Page 29 of Charlotte's Story
I frowned down at the smooth ivory keys.
“Are you done playing, Elizabeth?” Lady Catherine asked.
“I am.” Lizzy stood from the piano and shot me a look before heading over to join the others.
Lady Catherine waved toward the violinist, who’d apparently followed us into the room, and he started to playGod Rest Ye Merry Gentleman.
I stayed at the piano bench, thinking. Was Lizzy right? Maybe I had been shutting everything out since Hugh. But even if I was, was that really so wrong?
A glance at William made my stomach churn. Now wasn’t the time to lower my defenses. There was a murderer on the loose and I hardly knew who to trust, not to mention William was in a vulnerable state with his memories gone. It was the time for logic, not emotions.
I’d protect myself and William, from the killer and even from myself.
Chapter 7
Lessthananhourlater, we made it back to the house, and Lizzy left with another whispered, “The apartment is always open.”
I pushed her out the door a little too hurriedly, then shut it behind her.
“Wait. The temperature has dropped, and she isn’t wearing enough layers.” William ran after her, slipping a little in the snow before righting himself and catching up.
Lizzy’s eyebrows drew up at his approach, then her expression morphed into a hesitant smile as he offered her one of his self-warming scarves.
I started to smile too, until a prickle inched up my spine. It wasn’t from the cold. I stepped closer to the window, peering out. Snow blanketed the trees. Lizzy’s car waited near the curb. The driveway stretched empty and still.
Everything was still. Too still.
It felt like we were being watched.
I shivered again and pushed the thought away as William came back in from walking Lizzy to her car, rubbing his hands together and blowing on them. “So what are we going to do tonight?” he said. “I don’t feel good about staying here.”
“You’re right. The killer could come back and try to finish the job.” I didn’t bring up that sense of being watched. No need to worry William even more when it might just be an overactive imagination. A mismatched pair of slippers shuffled out from under the couch and bumped gently against my ankles, as if urging me to make myself comfortable and stop worrying.
“I’m more worried about you than me.” William’s hand traced his cuff again. “At least I have my magic to protect me, but you’re my frostpetal. Brave. Resilient. But not designed for magical threats.” He glanced at the washi paper lantern on the bookshelf like he thought I was also that delicate and easily torn.
My throat closed up at the honest concern in his voice.
He ran a hand through his hair once, then again, like he was smoothing out thoughts instead of strands. “We cannot stay here.”
“We could go on our honeymoon.” My stomach fluttered at the thought, and as if the stockings heard me, they scooted closer together on the mantle until they were almost touching. “But I’m not sure how the barrier around the town would affect you considering you’re already dealing with a memory enchantment.” At least I had a charm that would keep me from losing my memories.
“Hmm. Good point.” His brow wrinkled. “Who knows if they’ll interfere with each other or have some negative side effect.”
“I have an idea.” I glanced at him. “We could stay at my aunt’s house. She lives on the edge of town near the sea.”
“Stay with your aunt?” His eyes widened. “Has she met me yet?”
“Very briefly at the wedding,” I said. “But we didn’t have much time to talk.”
“What if she doesn’t like me?”
“That’s what you’re worried about?” I blew out a breath.
“Yes.” He nodded. “Meeting new people is one of the most unpredictable social variables. Maybe I could memorize a joke. People like those, right?”
“It’ll be fine. She’ll like you.” It was becoming too easy to do that.
“Actually, I know just the thing. I’ll figure out a few compliments and practice them,” he muttered to himself as he pulled out his journal.
