Page 26 of Summer of Sacrifice

A globe of iridescent magic shimmered around Litha, invisible to the mortal eye, rendering the giant butterfly hidden from sight.

“Now,” Seleste censured, “behave, or I’ll send you to Aggie’s cottage and let Mabon torment you.”

If butterflies could gasp, affronted, Litha did. Then, she flitted away, her little bubble of magic gleaming colourfully in the sunlight.

Shaking her head and chuckling, Seleste wandered back down the garden path in search of the châlet. Beads of sweat were already collecting at her temples, and she worried the sizzling Summer heat would burn away the scent of soap. Nevertheless, she trudged on and found her quarry at last.

The châlet was hidden behind the groundskeeper’s cottage. Tucked within a willow thicket, it was shielded further by larger oaks surrounding it. Truly picturesque, it was a cottage encompassing what dreams are made of. It was modest, hardly twice the size of her island hut, made entirely of uneven stones covered in moss. One side boasted a crooked chimney, and the windows were mullioned, but their glass was so warbled that the trees reflected wavily within them.

Shaking loose the dreamlike state the châlet put her in, Seleste approached the quaint wooden door and knocked. She hadn’t seen the young lord pass her on his way to the main house, but he’d evaded her for the most part for nearly a fortnight, which was no easy task. Either way, she expected he was already sitting down to luncheon with his family. When no response came to her knocking, Seleste pressed her thumb down on the warm latch of the handle and pushed open the door.

The inside of the space was dusty and rather unkempt, but it was just as cosy as one would surmise, judging by the outside. There was a faint sound of trickling water coming from somewhere, and she wondered if perhaps there was a leak?—

“Can I help you?”

Seleste jumped out of her skin. Turning to face the open door, his lordship stood there, the sunlight at his back rendering him nothing more than a looming shadow.

“Apologies, milord.” She bent into an awkward curtsy while trying to hold the pile of sheets upright. “I was instructed to put on fresh linens.”

He stepped into the châlet, a shaft of sunlight from the window illuminating his face in its dust-speckled ray. If she were being honest, he was quite handsome, with his honey-brown hair and bright blue eyes.

He studied her head scarf with what she could only discern as a mixture of scepticism and intrigue. Likely, a lord of any kind trapped within the confines of the Seagovian beau monde had little to no experience with traditional Coronoccan attire. Even if she had opted for a muted colour, and the rest of her dress was entirely—boringly—Seagovian, it was unique. She was unique when it came to the aristocracy.

“I thought no one was in, milord. Would it be best if I came back later?”

The lord merely sniffed noncommittally, returning to the threshold. He disappeared back out into the blinding sunlight and slammed the door behind him.

With a shake of her head, Seleste set her armload down on the only table in the small cottage. Using the murky light from the window, she located a gaslamp and lit it. As soon as the flame flickered to life, her attention landed firmly on a stack of books situated in the corner of the table. Next to it sat a blotter, a leatherbound notebook, and an inkwell, its quill a soft plume that broke up the austerely masculine collection.

It must have been the table whose edge had caused all the indentions in his lordship’s forearms the day he saw her speaking with Elsie. Her mind itched to learn what he was studying. What was in his notebook, on the blotter…

Chastising herself, Seleste looked away, taking up two of the towels. There was only a small lavatory in the châlet, which was not difficult to locate, especially with its dripping pipe. Once she’d replaced the soiled towels with fresh ones, she moved to the bed and began removing the sheets. Changing bed linens might be a mundane and ordinary task, but it was swiftly beginning to feel peculiarly intimate. For when Seleste removed the top blanket—a light, airy covering perfect for torrid Summer nights—an aroma of musk and sandalwood wafted toward her, cloying with her senses. The same sensation repeated its assault on her as she removed each corner of the fitted linen, the sheet fluttering and sending the scent toward her. By the time she reached the pillows, Seleste was beginning to think she should just hold her breath—that something within the lord’s scent was causing her to have an allergic reaction for how dizzy it was making her.

All bedding removed, she practically ran to put on the fresh linen, inhaling the clean, soapy scent in order to straighten out her addled mind. Satisfied the bedding was replaced and smoothed out properly, she held her breath while shoving the other linens into one of the sheets. She then tied them up into a knot, readying the act of hoisting the load onto her back and hauling it to the main house for washing.

She moved to extinguish the table lamp and leave, but…the blotter whispered to her cunning. It was clearly a light sketch of some kind. Before she could stop herself, Seleste had dropped the pile of alluringly scented sheets onto the floor and was bent over the blotter. A tantalising thrill of surprise skittered up her arms like hundreds of spindly spider legs.

It was an anatomically accurate rendering of a heart. Of all the things he could be sketching…

Seleste immediately turned the stack of books toward her to read the spines.

The Anatomy and Pathology of the Skull and Brain

The Principles of Surgery Vol. II

The History of Anatomy

What a peculiar thing for him to study. Though Seleste knew the importance of such things as medicine and had read a treatise on surgery herself, it was not a subject those in the aristocracy were exactly encouraged to study. Foolish or not, the beau monde still thought such occupations and modes of study to be beneath their station—the working man’s territory. It was wholly beneath the proper man to sully his hands with such things as intestines.

Seleste couldn’t help but giggle. She and her Sisters laughed heartily over that belief one Solstice many years prior.

Cowards, Winnie had said with a roll of her eyes, the daft dandies.

It’s not so bad, really, Sorscha had said while inspecting a nail, shoving your hands into the soft tissue of a body.

Oh, Aggie had said with a snicker, was that the time you tried to drink blood and impress your friends?

Seleste had hidden her chuckle as Sorscha shouted, It was only?—

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