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by
K.J. Charles
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November 29 - November 30, 2023
He didn’t want to go into New Romney: he might see people. He took the path to the right instead, trudging through the rain to the ruined chapel. The chapel was Norman, or possibly Angevin, and he wished he wasn’t aware of the difference. It was barely worthy of the name anyway, just a few pieces of masonry wall jutting around a mound in a field, like the stumps of teeth in an old man’s mouth. He knew it well; Gareth had taken him here a few times to look for beetles. It was called Hope All Saints. He was standing in the broken ruins of Hope in the rain, like the stupidest Gothic hero in the
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Catherine Morland, please.
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“Mmm. Have you considered not letting this ruin your life?”
"Have you considered just not being depressed"
“Ten thousand guineas.” The shepherdess shattered on the hearth. “How much? Ten thousand?! Are you serious? Ten thousand guineas?” “Don’t shout,” Luke hissed. “Jesus Christ almighty! Why didn’t you tell me? Mother of God! You don’t do things by halves, do you? So where is it?” Luke couldn’t find a single word. Rufus grabbed his shoulders and shook. “Oh, come on, this is an actual treasure-hunt. It can’t just be lying around in the Cathedral, surely. Why aren’t you looking for it?”
Action hero Rufus, I love himmmmmmmmmm
“I…was? That’s why you sent me away. This is what I lied to you about. You’re angry about that, remember?” Rufus waved his hand in impatient dismissal. “Balls to that. You didn’t say it was a sodding fortune!” Luke looked at him, and then he started to laugh. It bubbled out of him, helpless and stupid and absurd, great choking gasps of laughter so racking that it was inevitable they should turn to sobs. His shoulders heaved violently, and then Rufus’s arm was around him, warm and strong, easing him over to a settle. “Come on, sit down. Stop. It’s all right.” It wasn’t all right, and Luke
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He was still getting to grips with the tale. It rang true, and the details were all entirely plausible. Unfortunately, the first story had also rung true and been full of convincing detail. Possibly Rufus was the most gullible man in Kent. He still stroked Luke’s hair because the tears were real, and dug out a handkerchief because so was the snot.
He wasn’t used to this. To tears, in general—he wasn’t a man whose shoulders people tended to cry on, possibly because his sympathy was rather too bracing
Relatable
If I am to repair the damage you ignored while you sucked at the teat of the estate, I need hard-working, competent, honest men to help me. Doomsday is two of those things. It seems to be the best I can hope for here.” Berengaria’s brows were at her hairline. Fulk said, “Oof.”
I need the book on Fulk
“You must have infinite patience. If we simply burned the place down, would we find the guineas in the ashes?” “That’s the third time you’ve suggested setting fire to your ancestral home.”
Well, he's just reeally not that attached to it, that's all. Also, is this foreshadowing? Is there going to be a Jane Eyre-esque fire?
“Sir Gareth lived and your father died, and you’re complaining. You wanted it the other way around?”
“There are plenty more places to search, God help us. Where do we look next?” Luke gave him a look that tried hard to be exasperated. Rufus said, “Don’t you dare deny me this. I want to find it. I’d prefer if there was a map, of course, ideally written in dried blood.” “You’re ten years old at heart, aren’t you?” Luke muttered, and Rufus took the casual jibe like a gift.
“Christ. My Doomsday. End of my world.”
Killing me here
“You found your gold?” “Don’t expect me to be excited,” Luke said. “I already lost you over it, so to discover I was going to die for it—Joss was right. It’s ill-omened.” “Nonsense,” Rufus said. “You never lost me, and you’re not dead. You read too many novels.” “I’m not reading another Gothic novel as long as I live. At least there weren’t amphibians in there.” Rufus didn’t ask, just kissed him.
