She shot up, the book falling to a thud onto the floor. Whipping around, Lord Caldwell stood leaning against the doorsill.
"I did not mean to sneak about," she squeaked as he headed over to her.
"You should not be constrained to explore. I permit you to do so." He bent and picked up the book before turning it over. He skimmed the words on the front. "Frankenstein. You have good literary taste, Miss Price."
Please don't ask me what I think of it, she pleaded, hands curled into fists by her side. "I must take leave, my lord," she rushed in to say. She hurried past him before he could say a word.
"If I am to be your confidant," he called out to her back, "then this 'running away whenever I am near' business won't do."
Her stiff shoulders raised to her ears. He was right. He was already suspicious as it was and continuing to run would only prove his words to be true.
"I only run to get back to my assigned duty, my lord."
"You're my assigned duty now, so please let me do my part also."
"I apologise."
"I will accept that apology on one condition." She raised her head and he continued, "That you share your experience of the book. Besides Eliza, I have yet to meet those that indulge themselves in gothic novels."
No, no, no! What am I supposed to say to that?! Playing with the loose thread on the fabric of her uniform, she racked her brain for an excuse. "I...I haven't read it yet. I like to take my time in choosing a book that will be worth my energy."
She thought of the way she eagerly waited for Luciana to tell her fairytales, how she could picture everything so vividly through her words when she closed her eyes, the closest to living a different life she would ever have. "I like savouring the moments before a book is read, the excitement to be transported to a different world and wonder which character's life will become our own, something we would not otherwise have a chance to experience."
She hadn't realised she had trailed off a simple answer and into a passionate speech until only silence reigned at the end of it.
Lord Caldwell gazed at her with sudden focus. She shifted on her feet. Was he studying her? Or trying to decipher what she was saying? Did she make any sense at all? So many questions but none she could voice.
"Your view of it is fascinating," he finally said. "I must admit, I only read when boredom dares to choke me to death so I never thought of it in the way you have. As you seem to be the great wizard of all things literary, might you suggest me some books to be transportative as you have so eloquently stated?"
Belinha couldn't tell if he was joking or being serious. Still, the question made her doubt the answer she was to give.
Relax, Belinha. Tell him a story that Luciana's told you.
"It is not from a book but...have you ever heard of the tale of the cursed maiden?"
"I cannot say I have, but do share."
"It is quite gruesome, my lord, are you sure you would like to hear it?"
Lord Caldwell puffed his chest and straightened his cravat. "I don't have the best experience with gruesome tales, but it shan't bother me."
"You do not need to pretend to be brave, my lord," she said, attempting to hide a smile.
His brows shot up, forehead wrinkling. "We will see how long it lasts me and then you can draw your conclusion on my cowardice."
"It's about a princess arranged to marry a prince who she's had feelings for since she was a child. But when he comes back from a visit to a foreign country, he has brought home another woman, introducing her as his wife."
Lord Caldwell seated himself on the settee and urged for her to sit opposite him, on one of the wooden chairs. "So far this sounds innocent enough."
"I have not yet gotten to the part with the gore."
"Then I shall shut up until you do."
Settling into the chair, she closed her eyes trying to remember the earnest way in which Luciana had detailed this sad, romantic fairytale.
"The princess didn't know but she was cursed to never leave the castle. Whoever married her would die. The prince knew of this. He saw this an opportunity to live his own life and love on his own terms. But the princess was jealous. One night, she snuck into the prince's bed chamber and spooned out his eyes and cut his wife into pieces."
Lord Caldwell had now leaned forward, elbows on his knees and hands in a steeple under his chin. "Spooned his eyeballs?" he exclaimed. "How does one even do such a thing?"
Belinha thought about this. "I suppose she had her ways."
"Is that it?"
"Her guard knew of her husband's infidelity and was secretly in love with her. When the murders came to light, he sacrificed himself for her and was confined in jail for the rest of his days. The guilt was so heavy, she killed herself and penned a letter confessing of her crimes to her parents."
Lord Caldwell looked like he had been forced to swallow a lemon slice. "That does not sound very romantic."
"It isn't," she agreed before sheepishly saying, "I despise tragedy in stories but this is the only one that came to mind when you questioned me."
"And is that the end?"
"I do not remember the rest, sadly." It was true. There were so many stories that Luciana had told her that some of them blended into one or merged with another. Some the endings she knew of, others she didn't know; maybe because she was so young.
"Here I thought you would mention limbs being torn, tongues being sliced off or something else dastardly." He leaned back, spreading his legs a little. "This my stomach can handle a little more."
"You can handle the spooning of eyeballs and bodies cut into pieces?"
"Can't we all? Except if I were to die by my eyes being spooned then I'd rather jump off a bridge. What a dishonour to my name."
Belinha chuckled under her breath. "I would go into more detail but seeing as you're afraid..."
He grinned cheekily. "No one has ever thought of sparing my feelings in the face of fictional death."
"My lord, you say you read books but when you are struck with boredom. You do not find pleasure in it?"
His lips pressed together as he tilted his head backward. "That is a story in and of itself." He didn't further explain himself and Belinha didn't ask. "For me, it is an activity for leisure not pleasure. Eliza, on the contrary, would refute that."
"She likes books?"
"Likes? Good Lord, the woman is a trifle obsessed with them! The only love I have is toward animals, not for inanimate objects."
"May you...be able to share a story of how you both met, my lord?" she asked. She didn't know why she wanted to know. Maybe it was because the expression on his face when he spoke about his fiancee—love? compassion? adoration?—were emotions she had never experienced nor felt in her life. It was new. It was refreshing.
He seemed startled that those words had left her lips. Clearing his throat, he straightened up in his seat and crossed his feet at the ankles, one over the other.
"Only if you promise not to cast judgment."
"You have my word, my lord."
"Eliza and I have known each other since we were children. I was rather boisterous in school and she was quiet. When we were old enough to understand emotions in more depth, we could not help but seek one another, not out of friendship but of something more. It was written in our fates that we were to wed and alas, that is what it has come to."
Belinha hung on to every word that left his lips. They were so moving. So...beautiful. It was love in its purest nature but not in fiction, in the real world, with people that breathed the same air as her yet lived completely different lives.
This man, and his fiancee, were living the fairytales that she always wanted to be the heroine of. The ones that did not end up in bloody murder, of course.
"And you, Miss Price? Surely someone as beautiful and timid as yourself cannot be without a perfect match?"
A perfect match. She wondered what that would be in regards to her. Did she have one? Did God have her perfect match set out somewhere, waiting for her to come find him?
She opened her mouth, about to detail all—her worries, her fears about her past and how it could stop her in the future. Then she fastened her gaze on Lord Caldwell who sat with his head tilted, waiting patiently for her to share her own story. His dark pantaloons stretched across his thighs, breeches polished and rid of any dirt. His cravat was tied so perfectly, no creases could be found.
And that was when it clicked in her head.
This man was nobility. A man of high ranking in this social system. The moment she shared the truth—that she was really a slave in Portugal, he would have her shipped back.
She couldn't share her story.
"I do not have one," she said, "though I have always believed in it. For now, I am content with my life as it is."
"Well said, Miss Price." He stood up and fixed his cuff links. "As enlightening as this talk of sappy romance and murderous princesses have been, I must take my leave."
Belinha followed and curtseyed. "Thank you, my lord, for sharing."
He stopped to look at her. "Don't be daft, Miss Price. This was a delightful conversation between two confidants. You saved me from the claws of boredom."
He then inclined his head and strode across the room, and out the large, vertical doors that touched the ceiling almost.
She was left alone in the library, mulling over his words. Perfect match. She wasn't lying when she told him she had always believed in it. But for so long, that had never been a thought of importance to cross her mind. It had always been about survival. About making sure she lived to see another day God created.
Belinha wasn't free yet. Would she ever be? And if she did, would she meet that perfect match then?
There was one answer she had. She was lying when she said she was content with her life as it was.
In fact, she was not content at all.