Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
His words were so curt, so cold and cruel that she couldn’t think of a retort. She burst into tears instead, into loud, awful sobs. “I wish I’d died too,” she cried. “It would have been better, wouldn’t it?”
He stared at her, his lips tight and trembling. “Damn it, Ophelia. I didn’t mean what I just said.”
“You’re saying that to be polite. You did mean it.”
“Of course I didn’t.”
His voice was strained, and his eyes wide. She couldn’t bear to look at him through her tears. He hated her. Why wouldn’t he? She was so terrible and disappointing, and so bad a wife. Everything she touched was ruined, just like her dreams where she lit everything on fire.
God help her. She needed air. She couldn’t breathe. She pulled her robe tight around her waist and ran for the door. She heard him call behind her, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t be near him now, couldn’t be near someone who hated her so much.
You hated him first, her mind whispered. You started the argument tonight. Look where it ended up.
She ran blindly down the hallway, past still, quiet rooms, until she got to one of the tower doors. She flung it open and started climbing, only to expend the emotions roiling inside her. The ancient stairs rose in a twisting circle, the stones worn by generations of treading feet. She heard Wescott call behind her, but she couldn’t stop fleeing now that she’d begun. She wouldn’t stop until she was out of this cursed manor house, out on the parapets beneath the chilly night sky.
“Do not follow me,” she called back to him. “I want to be alone.”
He was just behind her, reaching to catch her robe. “What are you going to do up there?”
She paused on the stair. “Do you think I’ll throw myself from the battlements? I despise you, but not enough to take my own life. Leave me alone. Pretend for a while that I did die in that fire, so you can feel some joy for precious moments.”
“Ophelia—”
She reached the top of the stairs, all out of breath, pushed the door open, and hurried through to get away from him and his gruff, exasperated voice. It was colder up on the roof than she’d imagined, but not too dark. The night was lit by a full moon.
She ran to the roof’s edge, which wasn’t really an edge. Battlements lined the perimeter, rectangular barriers that looked small from below, but were as tall as she was. She leaned against one and looked up at the sky. O Moon, silver Moon, in the deep, dark sky. Another song, another opera. The words had been in Latin, although she’d learned them in English too. O Luna, Luna, Luna…
It had been a song about a maiden’s lost love, and she had pretended to weep as she implored the moon to shine on the earth and find him. She’d been so young when she sang that song, not realizing how destructive and confusing real relationships could be. She leaned back into the solid stone and let it hold her as she looked up at the night sky. What had she done? What had she shouted at Wescott in her impassioned hysteria? The same sort of awful things he’d shouted back to her.
Oh, she wished she could be anywhere else.
She heard Wescott to her right, just as she realized her feet were freezing in her slippers.
“Come inside,” he said. “Don’t punish yourself because we argued.”
“I’m not punishing myself. I need to be up here. I can’t breathe.”
He took a step closer, tightening his robe across his chest. “You can’t breathe because it’s cold. You can come up here during the day, when the sun’s out.”
She shook her head, holding him off. “During the day, I won’t be able to see the stars.”
She heard his quiet sigh, then only silence. He didn’t leave, not even when she turned her back to him. Now and again, she wiggled her stiffening toes.
“I’m trying to understand you,” he finally said. “I’m trying, Ophelia. I didn’t think things would be so bad between us.”
She hugged herself tighter. “They’ll always be bad, because of how…how we began.”
“We need to let go of that. We need to move forward as husband and wife—”
“But this isn’t what I wanted.” She pressed her palm against her heart. “Now I can’t go back.”
“What is it you want? What is it you think you’ve lost, that I’ve taken from you?”
“What might have been,” she said wearily.
“You wanted to travel? Fine, we can travel. You can still sing, although you don’t seem to want to.” He sounded tired. “You could stay safe and easy here. Most English women are happy enough with a life of leisure, with tea parties and dances, and trips to the theater, and pretty gowns and jewels.”