Page 42 of Once Upon an Enchanted Castle

“It was kind of you, Dickens.”

“Kind?” He sniffed derision. “The gardens wereabsolutelyghastly. How one could let such beautiful roses grow out of control is beyond me. Not to mention the dull, peeling paint on the exterior.” He punctuated that with his bestharrumph.

Though Dickens sounded disgusted by the unruly gardens and the dilapidated exterior, Leopold knew it was merely for show. He concealed the smile that wanted to tug at his lips. Deep down, the crusty valet was a sucker for thriving, fragrant roses in full bloom.

“Will the lady be returning?” Dickens asked then, as though putting the thought of magicking the gardens out of his mind.

“Yes.” As he said it, his heart fluttered. A reaction for which he was not prepared.

“Ah, so you were successful then.” His valet sounded well pleased. “Will she be staying with us?”

“I don’t think so.” A pang of disappointment went through him.

“Pity. The hallways seem more cheerful with her in them.”

Leopold cut him a curious glance. “My dear friend, it sounds as though you’ve taking a liking to the lady of Hawthorne Hall.”

“And why not? She loves books, doesn’t she?”

He grinned, amused at his valet’s response. “Indeed, she does.”

Chapter 17

Thefollowingmorning,Belladressed quickly before Emmaline arrived to help her. She chose a light blue gown with pale yellow flowers on it, tied in the back. She was up before dawn, her mind racing with all the thoughts about the book, the man, and his library. She told herself it was not the howl of the wolf that kept her awake most of the night, clutching the blankets to her chin and cowering under them. The howls seemed every closer than the previous night.

She quickly scribbled a note and left it on her pillow, knowing Emmaline would find it. She didn’t want the girl to worry, but she didn’t want to explain why she was leaving at the crack of dawn either.

In her stocking feet, she hurried down the stairs. At the bottom, she paused to slip on her shoes. And then she hurried to the library where the offending book remained where she left it. The cover was still closed. The parchment with her scrawled notes rested next to it. She folded the paper and tucked it inside the cover and then scooped it up.

Moments later, she was slipping out of the front door and heading down the gravel drive. She only paused once to glance back and see the pristine condition of the manor house. It looked as it did when she was a child, making memories erupt of her mother and father and happier times.

Shoving that aside, she hurried to town to meet Leopold’s carriage. He offered to pick her up outside Hawthorne Hall, but she had refused. She preferred instead to meet the carriage in town where she would not have to explain where she was going and why.

The footman and driver and, much to her surprise, Dickens waited for her. He stood tall, stoic, his face devoid of all emotion. Which, she was learning, was normal for Dickens. His dark glittering gaze landed on her as she approached and for a moment, she thought he might smile.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he merely gave a half bow. “Good morning, my lady.”

“Good morning, Dickens.” She said it in her best singsong, cheerful voice despite the fatigue pounding through her. She even plastered on a bright smile.

He opened the door for her. She climbed in and then he followed, closing the door. It surprised her. He perched on the bench across from her and then they were away. An awkward silence stretched between them as they rumbled down the road.

Bella disliked uncomfortable silence. “So,” she began, aware she was about to start making small talk. “How long have you known Mr. Thornhurst?”

His gaze flickered from the window to her, a curious glint in his dark eyes. “Many years, my lady.”

She toyed with a loose thread on the edge of her sleeve. “How many years is that?”

An inane curiosity fluttered at the back of her mind. Lord Vincent was several years her senior, of that she was sure. But Leopold? She was unable to venture a guess to his age. Why it was so important at the moment, she hadn’t a clue, but she was desperate to know.

He lifted one thick dark brow at her, pressing his lips together as through trying to decide how to answer. “Manyyears.”

“Since he was a boy?”

The brow dropped back into place. A strained smile stretched across his lips. “Indeed, my lady.”

He didn’t seem to want to elaborate, which gave her no more information than when she asked in the first place. Frustration edged through her. She turned away and peered out the window, watching as the countryside rattled by. The closer they got to his castle, the darker and gloomier it got. As if the shadows clung to the estate like a curse etched into every stone.

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