Willing by Michaela Wright

Author:Michaela Wright [Wright, Michaela]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Goodreads: 26028246
Published: 2015-08-12T16:00:00+00:00

The White Parlor was as described; a White and pristine sitting room, attached to an equally luxurious bedroom. There was a fainting couch, two high backed chairs and a small table, the perfect nook for having afternoon tea. It was tucked into the back corner of the house, its windows facing out onto the beautiful garden. Thomas showed her into the room, still clad only in her robe. Then he took his leave, letting her stew in the quiet space, little more to light it than the moon shining through the windows.

Constance moved around the room, her bare feet padding across hardwood and woven rug, touching the small trinkets on the mantle or running her fingers over the fine velvet of the couch. Curiosity quickly won and Constance moved into the attached bedroom, letting her fingertips search here, the satin of the bed linens, the cold, smooth wood of the bedposts. Finally she came to a small table by the window, a pair of frames settled there, the images within turned to each other as though in silent conversation. Constance bent down to inspect the pictures. There was a man in one, a woman in the other, both wearing what looked to be their wedding day finest. Their finest didn’t compare to the room in which they were displayed. They were strangely regular, almost familiar. They could have been her own parents, they looked so demure, so plain.

Plain, but happy.

“My father was a shoemaker.”

Constance startled, turning to meet the source of the voice. Alisdair stood in the doorway watching her, his shoulder settled against the doorjamb.

“Is this him? Your father?”

He nodded.

Constance leaned down to look closer, finally picking up the frame to hold it in the moonlight. He seemed a shorter, stockier breed than Alisdair, but the brow betrayed their familial connection – the brow and the dark, stern eyes. “My goodness.”

He smiled, nodding. “That was taken on their wedding day.”

“Were they in love?”

Alisdair crossed the room to her, holding the image of his mother for her to see as well. Though it was rare to see a smile in such a thing as a photograph, she did seem content.

“They were, yes. Love wasn’t quite enough for my father, though.”

“What do you mean?”

Alisdair took the picture from her hands and set them back on the table. “He loved my mother, but he wasn’t quite content. That is why he became what he was. I told you I’ve seen magic make fortunes?”

Constance nodded. He had indeed. She simply never imagined he referred to his own. “Yes?”

“I knew many of the servants here when I was young. We played together. Our fathers worked together. Now they work here for me. I pay as great a wage as I can offer, which I am happy to say, is quite generous.”

She thought of that hundred pounds Berty gambled away and didn’t doubt him for a moment.

“My father studied texts, taught himself to read and speak Latin. Once our fortunes began to turn, others of a like-minded way appeared, many of them are rather well off.

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