Chapter 46
Chapter
Forty-Six
Lachlan and I argue the moment our feet touch the silvered grass in the woods behind my aunt and uncle’s estate.
I want to break into the manor immediately, search the painting for clues, give us as much time as possible to find the Bannrhorn fragment.
Lachlan believes it would be more prudent to wait until morning, when we can approach the household as visitors, not burglars. What if someone calls the constable?
But, I counter, if this was Lachlan’s plan the whole time, why had we not just stayed up at the cottage? I can think of a hundred more creative ways to test the durability of my old bed.
He whisper-shouts that I am like a dog with a bone and he didn’t think he was going to be able to talk me out of it. He looks angry, but also, dare I say, a little smitten. Like maybe he, too, is questioning how quickly we need to return to a world where our fates are destined to diverge.
Something flutters behind my ribs, and I relent.
Anyway, he isn’t entirely wrong. If one of the staff were to come upon us in the gallery, I shudder to think what Lachlan might be forced to do to keep them quiet.
Plus, I need some time to think up a story.
In the excitement over my epiphany, I’d quite forgotten that as far as the Fitzroys are concerned, I’ve been gone for two years.
To break into the main house raving about horned faeries and ancient relics and wild hunts with a strange, tall man by my side might get me thrown into an asylum.
And that would have a very adverse effect upon our timeline.
Instead, we stay at an inn in North Umberton. I had no idea how tired I truly was, because as soon as my adrenaline wears off, I nearly fall asleep at the counter while Lachlan pays for a room with the false coin Sabre provided us.
The next morning, we walk through the market stalls in search of breakfast before we make our way to Stillwater. Lachlan purchases me a bag of late-season cherries and a minced meat hand pie.
“Was there leftover coin?” I ask, sucking in a breath to cool my inadvisedly large and volcanically hot bite.
“Nope.” He pops a cherry into his mouth. “Nicked it from the till after I carried you upstairs.”
“Criminal,” I tease, stroking my tongue over the burned roof of my mouth. “Did you ev—”
“Charlotte?!”
I lift my head to see my cousin Lizzie hurtling a pram over the packed dirt. She skids to a halt, pram abandoned, and throws herself upon me in a crushing hug.
When she pulls back, her eyes are shining.
“My god, Charlotte. They thought you were dead.” I’m baffled she would have been so upset by my absence.
Also a little touched. “I visited Granny’s cottage, but there was no sign of you.
I’ve been going back every few months to see if … Where have you been?”
I unravel the tale I’ve spent the morning inventing.
That I couldn’t stomach another Season. That I used my inheritance to fund that continental trip Granny Maggie and I had been dreaming of but had never taken.
I introduce her to my “husband”—Lachlan was both delighted to contribute to the ruse and annoyed that I thought I had to ask permission—and she’s just as enamored by him as the other women in town.
“And who is this little angel?” I ask, peeking into the pram upon the most adorable, chubby-cheeked baby girl, soundly asleep despite her mother’s careless driving.
“I married a duke at the end of that Season,” Lizzie says, immediately turning the conversation back onto herself.
I suppose she wouldn’t be Lizzie if she didn’t.
It doesn’t bother me as much as it used to.
“Charles Cranford, son of the Duke of Mewsbury. Temperance Houghton was livid. She still hasn’t made a match. ”
Lizzie cackles, victorious and cruel. Well on her way to the life of a vulture in Seasons to come. I stroke a fingertip across the baby’s tiny palm, say a prayer that she’ll find happiness regardless of her mother’s schemes.
“The title of Favourite paid off,” Lizzie finishes.
Lachlan’s hand at my lower back tenses. We cannot form the diamrhán in the human realm, but I am dying to know where his thoughts have strayed. He knew I wasn’t the Favourite, but I hope he’s not thinking things could have been easier for him if Lizzie had been the one he found that night.
“What are your plans for the evening?” she asks. “Mother’s hosting a dinner party. Oh, you must come. Everyone will want to meet your dashing new husband, and—”
“We’ve been married for two years, actually.” Lachlan grabs my hand and runs his thumb over the silver ring. “The minute I spoke to her, I said to myself, here is a woman I want in my life always. So, not precisely a new husband.”
I stare at him, this human ghost in the shape of my faerie knight, and am hit with such an overwhelming wave of gratitude and longing that I hardly know what to do with it.
“New husband, old husband, no matter.” Lizzie waves her hand, and a coo rises from the pram. “You’ll come then? Both of you?”
Once my brain catches up with reality—rather than whirring around the possibility of a truth buried in Lachlan’s role-playing—I respond with, “Of course. Actually, do you think Aunt Teddy would mind if we popped over now? I want to show Lachlan the art collection. And there are a few things I’d like to retrieve before we return to the continent. ”
Lizzie hefts her baby into her arms—heavens, I must be just as self-centered as she is; I didn’t even ask the child’s name—and she blinks rapidly.
“Oh, your sketchbook, do you mean? I’ve kept it for you.
I’ve been certain someday you’d return. You’re, um, very talented, Charlotte.
I’m sorry if I never told you. Let me get Mary settled again, then I need to finish my shopping and we can walk to Stillwater together, yes? ”
“That sounds lovely,” I say, though Lizzie has already turned her attention to baby Mary, bobbing her gently as she pushes the pram away.
“What was in that sketchbook, I wonder?” Lachlan’s whisper at my ear sends shivers down my spine.
“Nothing you haven’t done to me at least twice,” I murmur.
“Hmm.” He slides a hand around my waist to pull me closer. “Why don’t you show me, and we’ll replicate a few before we ‘return to the continent’, wife?” He bites my neck and I giggle.
“Oh, Charlotte!” Lizzie shouts from halfway down the market lane. “I forgot to mention. You’ll never guess who’s coming to dinner tonight.
“George and Jane Somersby.”