Chapter
7
Daphne was awakened the next morning by a horse neighing outside her bedroom window. Rayne was waiting for her by the casement where she viewed Ambrose riding his polka-dot horse across the estate. She hastened out of her bedroom and dashed down the hall, right for Harriett who was heading toward her.
"Child, where are you going so fast?" the old nurse demanded.
"Outside!" Daphne cried.
"You most certainly are not dressed like that!" Without further protest, Harriett snatched Daphne's elbow and dragged the reluctant child back to her bedroom to dress. Daphne flung off her funnel nightgown then held her arms above her head for Harriet to gird her in a chemise.
“I do wish her ladyship would send for a seamstress to make you something more colorful to wear,” the old nurse muttered as she fit Daphne into a black button up dress. She pulled a pair of grey stockings up to her knees, laced the black shoes on her feet, then sat her down in front of the mirror and combed her rumpled raven hair into order.
Daphne fidgeted, she could scarcely sit still and look pretty when she’d already taken flight on her adventure. Luckily, Harriett had no intention of detaining her further. She tied her hair back with a bright purple bow, holding it in place when Daphne tried to yank it off.
"There." Harriett moved away to admire her handiwork.
No sooner did her withered hands leave her, Daphne hopped from the chair and scurried out of the room. She ran out the tall oaken doors and stumbled upon Alistair standing on the front porch with her Aunt Valerie, her arm laced around his. They were too absorbed in conversation to notice her creep behind one of the hedges with Rayne where she was able to observe Ambrose without being disturbed.
“He’s a wonder. I take him with me to the Carnival each year and he picks out the finest breeds for me,” Alistair was saying to Valerie with pride in his voice.
“Do you love anything more than your horses?” Valerie asked him sardonically.
A smile curved Alistair’s generous lips, his grey eyes shimmered as he watched Ambrose slow to a trot then dismount. “The wonderful thing about horses, Valerie, is they don’t bore with conversation before a ride,” he remarked.
“Speak for yourself. I’m not the one talking about horses. Shall we adjourn?” Valerie asked, retreating into the house.
Daphne watched Alistair follow her inside before sneaking out of the hedges. She trailed where Ambrose led his horse into the barn, Rayne ascended to perch on the wooden beams overhead.
Ambrose was stroking his horse’s reddish-brown and white polka-dot mane in its compartment, when he faltered upon seeing her.
“Hello,” he greeted.
Daphne hesitated at the threshold. “Hello,” she returned.
“Do you like horses?” he asked.
“No,” Daphne admitted.
“Why ever not?” Ambrose asked with a playful smile.
“Vincent once let me feed them oats and one bit my hand!”
“Ah… Is that why you won’t come near?”
Daphne fidgeted with her fingers. “Yes.”
He patted his stallion then approached her. Daphne was overcome with timidity as he took her hand in his and led her to the compartment. He placed her palm on his horse's mane, feeling her stiffen with reluctance.
"It's alright, sweet Daphne," he whispered into her ear.
Her shoulders rose with a shiver to the sound of his voice so close to her, her hand relaxed as he guided her strokes.
“What’s her name?” she asked.
“His name is Poe,” he corrected.
“Poe!” Daphne repeated the name with a smile.
“Would you like to go for a ride?” Ambrose asked.
Daphne fretted over the question. "I don’t know how," she admitted.
"We’ll ride together," he reassured her, his fingers curling around hers.
Before she could comprehend anything else, he scooped her up in his arms and hoisted her up onto his horse’s saddle. Presently, he climbed up behind her, his arm wrapped securely around her stomach, while his other hand took the reins and galloped them out of the barn.
They spent the entire morning riding together. The afternoon had grown chilly with a drizzle when they dismounted and left Poe to graze in the field.
Daphne ran heedless about, her clothes became muddied and damp. Ambrose caught her up in his arms, and she laughed with delight as he spun her round. She was suddenly being cradled, twirling with him, her hair had sprung free of the obnoxious bow, and her long raven locks fell loose and wet around her face. She became aware that they’d stopped moving, and she felt the warmth of Ambrose’s breath against her lips, such a contrast to the cold rain. She lifted her hands and felt his face, droplets trickling down his smooth skin. She touched his forehead, his eyelids, his lips. His breath was coming fast, his mouth was so close to hers Daphne almost kissed it.
She came out of her trance at the sound of Harriett's voice calling to her from the porch. She leapt out of Ambrose's arms and scurried back to the manor where the old nurse awaited her beneath the archway, a blanket in hand. She wrapped it around Daphne's back as she led her inside.
"Ah Daphne, you’ve ruined your dress,” Harriett sighed. “I’ll have to burn it so your aunt doesn’t see.” She led her upstairs into the bathing chamber where a tub was filled to the brim with warm fragranced water. The old nurse lathered her, washing the mud from her skin and hair, and then left her to soak.
Rayne dipped into the water, her feathers fluffed and droplets sprayed in Daphne’s face.
Harriett shortly returned with a towel in hand and wrapped it around her body as Daphne stepped out of the tub onto the cool marble floor. The old nurse took a comb to her dripping hair and smoothed it out. It was certain to blossom with curls by the time it dried.
"All better." Harriett smiled when she finished.
She helped Daphne slip into a nightgown and guided her to her bedroom. Outside was pouring with rain. Daphne couldn’t find sleep as raindrops hit like pebbles on the windowpane. An unpleasant chill was sweeping through the house. Daphne pulled the covers up to her shoulders, shivering.
On nights like these Barnaby kept a fire burning in the dining hall. Daphne slipped out of bed and crept downstairs with Rayne. She faltered by the double doors of the hall and Rayne peeked inside. She glimpsed Alistair and Ambrose standing within, conversing by the enormous fireplace.
“Did you enjoy your romp in the mud with Valerie’s little ragamuffin?” Alistair asked, holding a crystal glass full of wine to the fire. He seemed intrigued by the multitude of colors reflecting off it.
A smile touched Ambrose’s lips. In the midst of the burning light his emerald eyes shimmered, like the golden sheen of his skin.
“She fascinates me,” he admitted. “It’s hard to imagine how something so free can be confined in this….” He seemed to refer to the house the way he glimpsed about them.
Alistair observed the enthrallment on his face for a moment, then he sniffed, wrinkling his nose in apparent displeasure. “Indeed? I found her to be an unpleasant child.” He downed his wine and set the empty glass on the table.
Daphne frowned and nodded at Rayne. She opened the doors just a bit more and her raven swerved across the hall, her shadow expanding in the bright glow of the flames.
“What in the Nether was that?” Alistair hissed, his gaze riveted on the shadowy ceiling in alarm.
Ambrose’s eyes, however, followed Rayne, and landed right on Daphne through the narrow slit of the doors.
She backed away and scurried barefoot upstairs to her bedroom, giggling to herself. She thought she’d reached safety when the lightning flashed, and she gasped upon seeing Ambrose through her bedroom mirror, standing behind her.
“It’s not polite to spy on people, Daphne,” he said.
Daphne spun around to face him, just in time for Rayne to flutter from her shoulder and hide hers
elf behind the drapes at her window.
“How can I spy when I can’t even see?” she countered.
Ambrose narrowed his emerald eyes at her, a playful smile curved his lips. “No more tricks, my clever little raven. I’ve known of your companion all along.”
Daphne stiffened. How could he possibly know about Rayne? She opened her mouth to deny everything, when she heard Harriett's voice drifting down the corridor.
"Hide!" she exclaimed, ushering Ambrose into her room.
Amused, he lowered himself onto his knees and slid beneath her bed.
Daphne’s hair stood on end as Rayne watched him recline. She was about to stop him in fear of the goblins, when Harriett came through the door.
"Child, why are you still awake? Get under the covers, you'll catch a cold!" Harriett ushered her to the bed, tucked her in, and smoothed out the wrinkles from the spreads. "Would you like me to stay and tell you a story?"
Daphne quickly shook her head, feigning a yawn. "I'm tired, Harriett." She rolled onto her side and pretended to sleep.
"Alright, child."
She felt Harriett's kiss on her cheek and listened intently as the old nurse withdrew. Once the door was closed and all was silent, Daphne slipped out of the covers and crawled under the bed. Rayne glided from the window and landed on the floor beside Ambrose. He was lying on his side with his elbow holding him up as he watched her.
"I'll get into trouble if my nurse finds you in here," Daphne said fretfully.
"I'm sorry to have put you in such a coil." He sounded repentant. "I'll leave."
"I don't want you to go," Daphne said at once.
His smile was faint. "Well I'm afraid this puts us in an even greater quagmire, because I don’t want to leave you either.”
Rayne cooed when he reached out to brush his fingers along one of her dark wings, fascinating Daphne. Usually Rayne would hide from strangers, and yet she seemed to trust Ambrose so completely.
“If only there was a place where no one could find us," he said in little more than a whisper.
Daphne remembered her attic in the abandoned rooms upstairs. That was a place where they could hide, that no one knew about or would be able to find them. If there was another person she wanted to share her secret with, it was him.
"I know a place!” she said in an excited whisper. “Wait here." She slid out from under the bed and crept to the door. She opened it just enough for Rayne to fly out and see if the way was clear.
Ambrose was halfway out of the bed when she returned.
"Come!" Daphne motioned to him anxiously with her hand, and he slid out the rest of the way.
She snatched his hand in a sure grip and led him out. They crept down the stairs into the living quarters. Daphne touched the glass doors, opening them. They raced through the enchanted ballroom, into the small compartment where the abandoned stairwell stood. They skipped up the steps together, scarcely able to contain their quiet laughter, the carpet served to lessen the thumps of their footsteps.
In the narrow corridor, Ambrose paused to gaze at the portraits arrayed down the walls.
“Those are pictures of my ancestors,” said Daphne.
“Yes, the Mandrakes. Your family is well known in Pansphere,” Ambrose remarked.
She studied the portraits with him. She found her Aunt Valerie in one; she was portrayed in her usual black gown, her flaxen hair was pulled back tight, pinned to her head, and her large black eyes appeared menacing. A man called Erik Mandrake stood beside her, grave as she appeared, and was similarly dressed in somber black attire.
She even viewed Bonnie in several pictures – only she looked happier here – with a young man with shoulder-length wavy blonde hair, whose name she’d often heard Bonnie whisper as Adrian.
She stared into a portrait of Elysabetha Mandrake with her children, MacDraven & Sabrine. Her face was barely distinguishable beneath her black veil. She was holding a tiny girl in a lace bonnet on her lap, while a boy stood beside her chair in a light brown tailored frock coat and matching trousers.
Rayne turned her attention to Ambrose and watched as he brushed away the dust collected on the description of one picture.
“Count MacDraven Mandrake,” he read.
“What of him?” Daphne asked, looking into the image of the handsome count; his curly black hair tied back while loose strands stroked his chiseled cheeks. A faint smile touched the corners of his sensuous lips, his black eyes were inscrutable – and, that presence that inhabited both Mordic and Mortimer’s pictures seemed to lurk in this one, too.
“Legend has it he carried on the legacy of witchcraft that haunted the Mandrake household for generations,” said Ambrose.
Daphne frowned, she didn’t like witches. Harriett said they would snatch little children like her out of their beds at night to boil them in their cauldrons and eat them for dinner.
Rayne perched on the frame of a wedding portrait. Daphne knew little about festivities, save from what Harriett told her and what she’d seen from the tribes in the faraway desert.
Her Grandmother Melina was portrayed in a white gown – a splendid contrast to her dark brown hair and the bouquet of red roses she held. Her veil was translucent enough for Daphne to see the grin spread on her lips. Her eyes were lit up with such happiness it always made Daphne smile to look at it. Her husband stood beside her. He had a handsome face, and though his smile was delicate, he held that same sparkle of joy in his soft brown eyes.
The faded script at the bottom read: Lionel & Melina Osborne.
Ambrose tilted his head as he observed her. She looked unperturbed by anything he didn’t want to disrupt her.
“Would you like me to paint a picture of you, Daphne?” he asked.
Rayne snapped her head at him. “You can paint me?” Daphne exclaimed.
He smiled at her. “Of course,” he promised, and this time, he was the one to take her hand.
They met Rayne at the attic door, and Daphne opened it for them.
"I wasn’t supposed to come here again," she said, stepping inside.
Ambrose entered after her. "Why's that?" he asked, gazing around the cozy room, at the bed in the corner with old red draperies and the little hearth where a small fire was burning.
"My nurse thinks I may get lost up here," Daphne explained.
"And now that I'm here she'll no doubt banish you from this place forever,” Ambrose commented, drawing near the falcate window to watch as the rain poured outside.
Daphne went to stand opposite him. "I sometimes come up here to look at the Marketplace."
"Have you never been there?" Ambrose asked, looking at her.
Daphne shook her head. "I’m not allowed to leave the house." His brow creased with sympathy for her. "It’s alright,” she reassured him, and then her voice dipped low, as if she was afraid someone would hear her. “There’s a secret I never told anyone, but I’ve seen what it’s like outside the estate through my raven’s eyes. No one would believe me, except for Harriett,” she sighed, Rayne’s gaze drifting back to the droplets hitting the windowpane.
Ambrose studied her face, and then his eyes narrowed on the raven perched on her left shoulder, mimicking her every movement.
“I remember her,” he marveled. “She sometimes visited me.”
Daphne pondered again why he appeared so familiar to her when she first saw him. She studied his features; his tawny hair and emerald eyes, her lips parted when she realized –
“You were the boy in the orchard!” she exclaimed. “I kept seeing the ray of light in my dreams. Rayne went to find where it led. It led us to your lighthouse!”
Ambrose gazed motionless at her, it seemed he didn’t even breathe.
“I could feel you watching over me,” he said. “I wanted to know who you were.”
He sank to sit with his legs folded on the wooden floor by the casement. Daphne drew near and sat down beside him.
“Someday I want to journey wit
h Rayne. I want to discover all of the places she’s been,” Daphne said as she ran her fingers through Rayne’s black feathers.
Ambrose lowered his eyes while he spoke, “I know what it’s like to be locked up.”
“You were locked up somewhere?” Daphne asked in sudden distress.
He nodded. “Yes…until I was made to accept my servitude. I couldn’t bear the walls, not being able to see the sky overhead.” Biting his bottom lip, his gaze drifted out of the window. “As far back as my memory goes, I’ve dreamed of lifting my feet off the ground and flying to other places where no one could reach me, no one could capture me.”
“Maybe your raven is searching for you as well,” Daphne speculated.
His lips quirked up at her. “Maybe,” he agreed, and then he reached over and smoothed a dark strand of hair from her face, curling it behind her ear. “You’re too full of life to be caged, Daphne,” he told her, his emerald eyes shimmering.
She placed her hand over his and touched the thin golden ring on the finger of his right hand. She brushed her fingertips across its inscription while Rayne read: We Are One Heart & Spirit.
Ambrose slid it off. "Hold out your hand," he said.
Daphne spread out the fingers of both her hands, yet he chose the left one. He slid the band onto one finger, and then another, breathing a laugh when the ring dangled around her exquisitely small fingers.
"There you are," he said with triumph at last when it finally set into place around her thumb. "You can keep it for me." He closed his hand around hers as though he meant to keep it safe.
"I'll never take it off," Daphne promised, gazing entranced at the ring.
"Ah… Well in that case I'll simply have to marry you," said Ambrose.
Rayne looked up at him wide-eyed, Daphne’s lips parted in astonishment.
He smiled softly at her, amusement playing on his face when he added, "That is, of course, if you will have me."
"Yes!" Daphne exclaimed breathlessly, her blind and raven eyes shimmered with happiness.
Ambrose cupped her chin, his gaze riveted on her face. He was so close, Daphne could feel the warmth of his breath on her mouth. Rayne closed her eyes, and Daphne shivered when his lips touched hers in a kiss.
Out of the many treasures she collected in her travels, he was the most beautiful, the most precious of them all.
. . .
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