Chapter 7
I pacethe main hall from the entrance of the dining room to the leaded glass by the doors; I peer outside and see the drive is still empty; I repeat. My skirts swoosh around my ankles, as agitated as my nerves. I wring my hands.
“This is a terrible idea. A terrible, horrible idea.” Not that I had any say in it. The letter was waiting for me next to my dinner plate last night, Oren said it arrived by way of carrier pigeon. I was shocked that a carrier pigeon could find its way out here. Even more shocked that my sisters had actually decided to make the journey to come and visit like they promised weeks ago.
Laura sounded properly giddy at the prospect. And she had mentioned making an attempt when I left. But I expected them all to be so enraptured by their four thousand pieces, their new servants to boss around, and their new dresses to try on, that I didn’t think they really would come and see me. I bite my thumbnail and curse under my breath.
Part of me is wracked with guilt for thinking so little of Laura. We’ve always had a positive relationship. Of course she would come to see me. And I can only imagine how her circumstances have changed without what little shielding I could offer from Joyce.
As far as Helen, she’s not coming to see me; she’s coming to try and make a mockery of me and no doubt relay her findings back to Joyce.
I can imagine her in the carriage, chatting Laura’s ear off about the wretched circumstances I must certainly find myself in. I stop and take a deep breath, smoothing out my skirts. That is why I’ve worn my best dress today. That is why I must show her the lovely home I now have, the weight I’ve gained from proper food and care, the luster that has returned to my hair and eyes—and most importantly, that I never think about her or Joyce anymore or their trivial desires. I am fine, no, better without those two.
At last I hear the whinny of a horse and the gravel grinding underneath carriage wheels. Gathering every last scrap of composure, I step outside and wait at the top of the three steps. Oren rode out to meet them by the main road and be their guide. He dismounts, casting me a wary look, one I share.
My sisters’ new footman opens the door to their carriage and they come bursting out.
“Katria, it’s so good to see you.” Laura rushes over, arms open wide. The sight of her fair hair reminds me of that creature in the woods. I shake off the memory and descend the stairs to meet her.
“You really didn’t have to come all this way,” I say, returning her embrace fiercely.
“I couldn’t bring Misty,” she whispers quickly. Here I was, trying to admit I hadn’t been hoping to see Misty pulling their carriage. “I tried.”
“Don’t fret over that.” I keep the words low enough that Helen can’t hear, but firm. Laura has more important things to worry about now than my old horse.
“We wanted to see how you are doing.” Helen folds her arms in her usual stance. “From the looks of it, you’re well.”
“No complaints, certainly.”
“Will you give us a tour of your lovely new home?” Laura links her arm with mine, and gazes up at the manor in awe. She no doubt sees the same things I did when I first arrived—its castle-like appearance and the well-preserved craftsmanship of bygone days.
“Let’s skip the tour,” I say, patting her arm. I had rehearsed and planned for how to avoid showing them around since a good two thirds of the manor I am not allowed to enter. “Most of it is drafty, empty, boring rooms anyway, and I would much rather spend time with you, catching up on what has been happening back in town.”
This sparks a long-winded explanation from Laura about all of the gossip of high society that I was never really a part of. She carries on as I escort my sisters to the study that the lord and I usually use for our nightly conversations. I’ve procured a third chair. And, with Oren’s help, a bottle of mead to share with them.
“What is this?” Helen asks as I pour the drink.
“It’s mead.” I hand her a glass. “I certainly had never had it until I came here. My husband is able to import it from far away.” I honestly have no idea how easy or hard this mead is to come by. But Helen looks begrudgingly impressed so it’s worth opening the bottle. Laura is beaming at the honey liquid. I hold out my glass. “Cheers, to smart, fortuitous matches.”
Our glasses clink together and we each take a seat.
“Speaking of, how is your match?” Laura asks, voice dropping to whisper. She glances to the door, as if Lord Fenwood might walk in at any moment. “He isn’t as horrible as we feared, is he?”
“Not at all, he’s positively lovely,” I say with a genuine smile. Helen’s lips purse slightly, as they do when she’s silently fuming. It prompts me to continue. “He’s been nothing but generous, kind, and understanding. He enjoys my lute playing, even. He’ll sit out in the woods with me while I play.” He’s done that a few times now over these past weeks. The last time, he trusted me enough not to try to steal a glance that he sat on the stump behind me. Our backs almost touching…which caused me to dream about his skin pressed against mine the following night.
Helen snorts. “Be realistic. No real man is sitting out enjoying your lute playing. Have you not been satisfying him enough in bed that he feels the need to go out of his way and try and woo you with such ridiculous gestures?”
I don’t know where to start with that remark. I want to insist that he genuinely likes my lute playing. But my defensiveness will only make Helen double down. Worse, just with those few words, she’s made me doubt my instincts. Even though I’ve never smelled smoke on him. Even though I sit in my new home with my new life…she manages to bring out the old me, the meek parts of myself that I still can’t shed around her.
“He has made no demands in that department.”
My sisters glance at each other. Laura leans in. “But you have fulfilled your duties as a wife, haven’t you?”
I purse my lips.
“That’s a no.” Helen seems amused by this revelation. “So he is as hideous as we expected. You couldn’t even muster up the courage.”
“It’s not— He’s not.”
