Evermore (8 page)

We held hands and entered the drawing room
together. Celia sat on the sofa. A tall man stood near the
fireplace, his back to us. He had short, black hair, and the skin
on the back of his neck was browner than mine.

My father.

I gave an involuntary gasp and both Celia and
Louis turned. My sister glared at me for a brief moment then her
gaze faltered and she looked down at the clasped hands in her lap.
Her knuckles were white. Louis simply stared. First at me, then at
Cara, then back at me.

Celia sniffed but did not introduce us. It
would seem she had thrown her manners out the door when he
arrived.

Cara stepped forward and performed a small
curtsey as Celia had taught her. "I am Miss Cara Moreau," she said
in a bold voice. "Your sister."

"Sister!" His eyes widened. "I have a
sister?"

"Half-sister."

"Ah. François' child." He bowed and when he
straightened, there was a small smile on his lips. "Good morning,
Miss Moreau. Or perhaps I should call you Cara since we are brother
and sister. You didn't tell me you'd contacted my relations,
Celia."

The informal use of her first name drew
another little gasp from me. Celia did not look up.

"And you must be another sister," he said to
me, bowing again. "I'm pleased to meet you. I wish my father had
told me of your existence. I would have liked to know I had
family."

"I am not your sister." My heart smashed
against my ribs and my mouth suddenly went dry. I had imagined this
moment many times, and in my imagination I had been confident,
charming and certain of what I would say. Now I could barely find
my voice. "My name is Emily Chambers. I'm your daughter."

He staggered. His jaw dropped open as if it
were on a loose hinge. "My...daughter?" He looked me up and down,
his mouth still open, his brow deeply furrowed. "Emily." Slowly,
slowly, his brow cleared, but his eyes clouded. "I have a daughter.
A child," he murmured. Then he shook his head and smiled
sheepishly. "Hardly a child. You must be seventeen?"

I nodded. I didn't trust my voice, not yet.
My heart still beat furiously, but now that the first awkward
moment was over, my nerves calmed a little. He hadn't walked out
and hadn't denied that he was my father. And he'd smiled.

"My sister has been a great comfort to me
since our mother died," Celia said. She took my hand and drew me
down so hard onto the sofa, I thought my shoulder would wrench out
of its socket. "I would have been all alone without her
companionship."

His gaze settled on Celia and her grip
tightened on my hand. There was something between them. Something
unsettling. I had the very distinct feeling she didn't like
him.

"Your mother?" He crossed his arms and
narrowed his eyes. I thought he was going to ask us not to mention
the woman he'd apparently loved enough to beget a child on, but he
did not. He grunted as if he'd come to a decision, then said, "May
I ask why you never told me about Emily?"

Celia stiffened. "If we'd known where to send
letters, we would have. But you did not write to us when you
arrived in New South Wales as promised."

Louis didn't deny it and my heart
constricted. So it was true. Part of me had hoped there'd been a
mistake, but it seemed Louis hadn't wanted to remain in touch once
he arrived in the colony of New South Wales, despite the assurances
he'd given Mama before he left.

"You didn't mention her yesterday," Louis
said. "Or my sister. Does she live here? The old man is crazy. I
don't want her near him."

"It's a little late to worry about your
family," Celia snapped.

I squeezed her hand, but she snatched it away
and smoothed down her skirts.

"I live here now," Cara said. "They've been
very good to me. I'm learning how to be a proper lady."

Louis smiled, but it wasn't
gentle. There was something of a harsh sneer to it. "Celia would be
good at that. She knows all about being a
proper
lady."

My sister stood abruptly. "I think you should
leave."

"No!" I stood too, ready to run across the
room and block Louis' exit if necessary. "Wait. I have so many
questions." But where to start? I needed to say something before
Celia marched him out. "Why didn't you write?"

Louis lifted his chin and his jaw went rigid.
"I meant to. But circumstances...I got into some difficulty in New
South Wales..." He regarded Celia from behind half-lowered lids. "I
don't wish to discuss it. Some things are best left forgotten."

Celia made a miffed sound through her nose.
"We agree on that, at least." She strode to the door. "If you don't
mind, Mr. Moreau, we have a very busy day ahead of us."

"But I haven't finished with him yet," I
said. "Mr. Moreau...Louis..."

"Father?" He laughed nervously.

"Father." A lump lodged in my throat. I'd
never called anyone that. It was so hard to believe that I'd
finally met him. And he was handsome and had kind eyes, like I'd
imagined. They were brown and large like mine. I could see why Mama
had fallen in love with him. Seventeen years ago he must have been
very young indeed, but I suspect he'd been mature for his age.
Someone with a father like François would have to grow up fast to
take care of himself.

"Ask me anything," he said.

"No," Celia snapped. "Emily, have you
forgotten what it is you need to do today?"

"No, but—"

"Perhaps another time, Emily," my father said
gently. "When we've all had a chance to calm down and think about
things." He looked to Celia who tilted her chin at him. "I'm not
leaving London just yet."

"You said you were sailing within a few
days!" Celia blurted out. "Well. Another broken promise."

He drew in a long breath and let it out
slowly. "At least I haven't lied."

"You've refused to answer questions about
your last seventeen years and refused to tell us why you did not
write. An omission is as good as a lie."

"As I told you yesterday," Louis said through
a clenched jaw, "the timing of my departure depends on one matter
in particular and in which way it's resolved. I had hoped for a
quick resolution, I admit, but I've discovered that it's not going
to be quick at all. Now that I have learned about Emily, I will not
be leaving in a hurry. My business is in my partner's hands and I
trust him completely."

"You must be good friends," I said, more to
ease the tension than anything else.

"We are." His voice softened. "I saved his
life and he's been the best of friends to me ever since."

"You saved a man's life? How very noble of
you."

He dismissed my gushing comment with a shake
of his head. "Until next time, daughter." He bowed at me then at
Cara then fronted up to Celia. My sister didn't meet his gaze. "I
will return soon. It would be nice if we could be polite to each
other, Celia, but I understand if you cannot. It's clear you can't
bear the sight of me."

She stormed off but stopped at the doorway
when she realized he wasn't following. "The front door is this way,
Mr. Moreau."

He was leaving and I hadn't asked him all the
things I'd wanted to. Why had he come back after all this time? Why
hadn’t he contacted Mama when he was settled in New South Wales?
Why had he left in the first place? I knew he'd applied for the
government assistance scheme to move to that far-off land and been
accepted, but why apply at all? Was he that unhappy here in
England?

"It's because of Mama, isn't it?" I said, the
words tumbling out before I could stop them. "That's why you
left."

"Pardon?" Celia said, straining toward us
without moving her feet. "What did you say, Emily?"

Louis stared at me.

"My mother didn't love you enough, did she?
You must have seen how much she loved Papa—I mean, the man she
married. He may have died, but she still loved him deeply. That's
why you left. Because you knew she'd never love you enough. You had
to get away in order to forget her."

He glanced at Celia. She looked startled at
the attention at first, then her face hardened. "I don't know how
much your mother loved me," he said softly. "She was very...closed
on the matter of her heart."

"What are you saying?" Celia said, striding
up to us. "Mr. Moreau, I've asked you to leave."

"Will you not call me Louis?"

"It wouldn't be proper."

He gave a grudging laugh. "Always fixated on
propriety, aren't you?"

"Not always," Celia said levelly.

His nostrils flared. He said nothing for what
seemed an eternity. My sister looked away first and he finally
turned to me. "Emily, I would dearly like to get to know you better
while I'm here. You too, Cara. I've never had a sister or daughter
before."

"You don't have a family in New South Wales?"
I asked.

"I live in Victoria now, a colony to the
south of New South Wales. And no, I don't have a family anywhere.
Except here, that is."

I waited for more. Indeed, we all three
waited, but he didn't tell us why he'd spent seventeen years alone
when he could have wed or fathered more children. Or come home to
England. Louis bowed again and without another word, strode out of
the drawing room. Neither Cara, Celia nor I followed him out, and I
heard Lucy chatting to him in the hall before the front door opened
and shut.

Celia was the first to speak. "Well." She sat
down and picked up her embroidery basket. "At least that's done.
Now we can all get on with our lives." She hummed a tune as she
worked her needle, but her shaking hand gave away her true state of
mind. She was as disturbed by Louis' visit as I was.

***

I wanted to tell Jacob about my father, but
didn't want to summon him. Visiting our realm took energy and he
needed to conserve it. His weakness worried me terribly.

Cara and I shared our thoughts out of Celia's
hearing. She seemed just as excited to have a brother as I was to
have a father. I also spoke to George about Louis when I went to
his house.

"I'm very pleased for you," he said as we
waited in the hall for his carriage to be brought around from the
stables. "Very pleased. So you're not an orphan after all."

"I suppose I'm not."

The carriage arrived and George gave his
driver instructions to drive to the house of Lord and Lady Preston.
We wanted Mr. Seymour's address from Lady Preston. We knew he had
moved, but perhaps the new residents could give us a clue as to
where he'd gone, or of how to find the elusive Mrs. Seymour. Lady
Preston had already spoken to them, but it was worth trying
again.

"I would not hold out much hope if I were
you," Lady Preston said to us as we stood in her private parlor.
Weak morning light struggled through the large windows, casting an
insipid glow over the spindly Georgian furniture. She rifled
through her desk drawer and produced a folded piece of paper. "Here
it is."

I took it because George was too preoccupied
to notice. He was looking over his shoulder at the door, probably
hoping Adelaide would enter. I hoped Lord Preston would not.

"What will you do if you cannot find the
Seymours?" Lady Preston asked.

"I have another line of enquiry to follow," I
said.

She gave a firm nod. "Good. I hope you are
able to find something, Miss Chambers." She rested a delicate hand
on my arm but there was strength in her grip. "If there is anything
I can do, anything at all, please ask. If you require assistance or
money, I will give it to you." Her intense blue stare, so like
Jacob's compelled me to nod. "Do not be afraid of my husband. You
are welcome here, despite his blustering. He is..." She swallowed.
"He is still very affected by Jacob's death. It's not an excuse for
his abominable behavior toward you, but..." Tears welled in her
eyes and she looked away.

I laid my hand over hers. "I understand. I
hope one day he will realize we're trying to help his son, but you
need to prepare for the fact he never will. The existence of
spirits is not something everyone can accept. I suspect Lord
Preston is one of those."

"It doesn't matter what he believes, it only
matters that Jacob is allowed to finish the journey he's already
begun. I want him to crossover and find peace."

I did not tell her about the curse on the
Waiting Area and how it was affecting all the spirits, including
Jacob. There was nothing she could do and she didn't need the extra
worry.

"Oh, Emily," said Adelaide, breezing into the
parlor. "What a pleasant surprise. And Mr. Culvert too." She smiled
at me, but she positively beamed at George. He blushed a fierce
red.

"The pleasure is all ours, Miss Beaufort,"
George said. "I mean mine. The pleasure is mine. Unless it's
Emily's too, but I can't speak for her."

Adelaide held out her hand and George took it
and bestowed a kiss on the back. His face remained the color of
radishes, but he didn't attempt to hide it.

"Did you receive my last letter, Miss
Beaufort?" he asked. "I copied out those pages you asked for."

Adelaide bit her lower lip and glanced at her
mother. "Yes, thank you. It was an interesting treatise."

"You've been writing to each other?" Lady
Preston's smile stretched thin. "Adelaide, why didn't you tell
me?"

"I...uh...I've recently discovered I have an
interest in the supernatural. I didn't think you'd approve of my
visiting Mr. Culvert to look at his library, so I wrote to him
instead with my questions. He has been very good in responding with
perfectly copied tracts from his books as well as his own thoughts.
We've had some lively debates."

"You're right, I would not have approved. Nor
would your father. Not in light of...recent plans."

Adelaide's nose wrinkled. "You mean my
pending engagement to the Duke of Sandridge's son?"