Page 48 of Burning Secrets of a Lady's Pen
The darkness of the night poured in behind him, casting odd shadows along the empty, barren walls. Uncle John had stopped using the stables on this side of the property some years before, and the evidence of it was in every nook and cranny of the old space. What hay was left was limp and bedraggled, sparsely covering the floor and all that was there at all despite the makeshift table and two chairs Imelda had dragged out earlier that evening.
“Oh, I suppose you could have just waltzed through the front door at this hour?” Imelda laughed, trying her damnedest to stay on track.
Seeing Corin still hurt. It activated an ache in her she didn’t even know how to put words to. But she was determined to get them back on the right footing, to recapture that friendship that she had proclaimed in such earnest when she’d seen him that third to last time upon his announcing Mr. Batten’s acceptance.
She just had to ignore her own emotions long enough to do so.
Every meeting since then had been the two of them tirelessly working on perfecting those first few chapters of her novel. Squabbling about where to end things and what to add and subtract from the story. She did notice they stayed very far away from any mention of inspiration or anything else similar, though.
“Well, maybe.” Corin laughed, shaking his coat out and putting it on an old harness peg before crossing the distance to her. “Lord knows your uncle is eccentric enough to possibly allow it.”
Imelda couldn’t deny that.
“Certainly, if he knew the reason for your being here,” Imelda hummed. “But my aunt? Hardly. She’d insist on a chaperone. Which, given my family’s proclivity for talking and adding their two cents in oneverything,would mean we would never get any work done at all.”
Corin snorted, taking the seat across from her at the makeshift table. “Are we working tonight? I thought you were going to have me give it one final look over and then toast our success.”
Imelda made a face, scrunching her nose up as she handed the manuscript as it was across to him. That was the intention. She didn’t think it needed much looking over now, but…
“Although what we’re to toast when you’ve only got hay in here…and sad looking hay at that,” Corin said distractedly, already flipping through the by-now-familiar pages.
Imelda fought not to kick the table at him, biting back a smile as she reached down to her side of the ‘table’ and pulled forth a half-empty bottle of brandy and two glasses.
“This is exactly what you need to send,” Corin muttered, still not having looked up. “I love what you’ve done with the cliffhanger in that last chapter as well. It will really—” He cut off as his eyes finally lifted, his gaze falling on the brandy and a snort leaving him.
“So, we’re toasting?” Imelda laughed, already opening the bottle and pouring it into the glasses as Corin hurried to put the papers away.
“We’re toasting. If only to watch your face as you do.” Corin chuckled.
Imelda fought the heat rushing through her at the statement, memories threatening to bludgeon their way through her so far iron-clad self-control.
“To dreams coming true,” she whispered as she handed him his drink and lifted her own.
Something flickered through his dark eyes, his lips quirking as he nodded. “To accomplishing one’s goals,” he said instead.
Together, they took their first sip, Imelda doing her best to control her features as they did. Brandy was still just as strong and as bitter as she remembered.
“Goals are a funny thing,” she admitted, dropping her glass from her lips and staring down into the amber liquid swishing within. “We know all of mine. You’re helping me accomplish them. But I don’t think I’ve ever asked you whatyouhave planned.”
Corin was staring at her as she looked up, that hidden emotion flashing once more, but he looked away at her implication. “What do you mean?”
“Well…is that your goal? What you are doing now? Running your family estates and critiquing in your spare time? What else do you want to accomplish?” She couldn’t deny the curiosity there. She knew his life was full, or as full as anyone else’s was. She just…couldn’t fathom that being the whole of his existence.
Corin took a drink, shrugging. “Taking care of my brother is a full-time job,” he muttered.
“Romeo?” Imelda frowned. “But he’s married.”
As soon as she said the words, she remembered what he had told her about Alice; about Romeo and Alice, specifically, and everything that had led to Corin having to marry the woman in the first place. She grimaced at having let it slip her mind, but Corin just laughed.
“Yes, he’s married. That’s part of the problem. Him being a terrible rake, as a second son, wouldn’t be so bad if he weren’t, you know. Keeping Romeo and Sybille together and things under wraps takes a good deal of focus.”
“Couldn’t your father help?” Imelda couldn’t help but pry. She remembered so little of what he had said about his father. Corin had always been evasive when it came to the elder Lord Salthouse.
Even just mentioning him made Corin grimace.
“My father is mad.” It was said so plainly that Imelda struggled to tell if he meant it literally or not. “He prefers isolation. I think that is part of what drove him mad, if I am honest. After my mother, he stopped taking guests. He stopped visiting…with everyone, Romeo and I included. I am unsure whether it is possible to have any future outside of this—the one in which I am both my brother and father’s caretaker. It is a terrible existence.”
The way he said it made Imelda frown even harder. She didn’t know who he was trying to convince more, her or himself.
