Page 49 of The Vampire's Guide to Wooing a Curator
The old man released his grip, and Charles scampered off. Felicity did not envy his task. Disrupting the wealthy residents of Mayfair at such a late hour was unthinkable, even if it would be annoyed servants who responded to the intrusions, not the actual owners of the properties.
The old man was truly desperate.
She must have spoken the words aloud by mistake, because the old man whirled around. “That is enough out of you! A carriage is waiting two streets away.” He pointed in the opposite direction Charles had run. “Take it and return home. I will deal with you later.”
She found the carriage and climbed inside without saying a word. What choice did she have? With each passing minute, the chasm that had formed in her heart when Jonathan had fled deepened.
For the first time in ten years, she didn’t have a purpose. There was still her exhibit, but the terrible ticket sales meant it was sure to close early. She arrived at the hunter base and trudged up the steps. When she opened the door to her room, Winifred was sitting on the sill of her open window, wearing a billowing, black silk dress with a plunging neckline and elbow-length gloves.
The sudden appearance of her cousin, despite the spells on the townhouse designed to keep vampires out, elicited nothing from Felicity’s tired body but a numb resignation. “What do you want?”
Winifred pushed to her feet. “Only to talk.”
Felicity sat down at her dressing table and began removing the pins from her hair. “You can stop. The exhibit is all but canceled, thanks to the article you wrote.”
“What article?”
Felicity peered over her shoulder. “The one inLadies Daily.”
Winifred tilted her head to the side. That, more than any denial Winifred might have offered, convinced Felicity.
“You didn’t write it,” she said.
Did that mean it had been Jonathan? She’d only known him a short time, but he did not seem the writing type.
“Aren’t you going to order me to leave or threaten to kill me?” Winifred asked.
Felicity winced. “No. I… I apologize for my earlier behavior.”
She’d honestly believed that all vampires were as ruthless and lacking in conscience as the one who had taken her family. Painting them all with the same brush had made it easier for her to kill without hesitation, turning her into that which she had hated.
Winifred’s eyes widened. “You really have changed.”
Felicity walked over to her bed and thumped down on it heavily. “You can have the illuminated manuscript.” She no longer cared what happened to it, or any of the other artifacts. Her family had no claim to them. They were stained with the blood of her family’s victims.
“I don’t blame you for what happened to me,” Winifred said. “I would have come to see you sooner, but Marcus insisted it was too dangerous. I hope you know it’s not your fault I became a vampire.”
The lack of any recrimination in her cousin’s tone shattered something deep inside Felicity. She put her head in her hands and sobbed.
There was a sound of fabric shuffling, and then the bed beside her dipped, and an arm wrapped around her shoulders. Felicity leaned into her friend. The chill of Winifred’s skin radiated through the many layers and made Felicity shiver.
“I am so sorry,” she said, between gasping breaths. “How can you forgive me so easily? I-I tried to kill your husband. I tried to killyou!”
“You were scared.” Winifred rubbed Felicity’s back. “As I said, I do not blame you. But would you truly give up the manuscript? Great-Uncle Ezra would disown you.”
Felicity snorted. “I don’t want anything more to do with him. I’d rather hire myself out as a washerwoman than live in this house a day longer.”
Thankfully, her options were not so bleak. As long as she remained employed, she could relocate to a respectable boarding house.
“Excellent,” Winifred said. “Then it’s time you learned the truth.”
Felicity looked up from her hands. “What do you mean?”
Winifred wrapped her arms around her knees. “Jonathan is sick.”
Even as her mind rebelled at the idea, Felicity recalled how he’d collapsed in the alley and how his wounds had failed to heal.
“It’s mate atrophy,” Winifred continued.
