Page 30 of To Love a Beast

The butler nodded, and the two men exited the bedchamber. Timens closed the door behind them.

Everett settled into the wooden desk chair then opened the top drawer of the bedside table and pulled out the Bible he knew he'd find there. He opened the cover, intending to flip through the pages to find one of Lightfoot's favorite passages, but an unfamiliar, feminine handwriting on the presentation page captured his attention.

To Ray Lightfoot, on the occasion of our marriage, February 4, 1871.

You wooed not only my heart, but my soul as you demonstrated God's unconditional, steadfast love. Because of you, I know what it is to be loved by an eternal God. And because of God, I know what it is to be loved by you. Thank you for being my light in the darkness, Ray. I am forever yours.

Babette.

Lightfoot had been married? Everett had never heard the man speak of a wife. What had happened to her? Stomach twisting, he turned to the page where family deaths were recorded. Expecting to see one name, Everett's heart bled when he found two.

Barbara Renee Lightfoot, August 12, 1873, taken in childbirth, age 21.

Lucas Aaron Lightfoot, August 12, 1873, stillborn.

Everett's eyes misted and his chest felt as if it had been placed inside Callista's book press. The weight of the unexpected sorrow stole his breath.

"I see you've unearthed my secrets."

Everett lifted his face to find Lightfoot's heavy-lidded gaze on the Bible in his lap.

"I didn't mean to pry. I thought to read . . ." What he'd thought to do didn't really matter now, did it? Everett closed the Bible, but he couldn't close his heart to what he'd learned. "I'm sorry, Ray. So very sorry."

The words felt completely inadequate, but he had nothing better to offer.

"It was a long time ago. Before I came to work for your family." His voice carried the haze of the lingering effects of the ether, but his face didn't register sorrow. Instead, he actually smiled. It was the last thing Everett expected to see from a man contemplating his dead wife.

"Ah, Griff. You would have liked Babette. She was full of sass, but so quick to laugh." Lightfoot's gaze moved to the ceiling as if watching memories of his beloved traipse by. "I still remember the day I came to work as a footman at the estate where she served as a maid. She was so vivacious and beautiful. I was instantly smitten." A chuckle vibrated through his chest. "And I did a terrible job of hiding that fact. One time she caught me staring at her when I was supposed to be moving furniture for her to clean beneath. She wiggled her feather duster over my face, and set me to sneezing like an ill-mannered youth. 'If you have something to say to me, Mr. Lightfoot,' she said, 'use your mouth, not your eyes.' So I did. Told her how I thought she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen and that I'd love to take her to dinner on our half-day off. I'll never forget her response. 'Ask me again when you know me well enough to admire something more than what you can see on the surface.' Ah. That woman led me on a merry chase. And even knowing what I do now about how little time we would have together, I'd not change a thing."

Lightfoot twisted his neck to face Everett again. "Love with the right woman is worth the cost, Griff. Worth sacrificing a man's pride, his autonomy, and even his security. Those things are a pittance compared to the riches that come from sharing your heart with a woman who loves you as fiercely as you love her."

"Why are you telling me this?" Everett shifted in his chair, trying to banish the vision of Callista that had materialized in his mind at the mention of women and love.

Lightfoot smiled. "Because you need to hear it." His expression grew serious. "I would have passed on the same wisdom to my son, had he lived . . . and grown to be as hardheaded as you."

Everett grinned at the teasing, his chest tightening to think that Lightfoot thought of him, at some level, like a son. Even if barely a dozen years separated them in age.

"God presented you with a gift when he sent Miss Rosenfeld to bind your books. All of us can see it. Mrs. Potter, Timens. Shoot, even that ridiculous dog of yours recognizes how special she is. I think you see it too. You're just too afraid of being hurt to do anything about it."

Lightfoot slid his arm from beneath the covers and opened his palm. Sensing what he wanted, Everett placed the man's Bible in his hand. His chest tightened when Lightfoot's fingers curled over the spine and he closed his eyes as if he could still feel his wife's touch in the leather.

Gradually, he opened his eyes again and pinned Everett with a look that carried a heartrending mix of hope and grief. "Don't waste time on fear, Griff. Time's the one thing you can never get back."

Lightfoot closed his eyes and rolled his head to a more comfortable position on the pillow. He pulled the Bible onto his chest and clutched it near his heart as he drifted back to sleep.

Everett blew out a quiet breath as he leaned backward in his chair. His head ached from all the new information that had exploded in his mind over the last several minutes. Ray . . . married. And a father. In all the time he'd known him, he'd never guessed. Of course, he'd never asked, either. Lightfoot had been hired to serve a self-absorbed youth who only cared about his valet's knowledge of fashion so he could impress his friends and whichever ladies happened to be about. Why the man had volunteered to stay with him after his injury, Everett couldn't fathom. Or maybe he could. The man lived his faith. And through that living, influenced the lives around him. His wife's inscription testified to that truth, as did Everett's experience. Ray cared about people at the soul level.

Everett ran his fingers through his hair, grabbing a handful at the crown of his head and tugging against his scalp until it hurt. He would have been lost without Lightfoot. Without Mrs. Potter and Timens. He'd done nothing to deserve their loyalty, their kindness, yet they'd given it freely. Leaving their homes to move to the wilds of Texas. Putting up with his foul moods and his inhospitable nature.

If they weren't a living, breathing demonstration of God's grace, he didn't know what was. And yet God had brought him another gift. At least according to Lightfoot. One he desperately wanted to accept despite his complete unworthiness.

A tremor ran through Everett's chest. He'd never wooed a woman without his looks to rely upon. He wasn't even sure how to go about it.

Admire something more than what you can see on the surface.

Babette's words rose to the surface of his mind. Spoken by a beautiful woman who wanted to be appreciated for more than her outward appearance. Hadn't he secretly longed for the same, even before his injury? To be appreciated for his art or his literary knowledge or just for himself alone? He'd mourned the loss of his face so deeply because, at some level, he'd believed it was the only thing that had given him value. Thankfully, with Lightfoot's help, he'd started to find his worth in being a child of God. Chosen and beloved by a Father who looks not at the outward appearance but at the heart.

Perhaps it was time to stop hiding his heart behind the thorny hedge of his pain, and expose it to view. Callista had already provided the invitation when she asked him to show her his paintings. All he had to do was crack open his chest, and let her in.