Angelika Frankenstein Makes Her Match by Sally Thorne

Author:Sally Thorne
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2022-06-08T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

It made perfect sense in the moment.

If she could just get Will’s ring from this man’s hand, things might turn out all right today. Even better if she could end this day with this big chap tucked into a bed in the manor, full from a hot meal. She indulged in determined daydreams as the lawn turned to meadow, and then tussocks, then rocks.

Tonight, the entire secret society could regroup by the fire to study the ring. There would be a pat on her shoulder from Victor and a grateful look from Will. Christopher would be speechless at her bravery. Clara would exclaim, I say! Angelika and Mary would exchange apologies in the hall, and Angelika would bring a cup of tea to her for once. Lizzie would catch her sleeve later and say something like, I could never replace you.

It was all going to work out.

If Angelika could manage this one little thing.

“Hello,” she puffed as she hiked over the difficult terrain. “Do you remember me? I’m Angelika.” The sun was at an awkward angle above, casting such a black shadow line between the forest and clearing that she had a terrible feeling she had simply imagined him. She shaded her eyes, squinted, and saw he’d retreated further into the trees.

He was bringing something up and down into his mouth. It was a deeply familiar action.

“You’re here for some apples.” She stepped across the shade line, and once in the cool dim light, she could study Victor’s friend properly.

The size of him took her breath away. While Angelika was choosing the most handsome body parts, Victor was sorting through for the biggest. This man was clothed, and what a good thing, too. He wore stolen garments, with the pants calf-length and stiff with mud. His peasant shirt was designed to be worn loose in the heat. On this man, it was a vest. He wore no shoes or hat.

He was in a distressed state; equal parts dirty, tired, hungry, and hopeless.

Also, wordless.

“Can I please assist you?” Angelika asked, wincing at the sight of his feet. They’d covered many hard miles. Her advance frightened him; he shook his head and backed against a tree, furiously biting the apple, even chewing the core. Juice and seeds ran down his chin. “It’s quite all right, do not rush. Please, be easy. Sir, do you have a name?”

He said nothing but looked down at her boots. She did, too, and saw an apple by her toe.

“Here.” She picked it up and held it out. He was a color she did not think would wash away: ashy gray, with bruise-purple tones around his eyes and mouth. She tossed him the apple, but it dropped into the grass uncaught.

Those hands were Will’s hands. She found herself staring at them intently as he fell to his knees to search in the grass. They were beautiful, despite the filthy nails and deathly tone.

Oh, to travel back to that moment, alone with Will as he lay on the slab.

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