She nodded. “I have been known to have a flare for theatrics. You can be sure no one will doubt the severity of your headache.”
A weak smile rose to my lips, for it was not truly my head but my heart that ached.
Chapter Twenty-Three
I opened the front door, praying it wouldn’t creak and wake the whole house. As near as I could tell, most of the servants were still abed, and I had no desire to rouse anyone. Thankfully, the door’s hinges were well oiled and the large oak door made not a sound as I slipped out.
Yesterday had been an exhausting whirlwind of emotions, and I found myself eager to return to Roecliffe Chapel, hoping to feel the peace I’d experience there before. This early-morning hour seemed the perfect time, as I wished to avoid company. The eastern sky was full of clouds, making it difficult to discern whether the sun had yet cleared the horizon. But even in the time I’d been at the castle the days had grown shorter.
I hurried along the path that led to the chapel, my only company a small hare that stopped to stare at me for a moment before scurrying behind a tree. The air had a bitter chill to it this morning. It seemed the Saint Martin’s summer had left us for good. A puff of air formulated from my breath. The morning smelled of smoke and damp wood, with a hint of salt water blown in on a breeze from the coastline.
My steps slowed as I approached the heavy wooden door that served as the chapel’s entrance. Halstead had once implied the rector wasn’t particularly friendly, so I pushed open the door with caution.
Today the chapel was much dimmer than when we’d attended services, the weak sunlight still veiled behind the lingering clouds. Most of the light came from the candelabras ensconced along the walls, and the draftiness made them flicker in a less than welcoming manner. I took quiet steps up to the back row of pews and took a seat, arching my neck back so I could gaze up at the ceiling.
The crisscrossed arches I’d admired before seemed to come alive in the candlelight. I could imagine the flickering light of lanterns casting similar shadows over the snug-fitting planks of a ship. A breath of air escaped me, a hazy image of my father surfacing in my mind.
The faintest whiff of salt reached my nose. All at once I was carried back to a moment that had been tucked away in the deepest corners of my memory. I stood on the docks, a girl of five or six, pulling on my mother’s skirt as we waited for Father to disembark from his ship. It was a misty day, with low-hanging clouds. Father seemed to appear out of nowhere, and in a heartbeat I was in his arms, my face buried in his shirt. He smelled of wind, salt, and sunshine, and I wrapped my arms around him, wishing he would never let go. But he pulled back. “Don’t ye want to see what I’ve brought ye?” His voice had a comforting Scottish lilt.
“What is it?” I demanded.
His face was grave. “What do ye want, Juliet girl?” Before I could answer he grinned and tossed me high into the air.
I squealed in delight as I flew up, and then I fell back into his arms, giggling.
“What do ye want, Juliet girl?” he asked, throwing me up again.
He did it again and again, and I was shrieking and laughing too hard to reply. “Harry, she’ll be sick,” my mother said, though she wore a smile on her face.
Finally, he set me down, and my legs felt wobbly after being tossed about. He knelt down before me and pulled something from his pocket. Before I could see what it was, he quickly put his hands behind his back. A moment later he held them both in front of me, fists closed. “I’ve a surprise for ye, Juliet girl, but ye have to guess which hand.”
I wrinkled my nose, examining each hand as carefully as I could, worried I would choose wrong. “Just choose, lassie.”
I tapped on one hand, and he drew back his fingers, revealing an intricately carved animal I wasn’t familiar with.
“It’s a mountain goat, all the way from the Continent, for my Juliet girl.” He pressed it into my hand, his fingers curling around mine, rough from months at sea but warm and comforting.
I leaned my head down on the pew in front of me, tears leaking down my cheeks. What do ye want, Juliet girl? How could I know what I wanted without him here to guide me? I wanted him here with me now. Perhaps I’d still be a mess of confusion even if I had my father, but at least I’d have the strength of his hand holding mine as I tried to find my way. I wasn’t sure I wanted what my mother and father had, but Ellen was right—I couldn’t expect to find happiness by avoiding their mistakes.
Sniffing back any further emotion, I drew my head back up, trying to tease out my thoughts and feelings. Even amidst the fog of confusion, my heart yearned for Halstead. Every moment spent with him lit me up inside. But how could I dare hope for something between the two of us? Loving Halstead was nothing but uncertain. Robert was safety. Surety. And perhaps—
“Excuse me, miss.”
I jumped a little at the sound of a voice.
The rector approached, his face kind in the candlelight. “I don’t wish to disturb you, but this is the time when someone comes in to clean.”
My skirts rustled as I stood. “Oh, I am sorry.”
“If you’ve some special need, I can have them come back later.”
I shook my head. “Oh no,
