Page 86 of The Devil in Oxford
It was admirable, really, what she and Julius Harker had been doing—a far sight riskier than anything I’d ever done on my own. “I’m glad.”
She gave me a strange look. “Glad of what?”
“Of what you’ve been doing. It was brave. Dangerous—yes—but brave.”
“I thought you might tell me it was reckless. I certainly thought it was at the time.”
I laughed, raking a hand through my hair. “It is. Exceedingly reckless. But sometimes doing what is right means being a little reckless.”
Leona laughed, the newfound tension between us dissolved at once. “You truly haven’t changed that much. I am sorry for saying otherwise when you were reluctant to help me at first. You aren’t a coward.”
“Don’t be sorry. I certainly deserved the accusations, and a little more.”
“You are hard on yourself. You were only speaking from experience.” Leona chewed on her lower lip before looking up at me. Almost sheepish. “How long are you still here?”
“The second of January, why?”
“Then you still owe me one more round—best out of three at the Artemis Club. I don’t feel like being cooped up in the basement today and I don’t suspect that Freddie is going to complain about my absence now that I’m back to translate for him at all hours. My body is craving a little bit of exercise.”
He gave her a slow smile. The sort that I should have seen from the beginning. The man was utterly besotted with Leona Abernathy, and she him.
“Fencing.” I mouthed the word to myself for good measure. “You are thinking offencingafter nearly getting killed?”
“Life is for living, Ruby Vaughn. It’s a wonder that you always forget that part.”
EPILOGUE
FOURweeks later, I stood outside a familiar storefront in Exeter. The worn gilt lettering of OWEN &SONSpainted some twenty years ago full of hope and promise had begun to fleck off in spots. We’d likely have to get it re-lettered in the new year, but that was a problem for another day. Hope, I was learning, was a transient thing, ever changing with the seasons. A motorcar rumbled past me on the street and for the first time, as I stood on the threshold between the world outside and the bookshop, I was not afraid. I did not fear my future, nor what had come to pass.
It was a novel thing, being brave.
I suppose I’d have to get used to it.
It was almost February now, and I’d spent the last three weeks rusticating—as Mr. Owen called it—in Lothlel Green with Ruan. He hadn’t been himself after what happened in Oxford. To all the world, my pellar was an impenetrable mountain of a man, but I could see how fragile he’d become—broken and chipped away by Laurent’s betrayal. I’d have liked to say that I stayed with him that long because we were happy in Cornwall. And we were happy, in a fashion. But there was a newfound darkness haunting Ruan’s eyes and a wound far deeper than either of us cared to admit. I spentmost of my days reading by the fire, while he worked in his garden preparing for spring. We’d walk, sometimes for hours at a time, and not say much to one another. The long, silent cliffside walks gave him the most pleasure. We’d traversed hundreds of miles over those weeks. It was a strange, peaceful sort of existence there. Sometimes he’d take me with him when he called on the villagers, other times he’d leave me behind at the cottage, but I did not belong in his world. Not for long. I missed Exeter and my life here. No matter how much I loved the man, a part of me would always be trapped between these two worlds. His and my own, until we figured out the balance of things.
And so, I was back—most of me at least. My heart, however, remained stubbornly in Cornwall.
The glass-paneled door gave with a creak, its cheery bell announcing my arrival. The familiar thump of my cat landing on the floor welcomed me home. Fiachna trotted across the bookshop and nuzzled my leg, followed by two mewling black-and-white kittens who looked as if they were dressed for supper. Fiachna purred loudly and began to roughly groom one of them. Now this was new. I scooped up the two kittens and wandered deeper into the bookshop.
“You’re back, my love?” Mr. Owen’s voice rumbled from somewhere deep in the bookshop. I inhaled slowly, reveling in the scent of old books. I craned my neck, peering past stack after stack of books lining the walls. Some were piled two to three tomes thick. I often fussed at him for his cavalier nature in maintaining such things, but it was his shop, not mine, and I’d been gone a scandalously long time.
“I thought it was time I came home.” I edged around a particularly precarious stack. “Whereareyou anyway, or did your pile of books fall on your head?”
“Not amusing, Ruby. I’m in the back. I got a new shipment in today. Care to join me?”
I squeezed between two overburdened shelves and lifted the curtain before joining him in the cramped storeroom. The tiny room was little more than a glorified cupboard and was crammed with even more oddities than the main room of the bookshop. Mr. Owen was seated on a large pillow, pulling books from a crate and setting them beside him on the floor.
“When were you going to tell me Fiachna had kittens?” I asked, setting the two little fluff balls onto a nearby pillow.
Mr. Owen harrumphed. “Well,hedidn’t have them, mind you, but I get your point. I’m not surewhosekittens they are, but he has taken a shine to them. They showed up at the doorstep the other night and the old rogue insists on grooming them and carrying them about. Perhaps he’s decided to settle down at long last.”
I couldn’t disguise my smile at the thought of Fiachna as a doting feline father. Mr. Owen grunted as he lifted another book from the crate.
“You know you could hire someone to help you with this. You don’t have to do everything on your own.” I took the book from his hands and placed it on a nearby pile.
He stared up at me over the top of his wire-rimmed glasses. “Why would I hire someone when I have you? That is, unless you’ve decided to quit—leave me high and dry here while you go off and gallivant with your witch. First the bloody cat settling down, now you.” He reached yet again into the crate.
“I’m not gallivanting anywhere, but you know this is far more than we can do between the two of us. Now go sit in your chair—I’ll handle this.” I took Halley’sAstronomical Tablesfrom his hands, admiring the fine condition. “Good God, who did you kill for this?”
