Page 1 of Stolen Threadwitch Bride
Butterflies in a Case
Ismiled like my life depended on it.
It almost did. I wasn’t in a fight or threatened by a wild beast, no, but danger nipped at my heels just as surely as any ravenous wolf. And with his greying hair, watery gaze, and oak panelled study, Lord Hawthorne had the power to save me.
Apparently oblivious to his opportunity to become my knight in shining armour, he only watched me pull another sample from my basket. The harsh lines of his face didn’t move even as I held up a bodice so intricately embellished, his wife and daughters would’ve drooled and snatched it from my hands before I could so much as blink.
He cleared his throat and raised grey eyebrows at me.
Damnation, I’d been quiet for too long, just depositing sample after sample on his desk.
My throat tightened, not wanting to release any words.
It’s only one person, not a whole room. Just Lord Hawthorne.I’d known him for years—Mama had brought me on visits to Hawthorne House since I was old enough to stand still and hold a tape measure. Once or twice, he’d even managed a stiff smile and told his butler to offer me a sweet.
I could speak in front of him. Icould. My mouth just needed to remember that.
Cheeks burning, I managed to swallow and suck in a breath, fixing my eyes over his shoulder at the frame on the wall. Behind the glass, dozens of butterflies were pinned to a board, cocoons beside them, stunted. Although their patterns were pretty and the metallic colours glorious, they were sad little specimens, dead and still.
It made my shoulders sink, but the distraction meant I could speak at last. “So you see, ser, your daughter could wear such a bodice made with enchantments to draw attention and—”
“Yes, it is quite spectacular.” He dismissed the bodice with a flick of his hand. “As is all your work, Ariadne. However, my daughter doesn’tneedmore attention.”
The burning crept down my neck. Gods, why had I phrased it like that? With her blond hair and green eyes, his eldest was a renowned local beauty. My work only complemented what was already there. “I’m sorry, ser, I didn’t mean to suggest—”
“I know you didn’t. We both know she has quite enough attention as it is, and I fear if she has any more I shan’t be able to fit her head under my roof. Now, I don’t say this because I’m offended—I am not—however I simply do not need a full-time seamstress.”
Threadwitch.
A threadwitch, not a seamstress. I didn’t have an impressive gift that could summon storms or light candles with a snap of my fingers, but I had magic. I could stitch it into cloth and through beads and create garments noseamstressever could.
However, Lord Hawthorne was not a man you corrected. So I clenched my jaw and bowed my head, letting my hood slip forward to hide my irritation.
“We’ve dealt with your family for many years, and will continue to do so.” His voice gentled, but each syllable still came out with such precision it could’ve been cut from glass. A true lordly accent. “But I see no need to commit to a contract.”
Of course he didn’t. A contract wouldn’t givehima steady income so he could pay his rent each month. And I’d bet he didn’t have debts.
Instead, he had a mansion full of tapestries and brocade, with lace doilies on the walnut sideboard and silk carpets that whispered under my feet as I shifted. With my too-dark skin and strange hair barely concealed by my hood, I was a flaw in his perfect dollhouse.
“I will leave it to my lady wife to contact you when she next has need of your services.” His thin mouth curved in his attempt at a smile. It didn’t meet his pale eyes. “I believe the Hamptons will be holding a ball in the summer—I should imagine the girls will require gowns for the occasion.”
In the summer? We were barely past the spring equinox, and I only had enough coin for my next rent payment. What about next month and the month after? And what about the wolf at my heels?
His upholstered chair creaked as he sat back and shuffled through some papers.
I was dismissed.
And I’d failed.
Rose, dear, sweet Rose who for some reason believed in me—she’d organised this meeting, phrased the letter asking for the contract. I’d failed her, too.
My hands shook as I gathered my samples from his desk. What an idiot. I never should’ve let her talk me into this. Why would he give me a contract? I should’ve known I wasn’t good enough. Otherwise he would’ve said yes.
I stuffed my work into my basket and bowed my head. “Thank you, ser. I’ll—”
“Oh!” He started, looking up from the papers as though he’d forgotten I was there. “Yes, yes, good day, Ariadne.” Jowly chin lifting, he shouted, “Belton, get in here!”
I flinched at how loud, how sudden that noise was in the enclosed study.
