She sets about pulling items down from the top shelf, and I notice an old trunk next to the case. I lift the lid that doesn’t look like it’s been touched in years. Inside are more books, old black and white photographs and other documents recording the Broderick history.
Opening the pages of one of the books, I read until I can find a reference to start. “What dates are we looking for?”
“Late eighteen hundreds. The date on George’s birth certificate is 1888, so anything around then or later.”
“Are we just gathering anything to read later?” I want to help, but looking at all of this information, we're going to have to narrow it down. “What are you hoping to find?”
“Some mention of the son, more information on George and his life. Anything that could be a clue. There’s got to be something other than a child born out of wedlock. Something that pulls all of this together.”
I keep scanning through the elegant scrawl inked into the pages, but there’s nothing that seems to link with the details Ivy’s searching for.
“There’s so much history up here,” Ivy says as she clutches several books. “I knew this was here, but it never seemed relevant. Maybe once we get to the bottom of all of this, I’ll take the time to appreciate what’s written in these pages.”
I pull another volume from the trunk, blowing dust off the cover. The dates look about right, so I add it to the pile to comb through. “We’ll find it, Ivy. I’m sure of it.”
I try to sound reassuring because if she can’t figure this out, I worry she’ll never let it go.
Chapter Twenty Two
IVY
“God!” I snap, slinging another book down onto the pile of journals. “This could take days, and I still wouldn’t know exactly what I’m looking for. We’ve already been here for three hours.”
“And we’ll keep digging if it’s going to put an end to your drama.” He looks up at me, a loose smile on his face. “Maybe then you can think about that ring a little more.”
I pick up another journal and pull it towards me. “I’ll have you know I am thinking about it. In fact, I’ve thought about it a lot.”
“And?”
“It’s a lovely ring.”
He looks back at his own journal, leafing through pages decisively, enough so that I watch his magic hands working softly and almost forget what I’m doing for a few minutes. “And how are you feeling about said ring, and what it means?” he asks.
I smirk and flip another page absently, considering if I should show him how much it means to me. In a way, it means the world to me. It’s something I never saw coming, just like him, and whilst I still might be cautious about what this really is between us, I can’t deny the attraction or sense of ease we have. Nor can I refuse the slightly giddy sensation that seems to consume me every time I look at the ring. Maybe another session involving his naked body might be in order later. Or now even.
I crawl over the space towards him, knees and hands getting dustier by the minute. “How about I show you what it means to me?”
He looks up and grins, pushing the journal to the side so I can get to him. “How about you learn to talk about your feelings?”
“Okay. I'll work on that, but not at the moment.” I climb into his lap, wrapping my legs tightly around his back. “Besides, I've never done it in an attic. Maybe you can help relieve my stress levels, then we can talk about the ring again. I might be able to find words then. They're on the tip of my tongue, but I can't quite get them out.”
“Need a bit more encouragement, do you?” I’m lifted and pushed until I’m on my back, and I tip my head back to let him nibble at my neck and travel downwards.
“Oh god, that’s nice,” I mumble, turning my head to the side. “Keep going, but …” He bites into me, making all my bits squirm and wriggle.
His lips travel lower, hands rucking up my top until he’s almost at the button on my jeans. It makes me giggle slightly and squirm again, but then the sight of something sticking out of the journal he’s just pushed away catches my eye. I reach my fingers for it out of curiosity, still enjoying the feeling of him getting lower, but the second I flip the leaves of the old letter open and then read the first few paragraphs, I kick myself back up to kneeling.
“Shit!” I snap.
“What?” he says.
“It’s a letter!”
“Clearly, but how is it enough to stop you enjoying what—”
“From a man to Great-Great-Grandmother Anne.” I flip straight to the last page, turning it over so I can see who the name is. “Oh my god!” I fall back on my haunches, not able to comprehend what I’m seeing. “She had an affair!”
He scoots closer, trying to see the letter I’m still pouring over. “With who?”
