Chapter Thirty
T HIRTY
The next time I wake, sunshine is pouring through the windows, and Bishop is murmuring against my ear.
“I need to leave briefly,” he says. “I’m sorry, but…”
“There are things you need to do.”
“Unfortunately. I have to find out what’s happening with Reginald. I also have… other things.”
I open one eye to see he’s already dressed, and I feel the urge to joke about these “other things” being more important than me. But I won’t even tease, because what he’s doing for the Pack is more important.
Bishop and I are playing at being distracted. He can’t actually be distracted. So I lift onto one elbow and kiss him softly before dropping back onto the pillow and tugging up the covers.
“I’m afraid I need to disturb you even more,” he says. “I have to move you back to your old room.”
“Ah. Yes. I forgot that. I can’t stay in a room with a broken window.” I lift my head again, yawning. “Give me a moment to dress.”
“No need. I’ll minimize the disruption.” He hefts me up, wrapping the blankets around me. “It’s about thirty feet to your bedchamber. You’re covered, but you may be seen.”
“Isn’t that the point? For everyone—especially Silas—to know what happened last night?”
“Mmm, yes, I suppose so. Still, I wanted to check with you. And if I seem a little too pleased to be carrying you from one bed to another, be assured it’s all part of the act, and not because I am—ahem—a little too pleased to be seen carrying you from one bed to another.”
I smile up at him. “Understood.”
After that, I doze lazily in my former bed.
Before Bishop goes to do whatever needs doing, he drops off a plate of bread and cheese, which I nibble as I rest. When the clock downstairs strikes eleven, I only remind myself that I had a very late night.
When it strikes twelve, though, I groan and rise just in time to hear voices in the guard room outside my bedchamber.
Someone knocks, and I pull up the covers and call a hello. Marjorie comes in, bearing a smile and a full platter of what smells like lunch.
“I missed breakfast?” I say with a yawn.
“Yes, but I can bring that, too.”
I return her smile. “I should probably put on my nightgown before I eat.”
“Forgot to put it on last night?” she says with a grin.
“It was terribly warm.”
The grin grows. “I’m sure it was. There is nothing like a hot-blooded man to keep the temperature up.”
I widen my eyes innocently. “Whatever do you mean?”
She opens the wardrobe, and I can see that all of my clothing has been returned to it.
That reminds me of who really bought that wardrobe for me.
Bishop. How much work had he gone to, bribing my exact measurements from the seamstress, figuring out what styles I liked, choosing everything so precisely for a young woman he didn’t even know.
He wanted me to be comfortable. That says so much about the man, that he’d go to such trouble to help cushion a difficult situation for a stranger.
A stranger, yes, but he did know me, in his way, from following me about for my father. He’d come to know me, at least a little, and to desire me.
I smile to myself. Yes, the wardrobe and the books are kind consideration, but also, perhaps, a bit of wooing, even if Bishop himself hadn’t quite realized it.
As Marjorie helps me with the nightgown, she says, “You know you’ll need to change again shortly.”
“Yes, but I’m feeling excessively lazy. I can’t eat in bed wearing a gown and corset.”
Marjorie leans in, helping me with the tray, and then whispers, “Oliver is outside, and he will let us know if anyone is close enough to overhear us.”
“You know exactly how far they can hear.”
“Oh, we do.” She continues fussing with my plate. “I’m sorry about your aunt. If you don’t want to talk about it, I won’t bring it up.”
My good mood evaporates, and I lift one shoulder. “Talking about it helps me deal with it.”
She lays her hand briefly on mine. “It was terrible. I heard—” She swallows. “I heard she raised you, after your mother died, and that you were very close.”
“We were.”
“Your father is—” She stops short and moves back.
I cast a privacy spell. “He’s a monster. You don’t need to worry about offending me. Any affection that might have been growing…” I shake my head. “He is nothing to me. Less than nothing.”
“I just didn’t want to insult your blood relative.”
“You don’t want to remind me that I share blood with a monster?” I smile. “I’m a Levine. My blood has long been considered monstrous.”
She busies herself with my tray.
I motion for her to sit. Once she has, I say, “I’d like to thank Ann, if you can do that for me. Despite not trusting me, she was kind when I was locked in here, and I’ll never forget it.”
Marjorie shifts. “The situation is complicated for her.”
“Something with Bishop?” I murmur.
She looks confused, catches my look, and laughs.
“An infatuation or past entanglement? Definitely not. Bishop hasn’t bedded any of the women here.
As for infatuations?” She shrugs. “Of course, some would love to share his bed. That’s why we’ve kept the other girls away from you.
But Ann has no interest in Bishop. Her problem with you is…
” She glances toward the door and then at me.
“May I speak in confidence? She probably wouldn’t want you to know, but I think you should. ”
“Of course. I can keep a secret very well.”
“Bishop knows this one, as do most of the wolves. It’s Ann who might not want you knowing.” She shifts again, leaning in. “Her grandmother was your grandfather’s consort.”
I blink. “His mate?”
“They use that word very carefully here. It has a specific meaning. Unofficially, though, yes, she was his mate. They had a long and devoted relationship. From what I hear, your grandfather wasn’t a particularly good man either, but he treated her well.
She was in charge of the household affairs.
Lady of the house, for all intents and purposes.
Bore him three children, including your father. ”
My head whips up. “Ann’s grandmother was my grandmother?”
“I hadn’t thought of it that way, but yes.
She was Silas’s mother. Her daughter was his sister, Ann’s mother.
There was another son, older than Silas, who died young.
Oliver came later, from a lover, after your grandmother’s death.
When your grandmother died, though, your grandfather gave her responsibilities—along with all her rights and privileges—to his daughter. ”
“Ann’s mother took over as lady of the house.”
“Yes. Until your grandfather died and your father became Alpha. Then Ann’s mother was sent to work in the kitchens.”
“In the kitchens? As…?”
“A servant. Ann herself had grown up as the Alpha’s beloved granddaughter.
She had her own room. Her own horse. Even tutoring from the more scholarly wolves.
Everything a grandson would have been entitled to.
Again, your grandfather wasn’t considered a good man, but when it came to women—his consort, his daughter, his granddaughter—he was fair and kind and loving.
But after he died, Silas sent Ann and her mother belowstairs.
Ann became a maid.” Marjorie pauses. “She was ten.”
I struggle with words. When I find them, I can only say, “I can’t imagine.”
Marjorie shrugs. “Maybe you can.”
Yes, I actually can imagine it, because down in that cell I wondered whether I could face such a fate. If I crossed Silas, if Bishop’s coup failed, what would my father do with me? Throw me in with the maids, to serve his wolves—in every sense of the word? That might have been my punishment.
It still could be, if this goes wrong.
I try not to think of that.
“I’m sorry she had to act as my maid,” I say. “That was wrong. Didn’t Bishop think that through?”
“Bishop thinks everything through,” she says gently, though there’s subtle rebuke in her voice. “He thinks it through ten times and then once more for good measure. In this case, he sought my advice before you arrived.”
“Oh, I remember that.”
“It really is an impossible choice. Should he ask Ann to serve her cousin? Or not allow it, and imply she might contaminate you? I put the question to Ann. She chose.”
Marjorie rises and begins taking fresh undergarments from my dresser.
“I know she was rude to you. She doesn’t know how to handle this.
She’s jealous, of course, but she’d never acknowledge that.
It’s easier to tell herself she doesn’t trust you.
When she saw you in this ruined room, every luxury stripped away…
” Marjorie shrugs. “She realized you could suffer her fate, and if you did, she wouldn’t take any satisfaction in it.
What happened to her has nothing to do with you. She’s coming to accept that.”
“Is there anything I can do? I understand that this is her home, which is why she stays, as difficult as that must be.”
Marjorie snorts. “Ann would leave in an instant.”
“She can’t? Because she’s Silas’s niece?”
Marjorie looks at me, and she must see the honest confusion in my face, because she nods. “I didn’t know how much you’d been told. I can see why your father and Bishop wouldn’t wish you to know. It might have panicked you.”
“Panicked me?” I stare at her. “Yes, I suppose if I knew the Alpha’s relatives could never leave, I wouldn’t have settled in so easily but…” I search her face and my breath catches. “You all can’t leave? The women? The staff?”
“The Alpha can’t take the risk,” she says, with a false brightness that rings bitter. “We have lived with the Albion Pack. We know the wolves. We know this house. We know their secrets. No one remembers to speak quietly in front of servants, and that goes double for werewolves.”
My hands fall to my sides, my stomach twisting. Why didn’t I see this? Why didn’t I consider it?