Page 29 of The Forsaken
She managed to nod.
The young Seer picked up her examination. “This line here? This is the fate line,” she touched another part of Andy’s hand, “and this is the line of Venus. The two are intertwined.” She ran an index finger along a line that curved to a point around her thumb. “Your Venus line is clear and deep. It means your journey in life will be smooth and stable.”
“That hardly fits with marriage to an evil m-man.”
The Siren was nothing more than a charlatan.
Tears clouded Andromena’s eyes, forcing her to pretend an intense interest in her Venus line.
“I know what you’re thinking, Miss Smith.”
No, she didn’t.
“This is the fate line,” the Siren said, indicating the vertical crease that extended up to the middle of Andromena’s palm. “The stronger it is, the greater the indication that a person has a definite purpose, and an even greater ability to shape her own destiny.”
“I take it you offer the same assurance to all the women with grim futures?”
“I ain’t a liar. The palm line does the speaking.”
In a sign of how seriously she took her craft, the young woman sounded far more offended when her skills were questioned.
Edgar let himself in. “Time is up.”
Any other time, Andromena would have told him where to go with his high-handedness. Not today. She just wanted to go.
She got herself up on wooden legs.
The Siren remained seated but before Andromena took a step, the beautiful girl grabbed her. “Ye shape your own destiny, Miss Smith. Ye can’t forget that.”
That’s what the young seer urged. Andromena pulled her cloak back into place, weighed down by a fresh threat from her persistent blackmailer and the grim future waiting for her. No love. No happy marriage. Nothing.
Curse her existence.
She had zero control, a bleak future, and a long, uncomfortable carriage ride ahead with the worst witness to her misery: Viscount Kerr.
Chapter 5
For years, Kerr faced a persistent run of bad luck.
That was putting it mildly.
If he’d gone into the umbrella business, rain would cease to fall in England. Had he inherited a millinery, ladies would have abandoned bonnets and hats altogether. If he sold coal and wood, they’d discover a way to heat households with sun—
Yes, well, one got the point.
Between disastrous sailings on volatile seas and the critical injuries he returned with, Lady Fortune couldn’t have made it any clearer how far he’d fallen from favor—fathoms deep.
Until this very moment.
Since he had followed his unlikely nighttime companion into the hired hackney, the vexing chit hadn’t uttered a word.
Not one.
Not a single syllable utterance.
Not a giggle. Nor her customary uninhibited, brass-bell-like laugh (and the just-as-common whale-spout snort she pushed through her nose).
Why, she’d not even sighed one of her favorite sighs—the exasperated ones she saved just for him. Or her ‘dessert is served, and I am starving’ sigh she breathed at all formal dinners.
