The baron protested, as I had expected he would.
“No woman can be so lovely and not know it,” he told me firmly. He put a finger under my chin and tipped my head this way and that, studying me carefully. “You might be her twin. It is uncanny, as if I were looking into her face once more. The same lips, the same cheekbones. I told her once I could cut glass upon those cheekbones. And of course, the eyes. I have never seen eyes that color before or since.”
“Aunt Nell used to say it was not decent to have violet eyes, that they were the telltale sign of a bad nature, like ginger hair or a hunchback. And village children used to tease me about being a bad fairy—a changeling child.”
“Children can be very stupid,” the baron said gravely.
“And dull, which is why I have no interest in becoming a mother of six,” I told him. He lifted his brows.
“Six is a curiously specific number.”
“I had a curiously specific offer today, but let us speak no more of that. Of course, I do not wish to be a paid companion or a daughter-in-law either. I have had quite enough of attending to elderly ladies,” I finished absently.
“They were good to you, though?” he asked, his tone shaded with anxiety. “The Harbottle ladies? They treated you with kindness?”
“Oh yes. I was fed and clothed and I don’t suppose I ever wanted for anything, not really. I had a new dress every season and new books to read. Of course, that was due to the lending library. We moved so often I could never keep books of my own. Aunt Lucy always bought a subscription to the library as soon as we settled in a new village. As I grew older, I pursued my own interests. I have traveled far and seen much of the world, and when the aunts had need of me, I returned to care for them. It was a pleasant enough life.”
“Did you mind, all of this moving to and fro?”
I grinned. “If I am honest, I loathed it as a child. It always seemed that we moved just as I had amassed a good collection—eggs, frogs, beetles. I was forever leaving behind something I loved. The aunts were driven by their whims. One year we might live the whole twelvemonth in Lyme. The next they would have us move from town to town, four within the span of a year. I learned to accept it, as children do. And it taught me to travel lightly.” I narrowed my gaze. “You said you knew them. I do not remember meeting friends of theirs. They kept so much to themselves. And I never knew my mother, not even her name. What can you tell me?”
The baron opened his mouth, his lips pursed. Then he closed it sharply and shook his head. “Nothing at this moment, child. The truth is not mine to speak. I must seek permission before I reveal to you what I know, but I promise you, I will seek it, and when the moment is right, I will tell you all.”
I sighed. I was, truth be told, quite frustrated at the baron’s obstinacy, but there was something steely in his manner that told me he would not be moved upon the point. “I suppose I will have to be satisfied with that.”
The baron relaxed visibly then, but almost as soon as his expression eased, a shadow passed over his features again. “For now, the most important thing is to make certain that you are safe.”
“You keep talking of my safety, but I cannot imagine why! I am the least interesting person in England, I assure you. No one could possibly want to harm me.” That was not entirely true, I reflected. The last paper I had written for The British Journal of Lepidoptery had stirred quite a bit of controversy, but as I always published papers and conducted my butterfly sales under the anonymity of my first initial and surname alone, no ill will could be directed towards me personally. As strongly as I pointed out that publishing in scientific journals was a scholarly accomplishment, the aunts had protested just as vehemently that filling orders for Aurelian collectors was too near to trade to be permissible for a lady. They had compromised, albeit reluctantly, that I might continue my studies and work under the cognomen of V. Speedwell.
In the end, I had not minded, and it never failed to amuse me to receive letters that began with the salutation, “Dear Mr. Speedwell . . .” True, I had nipped the odd specimen out from under the nose of less diligent hunters, for I was indefatigable in my pursuit, but the very notion of some sort of lepidopterist cabal after my head was enough to make me laugh.
A wraithlike smile touched the baron’s lips. “I will pray to God that you are right and that I am merely borrowing troubles that will not come to pass. In the meantime, until I am certain, you will be guided by me?”
I looked at him a long moment, holding his anxious gaze with mine. Then I nodded. “I will.”
A Curious Beginning
Deanna Raybourn's books
- In a Dark, Dark Wood
- Make Your Home Among Strangers
- Last Bus to Wisdom
- A Spool of Blue Thread
- H is for Hawk
- Hausfrau
- It's What I Do: A Photographer's Life of Love and War
- See How Small
- A God in Ruins
- Between You & Me: Confessions of a Comma Queen
- Dietland
- Orhan's Inheritance
- The English Girl: A Novel
- The Harder They Come
- The Light of the World: A Memoir
- The Sympathizer
- The Wonder Garden
- A Little Bit Country: Blackberry Summer
- Did You Ever Have A Family
- Signal
- The Drafter
- Nemesis Games
- Lair of Dreams
- The Dead Girls of Hysteria Hall
- The House of Shattered Wings
- The Nature of the Beast: A Chief Inspector Gamache Novel
- The Secrets of Lake Road
- Trouble is a Friend of Mine
- The Dead House
- What We Saw
- Beastly Bones
- Driving Heat
- Shadow Play
- The Appearance of Annie van Sinderen
- The Blackthorn Key
- Cinderella Six Feet Under
- Down the Rabbit Hole
- The Last September: A Novel
- Dance of the Bones
- A Beeline to Murder
- The Darling Dahlias and the Eleven O'Clock Lady
- The Marsh Madness
- Tonight the Streets Are Ours
- The House of the Stone
- Sweet Temptation
- Hello, Goodbye, and Everything in Between
- Dark Wild Night