Page 49 of The Wolf of Mayfair
She wanted to get closer to it; she wanted to climb inside and borrow more of that strength and heat.
She turned and twisted in a bid to do so.
Then she heard it.
Faint and distant—a song.
“Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
and never brought to mind?”
The strains so very familiar and soothing.
“Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
and auld lang syne?”
That song of her childhood, and of her family.
“For auld lang syne, my jo,
for auld lang syne.”
Only, it wasn’t her father’s deep voice now singing. Rather, this deep, sonorous baritone belonged to another.
“We’ll tak’ a cup o’ kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.”
And then, her pain and heartache somehow ... forgotten, replaced by that deep, distant, melodious voice, Helia slept.
Chapter 10
The refreshing pleasure from the first view of nature, after the pain of illness, and the confinement of a sick-chamber, is above the conceptions, as well as the descriptions, of those in health.
—Ann Radcliffe, The Mysteries of Udolpho
Helia opened her eyes, then promptly wished she hadn’t.
Her father had often said the moment she’d been born, she’d chased away the dark clouds that had gripped the Highland skies, and the first sun after a winter of gloom had marked her a daughter of the sun.
And yet, with the bright rays streaming from that great orb through the crack in the curtains, she’d far prefer a darker sky to the blinding brightness.
With greater care, Helia tried again.
This time, she turned her heavy head away from those windows, and toward the other side of the room. She blinked remarkably heavy lashes and sought to make out her murky surroundings.
Her gaze locked on the ornately carved, unfamiliar oak door ... and with an uncharacteristic lethargy, Helia forced her stare away from that intricate panel and took in the other surrounding details: the Louis XVI bedside table with its butterfly veneer. The ornate, polished brassewer and basin. The damask rose wallpaper, just a faint shade away from being too garish.
These weren’t her rooms.
Ma favored bright, cheerful shades and less elaborate decor.
Her head thick from the fog of sleep, she tried to make sense of her surroundings.
Where am I?
Panic built at the base of her skull, knocking away, and Helia, sluggish as she’d never been, raised her hands to the back of her head.
