Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
I shake my head. “She died when I was just a year old. I don’t remember her.”
“That is a shame. She was a lovely girl.” He looks off in the distance and a sad shine comes over his eyes. “A girl with a glass heart.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“She never had a chance. Not when the rest of the world is made of stone.” He shifts his gaze from me to Silas. “Girls with glass hearts don’t belong in this world. If she’s anything like my Claire, and I venture to say from the look in her eyes that she is, she’ll shatter if you’re not careful with her.”
Silas’s eyes narrow, not quite in confusion but possibly understanding.
The old man returns his attention to me and stares openly. “My goodness. It is difficult to look at you. I didn’t know it would be. I’ve seen photographs, of course, but only recently. How is Horatio?” he asks, and I don’t sense animosity.
In fact, I’d say the way he spoke with Chandler was more hateful than the way he asks this question about my father, the man who took his daughter away—who kept his granddaughter from him.
“He’s in prison.”
“I know that. I heard what happened there, too. He’ll need to be careful. Sitting duck in there.”
“Sitting duck?” I ask.
“A bird in a cage is easy prey.” They bring my grandfather his whiskey. He looks inside the glass, nods and takes it. They also give him an unlit cigarette.
“You didn’t have anything to do with that, did you?” Silas asks.
“Silas.” I shake my head at him.
“It’s a fair question,” my grandfather says. “And I’ve always appreciated directness. But no, it wasn’t me. He has enemies enough. And what he did for my daughter, well, I learned that too late of course, but I remember.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
Silas clears his throat, and my grandfather glances at him. I do too, but Silas keeps his eyes on the old man.
“Nothing, nothing that matters,” my grandfather says.
“How long do you plan on staying in Sinistral, Mr. Carlisle-Bent?” Silas asks.
“As long as it takes.”
“As long as what takes?”
“Getting to know my granddaughter. Isn’t that obvious?” He turns back to me and smiles. “Now, I assume you have questions. You should ask them. I’m not long for this life, after all. Let’s not waste more time, Ophelia.”
“Okay. I will. If you promise to tell me the truth.”
He chuckles, drinks his whiskey, and holds the unlit cigarette between his two fingers. “You’ve grown up overprotected. Of course you have.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because a liar will always lie to you, and most of them are pretty damn good at it. Never ask someone to promise they’ll tell you the truth. You’ll always have to parcel that out for yourself. Now ask your questions, Ophelia.”
He’s sharper than I expected. I thought he was on his deathbed, and the way he coughs now and again confirms that, but his mind seems to be intact.
“Tell me what happened between my mother and father. Not what the newspapers said, but what really happened.”
He narrows his eyes and openly studies me, one corner of his mouth lifted. “Don’t you know? They fell in love like two fools.”
Again, I’m surprised because I fully expected him to tell me the newspaper version.
“Carried on for months right under my nose. She was not for him though.”
“Because he was staff?” I ask.
“Precisely.” He surprises me with his answer. It’s honest and straightforward at least, even if it doesn’t exactly paint him in a good light. He puts the cigarette to his lips and pretends to take a drag. “An agreement had already been made for Claire. People like us, Ophelia, we don’t marry for love.”
Silas squeezes my knee and I turn to him but he’s looking at the old man who, when I look back at him, is watching us.
“You got lucky, I think. Just make sure she stays that way. Regardless, and you can think me a classist for saying it, but Horatio was staff and Claire was royalty in our world. As such, she had an obligation. She didn’t see it that way though, not when it came to Horatio. But…” he trails off, his expression darkening. “Turns out Horatio was the least of the evils that haunted—and hunted—her. Glass hearts.” He shakes his head, begins to cough, and I think I hear him say too little too late before the nurse helps him with his oxygen mask.
Once the coughing fit has passed, he looks down into his almost empty glass and this time, I’m sure I see it. Sadness. Regret maybe.
He brings the tumbler to his lips and drains it. “He was a good father to you?” he asks me, surprising me yet again.
I nod. “Yes, he was. Overprotective but I understand why now that I know this.”