Page 35 of Wolfhaven

He was wrong to feel this way while she was telling him about his dead bride’s tragically short life. He could no more stop it from happening than he could keep the sun from rising. Gareth was half in love with her intelligence, her beauty, her steadfast devotion to her grandmother. He was jealous of her love. He wanted to claim every drop of it for himself.

He was a selfish beast. To his core. He straightened up. Putting a fraction of distance between their bodies before he did something stupid, like try to kiss her.

Evaine’s lashes rested in two delicate feathered half-moons on the curves of her cheeks. Here in the kitchen, with late afternoon light slanting through the dirty windows, and her dark hair pinned away from her face, she was every bit the demure maiden.

“Ahem,” a woman coughed from behind them.

Evaine’s skirt flared as she whirled away. Gareth balled his hands into fists. There were all of five people, including the two of them, within a ten-mile radius. Yet somehow they were never alone for long.

“Bess Cogswell,” he said with all the warmth of a guttering candle. “It’s been an age.”

Time had not treated the woman kindly. Her face was a map of hardship in the form of wrinkles and flinty eyes that peered at Evaine with suspicion.

“Vernon is still out at that damned cottage cleaning up the mess these two left behind.” Bess harumphed. “He told me to come light the boiler for ye. Said the lord of the manor might like to have hot water.”

“I would, thank you.”

Bess was dressed in a patched plaid skirt and a gray jumper over a threadbare shirt that looked as if it had been washed in tea and left to hang. She carried a pail of coal over to a narrow door he had believed was a pantry but which turned out to conceal a steel tube almost as large as he was. A vent led to the outdoors. She dropped to her knees and pulled out a pan that sat beneath the contraption. She dropped handfuls of shredded newspapers onto the coals, and carefully stacked a handful of small dry twigs from a box in the corner of the utility room. Then, she lit match after match and dropped them into the pan until the coals caught fire, and shoved the whole thing into place beneath the tube.

“You’ve been using the water since you’ve been here. That will have cleared out what was sitting in the boiler,” she said, dusting her hands on her skirt and looking down her nose at him. “These modern conveniences are an awful waste. Can’t deny that hauling water up and down the stairs is backbreaking work though. Can’t imagine it suitable for a duke.”

Bess glared at Evaine, with the clear implication that she should be acting as his servant to haul water for his bath.

“Or for his guests,” Gareth said sternly.

“If that’s what you call them,” Bess sniffed. Her gray hair was pulled back in a simple bun. Despite the containment, he could tell it hadn’t been washed in a long time. A sheen of grease coated the gray strands. He did not remember the woman he had known as a lad being so rude and judgmental, but then, he had exchanged perhaps a handful of sentences with the woman in his entire life, and none during his extended absence from Wolfhaven. Much of what he had seen since his return differed from his youthful recollections.

“‘Guest’ is generally the term for someone who has been invited to stay,” Evaine said crisply. “We appreciate you lighting the boiler for us, and for repairing the cottage as well. Please convey our gratitude to your husband, Mrs. Cogswell.”

Bess scoffed. “I would find a way to move on if I were you, miss. It takes a brave soul to survive at Wolfhaven. The ghosts alone would drive an ordinary person away.” She slanted to look at Gareth. “’Twas foolish for you to come back, too, but at least you belong.” She dragged one finger down her cheek to indicate his scars, and scuttled out as silently as she had arrived.

“Lovely to make your acquaintance,” Evaine muttered, staring at the old woman’s back. “Is she always like this?”

“I couldn’t say. I didn’t have much contact with the Cogswells when I was a child. They were the only two servants who didn’t run off after the fire. I’ve dealt mostly with her husband in the years since.”

“The poor man.” Evaine clucked her tongue. “Trapped all the way out here with only his sour wife for company.”

“He married her.” Gareth shrugged, though he didn’t disagree. “We still have some time left this afternoon. Shall we see if we can disturb any more ghosts?”

Chapter 18

Evaine

Evaine regretted giving Gareth Marina’s journal the instant she handed it over to him. Not that most of it was legible anymore.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” she asked as they ascended the stairs to the attic. His brow was furrowed the way it often was when he had a headache. His movements were careful. He clutched the hand railing with white knuckles.

“I’m fine. The sooner we finish this inventory, the sooner both of us can leave this wretched place.”

“But we just got piped hot water working.” Thanks to that troll, Bess Cogswell.

A smile ghosted across his lips. Evaine managed to trip going up the steps. He caught her elbow. Floorboards squeaked as they made their way up. Dampness pooled in her underarms. Not entirely caused by the increasingly warm atmosphere.

Him. He had this effect on her. She couldn’t stop thinking about his weight pinning her to the floor when he saved her from that falling grandfather clock.

“A marginal improvement, to be sure,” Gareth said.

“Better than what we had at your rustic cottage. Or even in the dormitory at Girton.”