“You don’t look like either of your parents.”
“My father might have wanted to proclaim me bastard, but the proof of my mother’s fidelity is in this gallery.”
Interspersed with more conventional-looking faces, Black Jack’s piratical features looked out at the world, sometimes in daughters of the house, more often in sons. Black Trevithicks were usually male. Their faces were everywhere, under cavalier curls or bag wigs. Intelligent, knowing black eyes. Lazy, confident smiles.
Sarah tipped her head to the side, surveying his mother. “She looks sad.”
Gideon was surprised Sarah sensed the picture’s melancholy. He found himself telling her what he’d never told another person. “My father wasn’t an easy man. What little I’ve learned of their union indicates an infelicitous match. My brother’s delivery was difficult, and the doctors advised separate bedrooms. But my father insisted on his rights, so three years and four miscarriages later, I arrived.”
“And she slipped away.” Sarah returned her attention to the portrait. “How tragic.”
“Yes, it was.”
Would his childhood have been different if his mother had lived? She’d been a gentle woman with intellectual tastes. He’d always believed he inherited his love of learning from her.
“You don’t mind if I wear her clothes?”
He shrugged. “She was unfailingly kind. Everyone who knew her agreed on that. My father viewed her generous nature as a sign of weakness. The villagers, though, loved her and still speak of her fondly. She’d be the first to offer her wardrobe to a lady in distress.”
“I would have liked your mother.” Sarah’s smile was tinged with compassion.
He tensed. His pride revolted at her pity.
“Come up to the attics,” he said sharply, and tried to ignore the way her eyes once more darkened with hurt.
He turned on his heel to stalk out of the gallery and along the dim corridor that ran through the back of the house. She scurried to keep pace with his long stride. Without speaking, they climbed a series of ever-narrowing stairways lit by dirty mullioned windows.
Outside the last door, Gideon lifted two candlesticks from a niche. He lit the candles and passed one to Sarah, who waited slightly breathless at his side. He stifled a pang of guilt. It wasn’t long since she’d endured a savage beating, and yesterday she’d nearly fallen off a cliff. He should have more consideration than to rush her through the house at top speed.
Still, his tone was brusque. “Here. It’s dark up there.”
“Thank you.”
Silently, she followed him up the final precipitous staircase. He entered the attics ahead of her and halted abruptly as a thousand memories overwhelmed him.
The smell was exactly the same. Dust. Old dry wood. Fusty air. Painfully reminding him of boyhood misery.
“Heavens, you could fit a village up here.” Sarah stepped closer but thank God, didn’t touch him. Still her vibrant presence stirred his blood to turbulence.
Against his will, he looked at her. Flickering candlelight transformed her into a creature of dark mystery. Turned her great hazel eyes into bottomless pools. Gilded a cheekbone as she tilted her head with open curiosity to survey the cavernous area.
“It’s where I studied when I was a boy.” He raised his candle to illuminate a corner under the sloping roof. “Nobody’s touched it since I was last here. Look.”
Sarah moved closer to the untidy pile of books stacked near the ragged blanket he’d used in winter. In January, the attics had been as cold as an ice cave in hell. “You wanted to get away from your father.”
He cast her a sharp glance. “He hated having a bookish son. But no number of beatings changed me. I was stubborn.”
“You were strong. You are strong.”
He could have argued but didn’t. “Luckily, most of the year I was away at school.”
“Do you know where your mother’s belongings are?”
He pointed to some trunks against the wall. “They haven’t been shifted either. My father’s and brother’s things are downstairs. It’s such a big house, I hardly need the room.”
“It’s a house meant for children,” she said quietly. “Lots of them.”
He tensed, wondering if she meant to pursue the subject of marriage again but she said no more. Relief trickled through his veins.