The Escape Trilogy by Sara Dobie Bauer

Author:Sara Dobie Bauer [Bauer, Sara Dobie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: bisexual, British nobility, established couples, gay, polyamorous, vampires, cannibals, Historical, paranormal
Publisher: NineStar Press, LLC
Published: 2020-04-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

On many levels, Edmund and I are similar creatures. In the practice of patience, we are not, although some of that might have to do with our immense difference in age. Whereas I am content to sit and ponder—a practice perfected alone on a tropical island—Edmund is more of a constant wanderer. He needs something to do, which I expect will be something of a challenge once he begins to understand immortality. For now, he leaves me at home with my newspapers or books and walks New Orleans.

Oh, and this morning, he boxes, because he is apparently “getting soft.”

I don’t only sit on my hide. I do walk the city, too, mostly worrying that Edmund will get in another knife fight, brutal boxing match, carriage accident…the list of my anxieties is endless now that his immortality is in sight. He seems so fragile to me suddenly—although, Lord knows, he is not. So I walk and worry over silly things.

Today, I take my worry to the harbor to check in with the harbormaster. Michelle’s vampire crew should return any day. Hopefully. It’s been a thick and heavy fortnight since Edmund pinpointed the Elder’s location, and every day we wait, he grows more agitated.

Visiting the tailor Peters was a welcome distraction earlier in the week as it allowed Edmund to wrap his great mind around something of personal interest: the art of style. Unlike our first jaunt to the talented old man, though, this was functional. We needed clothes for travel, so instead of delicate silks, Edmund forced us to buy heavy breeches—he claimed trousers were no good on a ship—coats made of leather, and leather gloves. When I asked about shoes, he smiled and said it was better to go barefoot, which explains a lot about Edmund’s lack of footwear on the island, but I refuse to go barefoot anywhere but the boudoir.

I have a very distinct memory of peeling several items of soaking wet clothing from his unconscious person back on the island when he first washed to shore. The leather gloves give me an unexpected thrill, although I’m not sure why. I adore the feel of his hands, so why would I want them covered—but maybe that’s just it. There’s something Puritanical about covering so much flesh, which makes it all the more enjoyable when that flesh is exposed.

There is also the matter of letters. Edmund has been waiting to hear from his trading company—the owners of his sunken ship—as well as from his mother, who I should think would be overjoyed to hear he lives. He’s not so sure, considering he’s caused her nothing but worry since the day he sprung forth glowing and filled with intention. I don’t know why he hopes so heartily for word from the woman who has done nothing but hold his head under metaphorical water for twenty-eight years. But I do not remember my mother, so perhaps that is why I cannot understand his devotion to a woman who resents the very thing he is.

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