Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Twelve days passed.
Verna threw herself into the work of the estate, thinking if she kept really busy, she wouldn’t think of Kalen.
She rose before the household bell every morning and was at her desk as the first blush of dawn touched the grapevines.
She reviewed the accounts, answered correspondence, walked the vineyard rows with the head picker, and tasted the fermenting new wine in the vats every day.
She filled each waking hour with a zeal that blocked out unwanted thoughts.
She avoided the amphitheatre like the plague.
She took her meals in her study when she could manage it without causing comment, and when she couldn't, she sat at the head of the table and subtly redirected any conversation away from her impending marriage.
Kalen didn’t seek her out.
This should have been a relief, but it only made her irrationally angry.
Verna told herself firmly, that was exactly what she demanded.
That it couldn't happen again and Kalen had taken her at her word.
The woman attended her training, ate her meals, worked in the vineyard rows in the afternoons, and treated Verna, on the rare occasions their paths crossed in a corridor or courtyard, with a courtesy that was entirely impersonal.
It was infuriating.
Verna snapped at a girl in the press house on the fourth day for something that was barely worth mentioning, and had to go back an hour later to apologise. The girl looked so startled that she wasn't sure the apology hadn't made things worse.
On the sixth day, she disagreed with Dara about the quantity of oil to put aside for the winter stores.
Dara had been managing the estate's winter provisions for years and was invariably right about these things.
Verna knew this but said something sharp anyway, then sat at her desk afterward feeling ashamed of herself.
On the ninth day she found a letter from Thom on her desk, cheerful and warm, full of practical details about the ceremony arrangements.
It ended with a heartfelt declaration of his love that made her stomach churn with guilt.
She put it in the drawer, and then opened it again and read it twice more before closing it again, more firmly this time.
On the tenth day she bit the head off a guard who was three minutes late to her post. The Abrensian woman gave her such a hurt look that Verna felt the silent rebuke more acutely than any direct response.
By the twelfth day she was snapping at everyone because she was sleeping poorly. For at night, she couldn’t avoid thinking of Kalen, her body aching to be touched, her sex throbbing with want.
The estate, which had always been a place of considerable harmony, had become wary of her.
It was not, Verna knew, her finest time.
Then Dara intervened. Verna was in the small room off the kitchen she used for reviewing household accounts, staring at a column of figures she had added up three times and arrived at three different answers.
She heard her housekeeper’s step in the corridor.
Verna didn’t look up from the ledger when she entered the room. "I'm busy," she said curtly.
"I know," Dara said, settling herself into the chair across the table. "I can see that."
Verna put down her pen and said gruffly, "What is it, Dara?"
The housekeeper looked at her with a kindness that was more difficult to withstand than criticism. "I want to know how you are."
"I'm perfectly well."
"You snapped at Mari this morning about the window shutters."
"The shutters were—"
"Fine," Dara finished gently. "Mari has managed those shutters for three years without a single incident."
Verna pressed her lips together and said nothing.
Dara folded her hands on the table in front of her in the manner she used when she had settled in for the duration. "Is it the Trials?" she asked. "We're less than three weeks away. It would be perfectly reasonable to feel the pressure of it."
"I'm not anxious about them. Kalen is an exceptional fighter."
"The soldiers say she is," Dara agreed, with the tone of someone crossing an item off a list. "Then it must be the wedding."
Verna fiddled with her pen restlessly. "The arrangements are progressing."
"That isn't what I asked."
"Dara. Don’t."
"When did you last sleep a full night?"
Verna opened her mouth then closed it.
Dara held her gaze, looking determined to have her say. "You've been like a woman with a thorn in her foot since your betrothal. You're short-tempered, not eating, and you're snapping at everyone. Talk to me."
Verna put both hands flat on the table and avoided her eye. "I don't know if I can go through with it," she said, feeling a little lighter now she’d actually said the words aloud.
Dara said nothing and waited.
"I know all the reasons I should. I made a list." She almost laughed.
"An actual list, mind you. The balance is overwhelming in favour of proceeding.
It will protect the estate and the women, and put an end to the emperor's intentions.
Thom is the sensible answer to the problem.
" She went on, unable to keep the tremor out of her voice.
"But I can't bring myself to write back to his steward confirming the date. "
Dara studied her carefully, as if trying to put the pieces together in her mind. "Are you afraid of marrying him specifically, or of marriage itself?"
Verna raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," Dara began quietly, with almost maternal gentleness, "you have lived alone for a long time. On your own terms, in your own way. Taking a husband is a significant change, even if it’s necessary and he’s a good friend.
" She hesitated. "And Thom is an excellent man, but he’s still a man.
He will have expectations of the intimacy that comes with marriage. "
Verna felt herself blush as Dara pressed on, "You're thirty-three next birthday and I suspect you’ve never lain with anyone. There's no shame in it, and it would be perfectly understandable if the prospect of the wedding night was—"
"Dara!" Verna said in a warning tone.
"—the reason for your bad temper."
"That's not—" Verna stopped.
Dara looked at her with an expression of concern that Verna found herself temporarily unable to speak.
Her old friend had arrived at the wrong conclusion, for reasons that must have seemed, from the outside, entirely logical.
Verna had never married, never taken a lover, never shown the slightest interest in any of the men over the years.
And many had tried to get her interest. To Dara, watching from the outside, the conclusion she had drawn was not unreasonable.
It was simply wrong.
"There’s no shame in it," Dara said gently. "Many women find the idea of the wedding night daunting when they haven’t any experience. But it needn't be something to dread. With the right person it can be wonderful."
"Please stop," said Verna in a strangled voice.
Dara halted, but looked at her with an expression that said she had not abandoned her frank talk, merely paused it. "What is it?"
Verna looked at the window trying to form an answer as Dara watched her with that gentle, entirely misdirected concern.
"You're right," she said, hoping to end the embarrassing conversation. "I haven’t any experience."
Dara's expression cleared with the relief of someone who discovered they were right. "I thought as much. The solution is straightforward. Before the wedding, you take a lover."
Verna stared at her. "I beg your pardon?"
"Someone discreet," Dara said with the brisk practicality she applied to all household problems. "Someone you trust, who will be kind and take their time. It would settle your nerves considerably and you'd go to your marriage bed a good deal less terrified."
"I am not terrified," Verna said firmly.
"Of course not," Dara agreed, in the soothing tone that meant she had not changed her opinion in the least. "But the experience will be beneficial."
"You want me to bed another man before my wedding?" she asked incredulously.
"Of course not," Dara said with a small smile.
"Then what do you mean?"
"You must take a woman to your bed. She will show you everything that will bring you pleasure. When your husband takes you on your wedding night, you can show him what you like."
Verna just stared at her. "You’re joking I hope, Dara."
Dara looked offended. "No. It will ease your mind."
"And where will I get such a woman?" Verna asked drily.
Dara chuckled. "Half the women on this estate are in love with you. I’ve sometimes wondered if you notice it. Patrice especially looks at you in a certain way."
Verna rolled her eyes. "I’m not asking Patrice to teach me about sex."
Another small silence, of a different quality than the one before. "Lady Verna," Dara said, very quietly.
"Don't," Verna warned.
Dara closed her mouth.
They sat together in the small room with the ledgers and the morning light moving across the table between them, and Dara, to her enormous credit, said nothing else.
After a long silence, Verna picked up her pen. "I'll think about what you said." Then added as Dara rose to go. "If I decide to take your advice, I will choose the woman. That is non-negotiable."
Dara nodded. "Of course, My Lady."
"Thank you, Dara," she said and turned back to her ledger.
The door closed softly, and she was alone.
She put down the pen and walked out to the balcony.
She looked out over at the long silver rows of the whispering trees.
They were actually humming not whispering as they swayed in the breeze.
By the Gods, if she didn’t know better, she would think they’d been listening.