aren’t presently living under the name with which they were born.” He didn’t fail to notice how one of the footmen shifted his stance. He’d have to check the man out. Probably wouldn’t hurt to have Swindler investigate them all. He’d much rather discover it was one of them instead of Avendale sneaking about.
“So why Graves?” she asked as another dish was set before them.
“An homage to my father, to his work. He was a large man, silent as the grave, which seemed appropriate considering his occupation. Never complained, never had an unkind word. ‘Lot of unpleasant tasks need doing,’ he once told me. ‘So it’s best to just do them so you can move on to the pleasant ones.’”
“How did he die?”
“Don’t know that he did. He simply disappeared one night. After he sold my mother’s remains to a teaching hospital.” As a look of horror crossed her face, he downed his wine, signaled for more. This time he was brought red.
“That’s awful,” she said, brushing away the next plate before it could be placed before her.
“I’ve ruined your appetite. Perhaps we should discuss the weather. It’s going to rain tonight, I predict.”
“I don’t want to discuss the rain. Were you there? Did you see what he did with your mother?”
He took a healthy swallow of the wine, wishing for something a bit stronger. He’d not thought of his youth in years. “I was with him. I found no fault with his decision. We were in need of coins, but more than that, Winnie, those training to become doctors needed to be able to study more than books. My mum was quite unpleasant in life, but in death, I believe, she became an instrument of education that allowed others to save lives.”
“I suppose that’s one way to think of it.”
“It’s the only way to think of it.”
“We are so morbidly fascinated with death. You’ve dealt with it all your life in one manner or another. You don’t fear it?”
He slowly shook his head. “No.”
“Do you fear anything?”
You discovering the truth. Not that he could admit to that.
“That it’ll rain before I can take you on a turn about the garden.”
She laughed the sweet tinkling sound that reminded him of tiny crystal bells ringing on Christmas morning. “I’m serious.”
“As am I.” Shoving back his chair, he stood, walked over to her, and pulled out her chair. Leaning low, he said in a quiet, seductive voice, “Come on, Winnie. It’s dark out. Lovely things happen in the dark.”
With a twinkle in her eyes, she peered up at him and whispered, “But we’ve yet to have dessert.”
“I have my heart set on tasting something sweeter than anything that can be prepared in the kitchen.”
Rising, she placed her hand on his forearm. “A walk about the garden sounds just the thing.”
Unfortunately as they stepped out onto the covered terrace, they discovered a soft rain falling, so quietly as to create little more than a constant drone rather than a harsh pattering of drops.
“We’re too late,” she said.
“We’re never too late.” He walked to the edge of the terrace, just short of being touched by the falling droplets. “I find the rain soothing.”
He felt her shiver. Stepping behind her, he wrapped his arms around her and drew her in close.
“I feared it when I was a child,” she said quietly. “When the lightning rent the sky in two and thunder boomed so loud that it shook the ground, the servants would rush through the house turning all the mirrors around. It was my mother’s edict. She said when she was a child a bolt of lightning zigzagged through her parents’ house, using the mirrors to propel itself along. Do you think that’s possible?”
“I think anything’s possible.” Lowering his head, he kissed the nape of her neck, where jasmine behind her ear overpowered the scent of rain. He wondered where else she may have applied the fragrance. He kissed the other side. “Are your parents alive now?”
“No, it’s
“So why Graves?” she asked as another dish was set before them.
“An homage to my father, to his work. He was a large man, silent as the grave, which seemed appropriate considering his occupation. Never complained, never had an unkind word. ‘Lot of unpleasant tasks need doing,’ he once told me. ‘So it’s best to just do them so you can move on to the pleasant ones.’”
“How did he die?”
“Don’t know that he did. He simply disappeared one night. After he sold my mother’s remains to a teaching hospital.” As a look of horror crossed her face, he downed his wine, signaled for more. This time he was brought red.
“That’s awful,” she said, brushing away the next plate before it could be placed before her.
“I’ve ruined your appetite. Perhaps we should discuss the weather. It’s going to rain tonight, I predict.”
“I don’t want to discuss the rain. Were you there? Did you see what he did with your mother?”
He took a healthy swallow of the wine, wishing for something a bit stronger. He’d not thought of his youth in years. “I was with him. I found no fault with his decision. We were in need of coins, but more than that, Winnie, those training to become doctors needed to be able to study more than books. My mum was quite unpleasant in life, but in death, I believe, she became an instrument of education that allowed others to save lives.”
“I suppose that’s one way to think of it.”
“It’s the only way to think of it.”
“We are so morbidly fascinated with death. You’ve dealt with it all your life in one manner or another. You don’t fear it?”
He slowly shook his head. “No.”
“Do you fear anything?”
You discovering the truth. Not that he could admit to that.
“That it’ll rain before I can take you on a turn about the garden.”
She laughed the sweet tinkling sound that reminded him of tiny crystal bells ringing on Christmas morning. “I’m serious.”
“As am I.” Shoving back his chair, he stood, walked over to her, and pulled out her chair. Leaning low, he said in a quiet, seductive voice, “Come on, Winnie. It’s dark out. Lovely things happen in the dark.”
With a twinkle in her eyes, she peered up at him and whispered, “But we’ve yet to have dessert.”
“I have my heart set on tasting something sweeter than anything that can be prepared in the kitchen.”
Rising, she placed her hand on his forearm. “A walk about the garden sounds just the thing.”
Unfortunately as they stepped out onto the covered terrace, they discovered a soft rain falling, so quietly as to create little more than a constant drone rather than a harsh pattering of drops.
“We’re too late,” she said.
“We’re never too late.” He walked to the edge of the terrace, just short of being touched by the falling droplets. “I find the rain soothing.”
He felt her shiver. Stepping behind her, he wrapped his arms around her and drew her in close.
“I feared it when I was a child,” she said quietly. “When the lightning rent the sky in two and thunder boomed so loud that it shook the ground, the servants would rush through the house turning all the mirrors around. It was my mother’s edict. She said when she was a child a bolt of lightning zigzagged through her parents’ house, using the mirrors to propel itself along. Do you think that’s possible?”
“I think anything’s possible.” Lowering his head, he kissed the nape of her neck, where jasmine behind her ear overpowered the scent of rain. He wondered where else she may have applied the fragrance. He kissed the other side. “Are your parents alive now?”
“No, it’s
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