Page 22 of Unmasking the Silver Heiress
Nate watched her go, popping a final morsel of his breakfast into his mouth. He wasn’t sure what memories were about to be stirred from deep slumber within him, and perhaps it would have been better to risk the unknown alone.
All the same, it was a comfort to see his aunt again. Perhaps he wasn’t without origin, after all.
Chapter 12
By the time the sun had started to set, Nate and his aunt had realized just how enmeshed they'd gotten in exploring the rooms of Meridian.
As though by magic, the first carriage bearing a haul of items from his London townhouse had arrived, with items that could feasibly make up a bedroom, only an hour or so after Nate and Susan had begun their task. It was good fortune, for they were able to single out a room to sweep and dust to a satisfactory state so that things might begin to come together that very day.
There was still quite a lot of furniture in the old place, most of it shrouded in large swathes of white fabric, haloed with dust. He and his aunt had inspected a few things, a piano in the parlor, the dining table and chairs, and even the crib in the old nursery seemed to be salvageable, while other things, like the twenty-year-old mattresses left to decay in their frames, would have to be disposed of.
"Kit will be wondering where on earth we've gotten to," Susan said, peering out at the dull glow of the setting sun. "There's no dinner on, either. I suppose we might go retrieve him and take our supper at the public house?"
"I'd like that," Nate agreed. "You've done quite enough labor for the day."
They returned to the Cooper house, a bit dustier than Nate would have preferred, and gathered his cousin to set out for a ready-made dinner at the cozy little pub that had sat on the corner since the Tudors had reigned.
"I'm amazed that it's held up so well," Susan told them, settling on a hearty shepherd's pie and a glass of ale. "Whoever your mysterious caretaker was for all this time, he did a wonderful job beating back the consequences of time."
"I can't believe you intend to live there," Kit said, his eyes narrowed over his own glass of wine as he studied his cousin. "You seemed very much decided on never wanting to set foot in that house again."
"Well, time changes a man," Nate replied with a shrug, hoping that a meaningful glance in Kit's direction would silence any further questioning along these lines. "And so does marriage. It wouldn't do to put my new bride up in London all year 'round, would it? We will make new memories to overshadow the old ones."
"Yes," Kit agreed, his eyes still narrowed with suspicion. "I have no doubt on that accord."
"Tell us all about her, Nathaniel," Susan said, reaching over to clasp his hand across the table. "If my own son won't marry, I'll have to take my joy in your own union. What might we expect of your Eleanor?"
What might they expect? Nathaniel hadn't the faintest idea, but he gave his practiced politician's smile, and sang her praises as though there was no doubt at all in his mind, all the while ignoring the keen way his cousin watched him with an uncomfortable intensity, likely seeing right through every layer of artifice, no matter how carefully constructed.
* * *
It wasn'tuntil Susan Cooper had retired for the evening that Kit spoke freely.
"I want to see it," was the first thing he said.
"You want to see what?" Nate had asked, already fantasizing about plodding back upstairs and kicking his boots off.
"Meridian. Let's ride out now. It is still early, and there will be plenty of time to return if you wish it. If you don't, I understand you now have a bedchamber prepared for you, oh lord and master."
Nathaniel sighed, running a hand through his hair and looking away from his cousin.
Growing up, people had often thought them brothers. Kit was just two years younger than Nate, and the resemblance was often described as uncanny. Kit was fairer, with golden blond hair and his mother's soft blue eyes, and a fair bit more muscled, due to his penchant for taking the hard way 'round in life. He wore his hair longer and his clothes plainer and his emotions more honestly.
Tonight, with Kit towering over him, arms crossed over his chest and a frown cut deep into his face, Nate rather thought his cousin was the manifestation of his own conscience. Kit was a reflection of himself without the shadows and the artifice, and he was the only person in the world who wouldn't happily swallow his sugared half-truths and be grateful for the pleasure.
It was a damned nuisance.
"I'll saddle the horses," Kit said, as though the matter was settled. "Grab some lanterns and oil. I'll meet you outside in a few minutes."
There was no point in sighing again, but Nate did it anyway. When he stepped outside, Kit tossed him a set of reins and wordlessly mounted his own horse, ready to set out. They rode in silence, which was just as well, for Nate was not prepared for the lump of dread that rose up in his throat at the sight of Meridian cresting the horizon, lit only by moonlight.
It had not seemed half so ominous by the light of day, not half so full of pain and secrets. There was no turning back, however, and if he was determined to follow through with the task set to him by Lady Silver, he must set his jaw and brave it out, like any other man would.
Kit's face was dour as they arrived, each movement he made somehow heavier in the wake of all the history that hung around this place. It was a rare thing to see Kit without a smile on his face, truth be told, which only added weight to the dread Nate was nursing.
He drew the ring of keys from his coat and strode forward, determined not to let this play out any longer than it needed to. His staff were sleeping at a local inn tonight, so the house would be empty for likely the next day or more, while things were set to rights inside. The hinges on the door did not squeak or protest, instead swinging open at the merest suggestion, as though it were well accustomed to inviting visitors inside.
Kit sucked in his breath, stepping over the threshold and into the gallery with his lantern held high in front of him. The candlelight cast a faint glow throughout the large, empty room, its chill magnified by the Italian marble in the floors and the cold, tarnished brass on the fittings. It might as well be a ruin or a cave in some unknown corner of the world for all the resemblance it bore to what it once had been.
