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Back Carved in Stone Save as PDF
Chapters (52)
  1. Half Title Page
  2. Books by Elizabeth Camden
  3. Title Page
  4. Copyright Page
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. Historical Note
  48. Questions for Discussion
  49. Coming 2022
  50. About the Author
  51. Back Ads
  52. Back Cover

With each word he spoke, Gwen’s shoulders slumped a little more. “Is he at least sorry?” she asked, her voice tissue-paper thin.

“I believe so. It’s been thirty years, and it’s tormenting him still. If he were a practicing Catholic, I’d tell him to go to confession and make a clean breast of it. He never will, but I think he regrets what he did.”

“So do I,” Gwen said. “So did my parents. To their dying day, they always wondered what happened to my brother.” She turned her eyes to him. “You are far too good for Mick Malone.”

“That’s not a very high bar,” he said, trying to ignore the surge of feeling from the simple way she held his hand. Then she let it go and turned around to tug the window back open. He helped, and she crossed back into the apartment, leaving him feeling irrationally bereft.

“The carriage is here to take you back uptown,” he heard Hiram tell her.

Gwen would return to her world. That was probably for the best, but he would never forget what she had been for him during these past twenty-four hours.

15

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Over the next week, Gwen tried to keep the whirlwind of painful memories at bay by lavishing attention on her house and garden. She pruned herbs and crossbred roses in her backyard sanctuary. In the evenings, she embroidered new wall hangings for the dining room. Her home was nothing like the cold marble mansions where the rest of the Blackstones lived. Gwen always felt out of place in the vacant grandeur of those palaces, and had chosen to live in a warm, cozy home of hand-carved wood, soothing colors, and a splendid garden that felt like paradise.

Perhaps if she had been blessed with children, this house wouldn’t matter so much, but she loved every board, shingle, and windowpane of this home she’d designed and decorated from the ground up. Each room reflected her taste, from the trailing ivy vines carved on the fireplace mantel to the iron hardware inspired by medieval knotwork. Gwen had embroidered the coverings on the seat cushions from her own design of a rose trellis. Rugs loomed by local weavers covered the floors, and tiles from an artisan’s kiln surrounded the fireplace.

Everything in this comfortable home was exactly how she wanted it, which was why she would fight hard to keep it, especially since her husband’s mistress intended to take it away.

It was right after dinner when Vivian arrived on Gwen’s doorstep. Gwen reluctantly allowed her inside, since she didn’t want the neighbors to witness this embarrassing confrontation.