Did Mr King teach his nephew how to carve the wood, or to design his projects? Mr Simon turned crimson after the flood of compliments. ‘It was nothing. Not like Uncle Ed’s work, anyhow.’ He tried to divert the attention away from himself.
‘It is not nothing. And you should not compare yourself to Eddie,’ Mrs Jones chided.
‘No, you shouldn’t.’ Mr King agreed.
Because he was unmatched? Mr King didn’t show humility, or even false humility.
By the time supper finished, Serena had a stronger understanding of the dynamics between Mr King and the family members who lived at Aleron House. There was much affection between them, although there was a slight undercurrent of tension. Mr King didn’t belittle his family, but neither did he act as though he were their equal. It was rather condescending, in fact. But Serena did not doubt that he cared for them.
Mr King had gone off to play cards and smoke with the menfolk, which was sociable of him, leaving Serena to keep company with Mrs Jones. Mrs Jones, however, had letters to write, so Serena had to fend for herself. She remembered the vast library Mr King kept. She should ask him for permission before borrowing any volumes. How would he react to yet another imposition? He’d been receptive this afternoon, but he had been alone then and now he was with his nephews. She shrugged to herself. There was no harm in trying.
Serena hurried after the gentlemen, hoping to catch Mr King before they settled in the drawing room. She rounded a corner in time to see them filing through the doorway.
‘Excuse me, Mr King.’
They all looked back at her, questions written on their faces. She approached hesitantly. ‘I wanted to speak to Mr King.’
He nodded to her and stepped aside, leaving the others to continue. ‘Yes, Miss Bellingham?’
‘I was wondering if I might borrow a book from your library.’
‘By all means.’ He seemed pleased at the request. ‘Although, if you’re looking for one of those three volume travesties by Jane Austen or the like, you will be disappointed. I keep only quality reading in my library.’
‘Oh,’ Serena swallowed her embarrassment. She had hoped for something romantic. ‘Do you have any recommendations?’
He nodded enthusiastically. ‘There are several wonderful histories in there. But, if you prefer something more fictional, I have the complete works of Shakespeare. And, of course, there’s poetry. You may try Lord Byron if you prefer.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ Serena offered him a light curtsy.
For a moment, she thought he might follow her, but after a slight hesitation, he turned back to the gentlemen and re-joined them as they lit pipes and laughed. Serena paused and looked through the gap as she pulled the door closed. Mr King lifted a small silver box from his pocket and flicked it open. He took a pinch of powder from it and put it to his nose, sniffing hard and loud. Ah, he didn’t smoke like the others, he took snuff instead. Thoughtful, she shut the door and headed for the library.
Strange, the difference between Mr King and Mr Xavier. While the latter was comfortable company and easy to talk to, she was more drawn to the unsettling presence of Mr King. Mr Xavier made a good companion, but her thoughts turned to Mr King more often. Serena let out a groan. She shouldn’t be thinking in this direction. Mr King only saw her as a prisoner and Mr Xavier, well, who knew if he saw her as anything else, either? She needed to get a book and busy herself with reading it. That would keep her runaway mind in check. She hoped.
10
Monday 2nd May, 1842
Simon calls me a fool. Why did I bring her here? Can I not see she is my ruin? And if she doesn’t ruin me by her machinations, Xavier will with his chatter. Xavier must be warned.
But no! He cannot see. She is the cure for this curse.
The fig mocks me also. It will have me yet, it says. But it no longer draws me, instead Serena does.
I am filled with ideas, plans for the future—buildings to design, paintings to draw, sculptures, words—the list is endless and continues to grow with every waking minute. I can’t sleep for the excitement. Need forces me to write them down before they vanish into the ether. I write and sketch until my fingers cramp, but still they come. The next thing I know, the sun is sending its rays through my window.
And rising with the sun is Serena. Soon she will be in the yard, hanging washing. I can watch her from the second-floor parlour.
When Serena worries, or is concentrating, she has an endearing way of clamping her lip between her teeth. It makes me wish to puzzle her, just to see it.
Stay away. Stay away. Stay away.
She must not learn of the curse. I must speak with Xavier.
11
Serena strolled along the colonnade that spanned the length of the south wing. Another colonnade mirrored the covered walkway on the north wing, giving the mansion its symmetry. Her heels clicked on the pavers and she allowed her hand to brush the smooth stone pillars that reached up to form pointed arches above her head. Mr King was in the elegant detail of every part of this building. Everywhere she looked, fastidious design met her gaze.
She released a sigh as she leaned up against a column. The house held her in an enchantment, she could no longer deny it. It always had. But, perhaps it was not just the house that had gripped her. Mr King. How she yearned to know him more—the intricate ways of his mind. Serena was still unsure whether his exhibition of art the other day was a display of self-importance, or a simple sharing of interests. Did he mean to convince her of his exceeding craftsmanship by overwhelming her with it? Or did his passion for art overflow to any who might lend him
