Chapter Fifteen #2
So most witches avoid sorcerers and their magic. But to the Levines, refusing to use sorcerer magic ultimately only hurts us. Let sorcerers refuse to use witch magic—which most consider beneath them—and we’ll steal the advantage by learning both. That will be our revenge.
I’m permitted an hour to teach Tabitha while I eat and dress, which is the longest Marjorie reasons the young maid can be away without anyone questioning her absence.
Then they leave, and I head into the adjoining room to see who’s watching over me, in hopes we can go for a walk.
I know Bishop is busy again this morning, but I don’t plan to spend the next few hours in my bedchamber.
I’ve eaten and dressed, and I’m restless.
When I open my door, Julius is already on his feet. “I was just about to knock. Your father has asked to speak to you.” He lowers his voice. “Do you need a moment to prepare?”
I cast a privacy spell. “Is he going to ask me something I need to prepare for?”
“I hope not. But you should be ready, in case he insists on an answer.”
Bishop and I discussed this yesterday. I’ll tell my father that I have more questions.
That’s the way to stall—with questions that make it seem as if I’m moving toward agreement.
Like a friend who insists they couldn’t possibly take one of your kittens…
and then starts asking what it eats and how much fur it sheds.
Julius and I set off down the hallway. The other bedroom doors are all closed, everyone being up and about.
Once down the stairs, we pass various sitting rooms. In one, a wolf reads a book aloud to two others.
The next door is closed, and through it I hear two men’s voices raised in anger, which startles me until I realize they’re only bickering over which of them will fetch tea.
From somewhere down the hall, I think I hear Bishop, though his voice is always pitched low enough that it doesn’t carry like the others.
When I think I detect my father’s voice, it’s faint, as if through more than one closed door.
“Silas’s study is in here,” Julius murmurs, indicating the next door. “He seems to be talking to Henry and Reginald, and we’d best not interrupt. We’ll sit in the waiting room.”
He’s reaching for the door when Felix comes racing down the hall. “Julius? You’re needed. Trina has scalded her arm.”
Julius looks from me to Felix. “Can you stay with Miss Cordelia?”
Felix glances anxiously down the hall. “I’m supposed to be preparing the coach for Silas. He has business in town, and he won’t be happy if he’s delayed.”
“Do that,” Julius says firmly. Then, after Felix lopes off, he turns to me. “Wait inside. I know you’re not supposed to be left alone…”
“I won’t try to escape,” I say. “There isn’t any point.”
“There isn’t,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry. For all of this.” He lowers his voice even more. “But Bishop does have a plan.”
“I know.”
I slip into the waiting area, and Julius shuts the door behind me.
It’s a small room with two chairs, and it looks like the sort I’d find outside any important businessman’s office.
That makes me smile. A Pack Alpha might act like he’s just another wolf, called by his given name, participating in games and ribaldry, but here’s a sign that he’s clearly in charge.
If you want to talk to him, you’ll wait your turn.
I settle in, my mind still lazily swirling, as if yesterday’s brandy hasn’t completely worn off. It’s not drunkenness, but the bliss of relief. I’ve settled into a rhythm and found my footing, and the soft buzz of euphoria proves just how worried I’d been.
If I focus, I can hear voices from my father’s office. With a house of werewolves, it must be hard to hold a conversation in absolute privacy. Even I can hear what’s being said.
Reginald—my father’s advisor—is speaking. He’s the gray-haired man I’d seen at that first dinner. He seems elderly, which makes me wonder how old he’d be, with a werewolf’s delayed aging. Very old, I think—Bishop mentioned that Reginald advised my grandfather as well.
“—understand why you want her here. She’s your daughter. But she doesn’t belong.”
I perk up. Is that my father’s trusted advisor… advising that he’s made a mistake bringing me here?
“She belongs,” my father growls, “and I’m not having this conversation again. You gave your advice. I rejected it.”
“But—”
“Enough, or I’ll start questioning your loyalty, Reggie, which you don’t want. My daughter is here. She’s staying here. She’s mating with Bishop and providing me with grandsons. That is not open for discussion. You’re here to discuss how to achieve this. I’d hoped she’d agree to it.”
“Then you’ve underestimated her,” Reginald says. “She’s your child, Silas. If someone offered you safety through marriage, an easy life with some small measure of power, you’d refuse. You don’t want that. Neither does she.”
Henry Cain snorts. “She’s a woman. She should be mated. She’s stringing you along, Silas, and you’re indulging her. You’re also teaching her that she can get away with it. That she can get away with disobeying her father—and her Alpha.”
I hold my breath, waiting for my father to say Henry’s out of line, that it’s been only a few days, and my father hasn’t even outright asked me for an answer.
But my father only sighs. “I know. I wanted her to feel as if she had a choice in the matter.”
“I believe Henry has a point,” Reginald says slowly. “Not words I ever expected to utter, but if you won’t consider releasing the girl, then you need to show her who she is dealing with, so she doesn’t mistake you for an indulgent father.”
“Oh, but I like playing the indulgent father. I think I’m pretty good at it.”
I grip the arms of my chair.
“Fine,” my father says, sighing again. “I’ve arranged for a special marriage license with the vicar. Let’s get this over with today.”
“Today?” Reginald says. “Doesn’t that seem hasty?” A long pause, as if there is some interplay I cannot see, and then the advisor says, meekly, “Of course. Whatever you think is best.”
“Why even bother with the vicar?” Henry says. “Just tell Bishop to plow her and get this over with.”
My breath stops, and when my father only gives that put-upon sigh, my entire body goes cold.
“If only it were that easy,” my father says. “He wouldn’t do it, and that’s not the sort of thing I can order a man to do.”
Henry snorts. “You shouldn’t need to order him. One look at her—one sniff of her—and he should be ready to take her over the nearest table. He’s unnatural that way. Secretive. Are we certain he’s not like Oliver, a…”
Henry says a word that I won’t repeat even in my mind, a vulgar slur for men who prefer other men.
“My brother is not a homosexual,” my father grinds out. “As for Bishop, you know he isn’t, because you’ve followed him while he’s in London. He’s circumspect, that’s all. Which is why he wouldn’t bed my daughter on my say-so.”
“You’re his Alpha. He should do—”
“If I wanted an heir who would do everything I say—because he’s too dense to think for himself—I’d have picked you.”
“Maybe you should pick me,” Henry snaps. “I’m man enough to plow your daughter, whether she wants it or not. Bring her here and—”
The smack of a fist and then a crash, as if my father has sent the bigger man flying.
“You overstep,” my father says, his voice brittle and cold.
“It was a joke,” Henry whines.
“You do not joke about my daughter that way. Reggie, bring the vicar. We’ll get this done today.
I might not be able to force Bishop to bed my daughter without her consent, but I sure as hell can force him to wed her.
I’ve had enough of this nonsense. Keep the girl in her bedchamber until the vicar comes.
Keep Bishop occupied as well. He’s already too fond of the girl.
He’ll try to talk me out of this, and I don’t have the patience for that. ”
I scramble out of the room as quickly and as quietly as I can.