?”

“I should not like to bore you, Miss Alicia,” he said. “I am afraid when it comes to conversations, I make terrible company.”

“You are company,” she responded, her voice softer than she intended. That is usually more than she got around here but he didn’t need to know that.

He touched the chair back. “May I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“You strike me as someone who likes to read,” he started. “What kind of books do you indulge in?”

A smile stirred on her face. “I am afraid I have misled you. Books are not exactly a luxury I can afford.”

“Oh,” he said, the guilt in his voice clear. “My apologies.”

“It is alright,” she said and for the next two hours, they spoke about everything and nothing at once. The tall gentleman was versed in a lot of things. He struck her as the kind of man who might have dedicated his entire childhood into understanding how the world works and learning ethics and protocol. He was very eloquent in his argument that knowledge sometimes is a great way for one to be disillusioned, and she maintained that ignorance, in and out of itself, is the true prison. They spoke over each other, laughed and reflected on what the other said.

“You should sleep,” he said after a while. “You have fought a great deal of night. It is only proper that you get some rest.”

Alicia narrowed her eyes. “Will you sleep as well?”

“I will try.”

She went to Lucy and settled the bed covers. “Good night, sir.”

“Good night, Miss Alicia.”

She meant to tuck the blanket’s edge under Lucy’s feet. She smoothed it once, then let her hand rest where the small warmth rose. Sleep took her before the fold was neat.

When Alicia woke up the next morning, the bed beyond the curtain was empty. The bench by the door showed rumpled coverings.

They were gone.

She touched the chair where he had sat, feeling the coolness beneath her palm. It surprised her that a stranger could weigh so much on the mind, yet the weight was there, as quiet as a heavy stone thrown into a shallow river. She had never even asked for his name again after he had said it once.

In the bleak of the morning light, something whispered to her that she should have.