Chapter 87 - Eighty Seven
The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, and the moon, a pale, lonely crescent, now hung high in the dark, cloudless sky. Eric stood by the window of the drawing room, watching the gate, waiting. He kept waiting. The small showers of rain that fell for like a minute brought a chill in the night air that was palpable, seeping through the glass, but he didn’t notice it. He pulled his gold pocket watch from his vest for what must have been the twentieth time. The hands pointed to a late hour.
"She should be home by now, shouldn’t she?" he said to the empty room.
He had spent the remainder of the day trying to work, trying to focus on contracts and shipments, but his mind kept drifting back to her. The memory of her shy, beautiful smile as she looked at him when she came down the stairs earlier that day. He had given her space, respecting her need to know what she wanted, but now, the space was beginning to feel like a cold, empty void.
With a sigh, he walked towards his room. As he passed down the quiet, dimly lit hallway, he saw that the door to Delia’s room was slightly ajar. He stopped, a frown creasing his brow. He wanted to help her close it, to ensure her privacy, but something caught his eye from within. A strange, shimmering color on her writing table.
He hesitated for only a moment before he slowly, quietly, pushed the door open and stepped inside. This was the first time he had ever entered her room since she had moved in. A faint, intoxicating scent of lavender immediately enveloped him. It was her scent, and he felt a strange sense of both intrusion and comfort, as if he were stepping into a part of her very soul.
His eyes went to the source of the shimmer. On her writing table, next to a neat stack of books, was a small glass container containing a dye with a color he couldn’t quite put a finger on. It was a soft, ethereal lavender, but it seemed to shimmer with hints of silver in the lamplight and at different shades. It wasn’t perfect but it was beautiful. Beside it was a small note written in her elegant hand: "Have to redo. Mordant ratio is still off."
Eric chuckled softly as he dropped the note back on the table. Even in her personal projects, she was a perfectionist.
His senses were still filled with the faint scent of lavender in the room. It was everywhere—on the simple robe hanging on the back of a chair, on the pillow of her neatly made bed. His eyes then went to her vanity table. He saw the dark blue ribbon he had given her, the one from his cabin study, resting beside a very sparse collection of ornaments. A single silver-backed brush, a small bottle of lavender water, and not much else.
"I will have to buy more ornaments for her," he thought to himself, a warm, protective feeling spreading in his chest.
He felt a pang of guilt for leaving her here all alone for two days. He saw some books on her writing table; several were bookmarked, showing signs of being read and loved. He picked one up. It was a book of poetry.
Then he saw it. A simple, leather-bound book, tucked slightly under a stack of papers. It was her diary. He knew he shouldn’t touch it. He knew it was her most private space, a violation he had no right to commit. But his curiosity, his desperate need to understand the complex, guarded woman he was to marry, got the better of him. With a feeling of both guilt and anticipation, he took the book and opened it.
The first page he turned to made him smile. Her neat script filled the page.
"Lady Tremaine says that Amber told her my eyes sparkle like sapphires. I have never thought of my own eyes in such a way. Amber is a good and kind person. I think... I think I am beginning to understand what it feels like to have a real sister."