shoulders. The window casement rattled, threatening to burst open again, so she went to see that it was properly closed. Something made her open it first, though. Her hair was blown in confusion, and the rain dampened her face as she looked out.
For a moment the moon shone from between the fleeing clouds, and to her shock she saw what appeared to be a statue in the rotunda, but then the moon disappeared again. She closed the window, grabbed her rose woolen wrap, and then hurried to her parents’ room, where her father’s telescope stood at the window. Opening the casement, she trained the glass upon the rotunda and saw there was indeed a statue. But how could that be? When had it been put there? Why hadn’t anything been said? Above all, why hadn’t she noticed it before?
Nothing less than an immediate investigation would do, so in spite of the wildness of the night, she returned to her own room to put on her boots and cloak, then went down to the courtyard to take the old lantern that hung creaking by the main entrance, and which was always lit at nightfall. Raising her hood and ignoring the unsettling rattling of the trapdoors opposite, she hurried beneath the archway toward the maze, where the swaying hedges gleamed with moisture in the lantern light. Her cloak billowed as she followed the complicated but well-remembered route toward the rotunda, where Gervase and Sylvanus had slept on longer than anticipated.
Her hood fell back as she paused at the edge of the little clearing, and her unruly hair blew free as she held the lantern aloft. The dim rain-dashed light swung over the rotunda, revealing the unmistakable shape of a naked man sculpted from solid white marble. So her eyes hadn’t deceived her! She was totally at a loss. Surely her father would have said if he’d purchased it? And anyway, there would have been quite a to-do when it was carried through the maze, so how could she possibly not have known? Joseph must know something about it, or maybe even Mrs. Jenkins. She would ask them first thing in the morning. Someone had to know where it had come from, and when.
She went closer, and with each step the lantern revealed more detail of the statue’s perfect male lines. Beyond the arc of light, Sylvanus didn’t stir on the bench. He was far away in Italy, having just pursued and caught the daintiest, most delightful, most compliant water nymph any faun could wish for—indeed she was perfect. He sighed contentedly in his sleep, but the soft sound was lost in the bluster of the wind.
Anne reached the statue and put a tentative hand on one of the marble arms to make certain she was not imagining the whole thing. It was hard, cold, and very real beneath her fingers. Gervase awoke with a start. The light of the lantern slanted awkwardly, giving everything a nightmarish quality, but the warmth of her fingers told him he was very much awake. Alarm jolted through him as he feared she had after all recollected events under the wanton influence of Sylvanus’s power, but then he relaxed as he saw no hint of recognition on her face, just puzzlement about a statue that had no business being where it was. Briefly, he wondered how she had come to find out in the middle of the night, but this curiosity was soon supplanted by the sheer pleasure of seeing her again. Those few incredible moments in the barn had changed everything for him, because in spite of everything he’d expected to the contrary, the dashing, sought after, sophisticated Duke of Wroxford was strongly attracted to the provincial nobody he’d once so bitterly resented. Pray God he could achieve the task Bacchus dictated, for if ever he’d wanted anything, it was to be free to resume his birthright and take Anne Willowby to wife.
Anne’s astonishment about the existence of the statue was temporarily supplanted by interest in the identity of the long dead Roman. Was he one of the emperors? Or a great general? There was no name on the plinth, but she
For a moment the moon shone from between the fleeing clouds, and to her shock she saw what appeared to be a statue in the rotunda, but then the moon disappeared again. She closed the window, grabbed her rose woolen wrap, and then hurried to her parents’ room, where her father’s telescope stood at the window. Opening the casement, she trained the glass upon the rotunda and saw there was indeed a statue. But how could that be? When had it been put there? Why hadn’t anything been said? Above all, why hadn’t she noticed it before?
Nothing less than an immediate investigation would do, so in spite of the wildness of the night, she returned to her own room to put on her boots and cloak, then went down to the courtyard to take the old lantern that hung creaking by the main entrance, and which was always lit at nightfall. Raising her hood and ignoring the unsettling rattling of the trapdoors opposite, she hurried beneath the archway toward the maze, where the swaying hedges gleamed with moisture in the lantern light. Her cloak billowed as she followed the complicated but well-remembered route toward the rotunda, where Gervase and Sylvanus had slept on longer than anticipated.
Her hood fell back as she paused at the edge of the little clearing, and her unruly hair blew free as she held the lantern aloft. The dim rain-dashed light swung over the rotunda, revealing the unmistakable shape of a naked man sculpted from solid white marble. So her eyes hadn’t deceived her! She was totally at a loss. Surely her father would have said if he’d purchased it? And anyway, there would have been quite a to-do when it was carried through the maze, so how could she possibly not have known? Joseph must know something about it, or maybe even Mrs. Jenkins. She would ask them first thing in the morning. Someone had to know where it had come from, and when.
She went closer, and with each step the lantern revealed more detail of the statue’s perfect male lines. Beyond the arc of light, Sylvanus didn’t stir on the bench. He was far away in Italy, having just pursued and caught the daintiest, most delightful, most compliant water nymph any faun could wish for—indeed she was perfect. He sighed contentedly in his sleep, but the soft sound was lost in the bluster of the wind.
Anne reached the statue and put a tentative hand on one of the marble arms to make certain she was not imagining the whole thing. It was hard, cold, and very real beneath her fingers. Gervase awoke with a start. The light of the lantern slanted awkwardly, giving everything a nightmarish quality, but the warmth of her fingers told him he was very much awake. Alarm jolted through him as he feared she had after all recollected events under the wanton influence of Sylvanus’s power, but then he relaxed as he saw no hint of recognition on her face, just puzzlement about a statue that had no business being where it was. Briefly, he wondered how she had come to find out in the middle of the night, but this curiosity was soon supplanted by the sheer pleasure of seeing her again. Those few incredible moments in the barn had changed everything for him, because in spite of everything he’d expected to the contrary, the dashing, sought after, sophisticated Duke of Wroxford was strongly attracted to the provincial nobody he’d once so bitterly resented. Pray God he could achieve the task Bacchus dictated, for if ever he’d wanted anything, it was to be free to resume his birthright and take Anne Willowby to wife.
Anne’s astonishment about the existence of the statue was temporarily supplanted by interest in the identity of the long dead Roman. Was he one of the emperors? Or a great general? There was no name on the plinth, but she
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