Page 30 of The Awakening of Ivy Leavold
“Yet how carefully you keep your distance.”
Because you frighten me.And he did, in that moment. His anger was palpable, as was some darkness that roiled within him, and at the same time that part of my brain signaled me to step backward, another part of me remembered that I was dependent on him for everything—for shelter and food and almost every portion of my well being. I needed to remain sensible of that—that no matter how I loved him or how I feared him, I still relied on his goodwill and benevolence.
“I shouldn’t have disturbed you,” I said. “I’ll leave you now.”
“Don’t,” he said.
I chafed at the order, yet I obeyed.
“I want you here with me, Miss Leavold,” he said. “Violet was your family too. You should be able to pay your respects alongside her former husband.”
And so we stayed at the grave another ten minutes, me looking at Mr. Markham from underneath my eyelashes, watching his face as he traced the lines of the angel with his eyes. There was longing in his expression and pain too, and his shoulders, normally so broad and straight, were slumped, as if a great weight were pressing down on him.
“I made a mistake once,” he said. “And now its ghost will follow me forever.”
Violet.Was his mistake in killing her? Or marrying her in the first place?
He looked up, searching my eyes. “You have something about her right now, in your face. I can see her, as if she’s inside of you, wanting to speak to me.”
“I feel nothing but myself,” I said.
He came around the grave. “Perhaps you’re right,” he said. And then a finger traced up my sleeve to my neck, running down my jaw to my chin, where he held my face as he examined me. “I believe it is only Ivy Leavold inside of here.”
For a moment, his face was mere inches from mine, and I could see every irregular fleck of pale jade in his bright green eyes. My body pulsed with heat, remembering last night.
“Would it be wrong of me to kiss you here?” he asked.
“Yes,” I whispered.
“Then perhaps we should leave.” He offered me an arm, and I took it, only looking back at the grave once as we made our way back to the house.
“It’s supposed to be the party of the decade,” Adella was telling the dinner table. “We can’t miss it.”
“The Prince of Wales will be there,” Gideon added.
“Of course we’re going,” Molly said matter-of-factly. “It won’t be any trouble to get down there by Friday, certainly.”
“You’d want to leave tomorrow at the latest,” Mr. Markham said. “Give yourself two days for the journey—it will be easier.”
“You talk as if you aren’t coming with us, Jules.” Molly glanced over at me as she said it, as if it were my fault.
“I’ve been to one of the baron’s parties, and once was enough for me.”
“Perhaps you were at the wrong party,” Silas said, grinning. “Because everyone knows that once is never enough. And you haven’t been down to London in over two months—for all you know, your house there has been burgled and all the servants have given up on you ever coming back and left.”
Mr. Markham picked up his wine glass. “I doubt that.”
“Oh, do come with us,” Helene said. “Why would you stay here in this dreary old heap when we can stay at the Savoy and dance with royalty?”
“Thank you, Helene, but my mind is quite made up.” Our eyes met for the briefest of moments and then he looked back at the others. “I’ve left Markham Hall too unattended as of late, and I must set myself to my responsibilities. For a little while at least.”
I kept my gaze on my plate, trying not to give any indication of how happy this made me, that Mr. Markham was staying here, and that I would have him to myself once again.
Molly was clearly not pleased. “Don’t cloister yourself, Jules. It never makes you happy. You’re not meant to be stationary and domestic.”
“You know me not at all if you think that I am at risk of being domestic.”
She didn’t answer, but there was something sharp in her face as she turned to Charlotte and struck up a conversation. Something sharp and savage, and I knew that this seemingly small transgression of Mr. Markham’s would not be forgotten.
