Read Online Season For Desire by Theresa Romain - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Theresa Romain
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anticipation of the moment suffuse him. What if this was a treasure, after all? What if his mother’s final words had been literal rather than the laudanum dreams of a dying woman?
No, it was far too small a box to hold such possibility.
For one thing, it wasn’t made of gold. It was much too light for that. Giles had had a fair amount of metallurgy drummed into his head, since Richard was sure he’d want to become a jeweler one day. Was there ever a father who didn’t inflict his own thwarted dreams on his son?
Giles set the box down again on the tabletop, and the others leaned in to look, as though it might have changed during its minute in his hands. “Gilded wood of some kind,” he said. “I haven’t seen many himitsu-bako , but all the ones I’ve looked at closely have been made of wood.”
A memory teased Giles, and he bent over the box and inhaled deeply.
“Does it have a scent?” Sophy asked. “I never noticed one—but then, I spend most of my time sneezing.”
“No, it doesn’t. I expected it to. When I made a puzzle box for my mother years ago, she said she wanted it of rosewood because she liked the smell. But this one is—well, I don’t know what it is.”
“It’s golden. Does anything else matter?” said Lady Irving.
“Getting it open does.”
Before he could begin in earnest, each person had to take a turn hefting the box and testing its sealed lid. Even the person who had owned it for thirty-five years and could have been presumed to have given all this a try at her leisure.
“Sophy, how did you come to be friends with Lady Beatrix?” Audrina traced the whorls and incisions on the box lid. “You must be quite a bit younger than she was.”
“I should say so,” muttered Lady Irving. “Not close in age to Rutherford at all.”
Sophy shot the countess an odd look, which was something Giles wanted to do about ninety percent of the time. “My elder sister was of an age with Lady Beatrix. Since I idolized my sister, I idolized her friends, too. I was a curious child, as you can imagine, and my sister was kind enough to tolerate my presence when her friends called.” She pressed the bridge of her nose. “Some of them, that is. Some of her friends wouldn’t allow a child to stay in the drawing room when they called, but Lady Beatrix always did. She said I reminded her of her own sister.”
“That makes perfect sense.” Richard, cheerful.
“That makes no sense at all. Are you talking about Lady Fontaine?” Giles had met his mother’s younger sister during their first month in England, and a more shriveled, crabbed woman than Lady Fontaine was difficult to imagine. Arthritis had wrecked both sisters at an early age. If anything, it seemed to have wasted Lady Fontaine even more quickly than it had her older sister. Though it had spared her life for the time being, she was confined to a wheeled chair and had to be carried up the steps of her own home.
“She was young and healthy then.” Sophy’s voice held the wounded haughtiness of an expert whose opinion was questioned. “Perhaps your mother didn’t always communicate with her own family so well as she did others. Considering she had no contact with her relatives from the time of her leaving England—”
“Let’s have a look at that puzzle box,” Giles cut in. “Maybe I can get it open. Even after this immense stretch of time during which Lady Beatrix’s American and English families became utter strangers to one another.”
He flexed his hands, trying to dismiss the thread of pain that raced from wrist to elbow. No one knew when or how the arthritis would progress, if at all.
Wordlessly, Sophy handed the box to him.
“Sorry,” he muttered. “Thank you, Sophy, for keeping it safe for so long.”
Her gaze fled as though she were embarrassed. “Think nothing of it. I was happy to be remembered by her.”
Giles began to test the surface of the ancient gilded wood: a tug at an edge here, a tap at a corner
No, it was far too small a box to hold such possibility.
For one thing, it wasn’t made of gold. It was much too light for that. Giles had had a fair amount of metallurgy drummed into his head, since Richard was sure he’d want to become a jeweler one day. Was there ever a father who didn’t inflict his own thwarted dreams on his son?
Giles set the box down again on the tabletop, and the others leaned in to look, as though it might have changed during its minute in his hands. “Gilded wood of some kind,” he said. “I haven’t seen many himitsu-bako , but all the ones I’ve looked at closely have been made of wood.”
A memory teased Giles, and he bent over the box and inhaled deeply.
“Does it have a scent?” Sophy asked. “I never noticed one—but then, I spend most of my time sneezing.”
“No, it doesn’t. I expected it to. When I made a puzzle box for my mother years ago, she said she wanted it of rosewood because she liked the smell. But this one is—well, I don’t know what it is.”
“It’s golden. Does anything else matter?” said Lady Irving.
“Getting it open does.”
Before he could begin in earnest, each person had to take a turn hefting the box and testing its sealed lid. Even the person who had owned it for thirty-five years and could have been presumed to have given all this a try at her leisure.
“Sophy, how did you come to be friends with Lady Beatrix?” Audrina traced the whorls and incisions on the box lid. “You must be quite a bit younger than she was.”
“I should say so,” muttered Lady Irving. “Not close in age to Rutherford at all.”
Sophy shot the countess an odd look, which was something Giles wanted to do about ninety percent of the time. “My elder sister was of an age with Lady Beatrix. Since I idolized my sister, I idolized her friends, too. I was a curious child, as you can imagine, and my sister was kind enough to tolerate my presence when her friends called.” She pressed the bridge of her nose. “Some of them, that is. Some of her friends wouldn’t allow a child to stay in the drawing room when they called, but Lady Beatrix always did. She said I reminded her of her own sister.”
“That makes perfect sense.” Richard, cheerful.
“That makes no sense at all. Are you talking about Lady Fontaine?” Giles had met his mother’s younger sister during their first month in England, and a more shriveled, crabbed woman than Lady Fontaine was difficult to imagine. Arthritis had wrecked both sisters at an early age. If anything, it seemed to have wasted Lady Fontaine even more quickly than it had her older sister. Though it had spared her life for the time being, she was confined to a wheeled chair and had to be carried up the steps of her own home.
“She was young and healthy then.” Sophy’s voice held the wounded haughtiness of an expert whose opinion was questioned. “Perhaps your mother didn’t always communicate with her own family so well as she did others. Considering she had no contact with her relatives from the time of her leaving England—”
“Let’s have a look at that puzzle box,” Giles cut in. “Maybe I can get it open. Even after this immense stretch of time during which Lady Beatrix’s American and English families became utter strangers to one another.”
He flexed his hands, trying to dismiss the thread of pain that raced from wrist to elbow. No one knew when or how the arthritis would progress, if at all.
Wordlessly, Sophy handed the box to him.
“Sorry,” he muttered. “Thank you, Sophy, for keeping it safe for so long.”
Her gaze fled as though she were embarrassed. “Think nothing of it. I was happy to be remembered by her.”
Giles began to test the surface of the ancient gilded wood: a tug at an edge here, a tap at a corner
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