Alexander-Fyn-Sanguinarian

Michaelmas daisies that had survived the winter. She was thrilled with them and filled two vases.
    She had the footmen remove the candles and bring in oil lamps which she placed all about the room to be lit when darkness fell. The massive hearth was cleaned and the brasses polished until they gleamed. A large supply of wood was brought in to replenish the fire which burned merrily, drying the room’s damp air.
    When they had done the chamber was cheery and light.
    Evangeline stood surveying it, then turned at last to Raven whom she had not spoken to as she ran about the chamber making it her own.
    “What do you think, my lord?”
    “I think you have ruined a perfectly comfortable chamber.” He grimaced. “But if this makes you happy, then so be it.”
    “It does.” She smiled. “Where did the pretty bed linens and the white draperies come from? I cannot imagine they belong to you or your sister.”

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    “No, my grandmother.” He paused, looking down at her. “My father’s mother...she was...different.”
    “Not a vampire?” she teased.
    He harrumphed loudly. “She was like you.”
    “And your grandfather let her be who she was?” she asked.
    Raven pursed his lips, looking directly into her eyes. “Yes, I suppose he must have. I have never thought of it before.”
    “Did they have a successful marriage, my lord?”
    “They seemed happy to me from what I remember of them. Let us ask Munk. She remembers them both well.”
    The housekeeper had just entered the chamber and shaded her eyes with one hand, moving habitually into the darkest part of the room. She nodded respectfully to Raven as she always did when she came into his presence. “The woman is comfortable, my lord,” she said at once. “I believe her fever might break soon, but she is still highly contagious.”
    “Excellent.” He smiled. “Tell me, Munk, you knew my
    Ravenscroft grandparents well?”
    “Yes, my lord, the late Lord Ravenscroft’s parents. A very fine couple they were, sir. Well-matched, charming, very kind to the servants.”
    He spread his hands, encompassing the chamber. “These things were Grandmother’s.”
    Munk nodded. “They were, my lord. She was different, yet they loved each other deeply. They were married for over fifty years.”
    The look in Raven’s eyes told Evangeline that he had never before pondered the idea that two so dissimilar people could live together in love and mutual respect. If she were truthful, she would admit that it had never occurred to her either.
    “Interesting,” he mused.
    “But they loved each, my lord,” Evangeline pointed out, seeming to see where his thoughts traveled. “They were not just a couple who were different and accepted each other’s differences. They were in Sanguinarian 179
    love. Would that be correct, Munk?”
    “Yes, Miss.” Munk, too, saw what she had said. “They did love each other. If I may, Miss Rutledge, I have come to ask if you have any preferences for dinner this evening.”
    “Yes.” Evangeline pushed her advantage. “I would like to eat in a warm and well-lighted room and I would much prefer not to see any blood on the table.”
    Munk looked at Raven, who reluctantly nodded his agreement. “I suppose you would prefer to dine alone?” Raven asked.
    “I am not averse to company,” she said. “I assume you intend to behave as a gentleman?”
    “I’ll do my best,” he muttered as he left the room.

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Chapter Thirteen
    In the fresh, wintry air, Evangeline walked beside Raven through the neglected gardens of Castle Haven. The overgrown herbaceous borders and box hedges, the ivy creeping over walls, the fountains which had not sparkled with water in many years, spoke of a time when these gardens had been loved and tended by someone. This must have been the work and love of the late Lady Ravenscroft, Raven’s grandmother.
    “This could all be so beautiful again,” she mused out loud.
    “I suppose it could,” Raven said beside her. “If you find such things beautiful.
    She was wrapped in the black fur-lined cloak which she had rather begun to like. Gowns, very old fashioned, belonging also to Raven’s grandmother, had been dug out of a distant attic to replace the clothes she had left in London. The white winter sky and the freedom of the outdoors refreshed her spirits to such a degree that she felt quite gay despite her circumstances.
    Raven wore only a thin cotton shirt and black trousers with