Chapter Seven
Seven
Ipace the main hall from the entrance of the dining room to the leaded glass by the doors; I peer outside and see the drive is still empty; I repeat. My skirts swoosh around my ankles, as agitated as my nerves. I wring my hands.
“This is a terrible idea. A terrible, horrible idea.” Not that I had any say in it.
The letter was waiting for me next to my dinner plate last night; Oren said it arrived by way of carrier pigeon.
I was shocked that a carrier pigeon could find its way out here.
Even more shocked that my sisters had actually decided to make the journey to visit me like Laura promised weeks ago.
In the letter, Laura sounded properly giddy at the prospect.
She had mentioned that they would come when I left.
But I expected them all to be so enraptured by their four thousand pieces, their new servants to boss around, and their new dresses to try on that they wouldn’t really find the time.
I bite my thumbnail and curse under my breath.
Part of me is racked with guilt for thinking so little of Laura. We’ve always had a positive relationship. Of course she would come see me.
As far as Helen, she’s not coming to see me—she’s coming to try and make a mockery of me and no doubt relay her findings back to Joyce.
I can imagine her in the carriage chatting Laura’s ear off about the wretched circumstances I must certainly find myself in.
I stop and take a deep breath, smoothing out my skirts.
That is why I’ve worn my best dress today.
That is why I must show her the lovely home I now have, the weight I’ve gained from proper food and care, the luster that has returned to my hair and eyes—and, most important, I must let her know that I never think about her or Joyce or their trivial desires anymore. I am fine—no, better without those two.
At last I hear the whinny of a horse and the gravel grinding underneath carriage wheels.
Gathering every last scrap of composure, I step outside and wait at the top of the three steps.
Oren rode out to meet them by the main road and be their guide.
He dismounts now and casts me a wary look, a feeling I share.
My sisters’ new footman opens the door to their carriage, and they come bursting out.
“Katria, it’s so good to see you.” Laura rushes over, arms open wide. The sight of her fair hair reminds me of that creature in the woods. I shake off the memory and descend the stairs to meet her.
“You really didn’t have to come all this way,” I say, returning her embrace fiercely.
“I couldn’t bring Misty,” she whispers quickly. It’s true that I was hoping to see Misty pulling their carriage. “I tried.”
“Don’t fret over that.” I keep the words low enough that Helen can’t hear, but I’m firm. Laura has more important things to worry about than my old horse. “As long as she’s well tended to, that’s enough.”
“We wanted to see how you are doing.” Helen folds her arms in her usual stance. “From the looks of it, you’re well.”
“No complaints, certainly.”
“Will you give us a tour of your lovely new home?” Laura links her arm with mine and gazes up at the manor in awe. She no doubt sees the same things I did when I first arrived—its castle-like appearance and the well-preserved craftsmanship of bygone days.
“Let’s skip the tour,” I say, patting her arm.
I had planned for how to avoid showing them around, since I am not allowed to enter a good two-thirds of the manor.
“Most of it is drafty, empty, boring rooms anyway, and I would much rather spend time with you, catching up on what has been happening back home.”
This sparks an extensive monologue from Laura about all the gossip of the high society that I was never really a part of.
She carries on as I escort her and Helen to the study that the lord and I usually use for our nightly conversations.
I’ve procured a third chair. And, with Oren’s help, a bottle of mead to share with them.
“What is this?” Helen asks as I pour the drink.
“It’s mead.” I hand her a glass. “I certainly had never had it until I came here. My husband is able to import it from far away.” I honestly have no idea how easy or hard mead is to come by.
But Helen looks grudgingly impressed, so it was worth opening the bottle.
Laura is beaming at the honey liquid. I hold up my own glass. “Cheers—to smart, fortuitous matches.”
Our glasses clink together and we each take a seat.
“Speaking of, how is your match?” Laura asks, voice dropping to whisper. She glances at the door as if Lord Fenwood might walk in at any moment. “He isn’t as horrible as we feared, is he?”
“Not at all, he’s positively lovely,” I say with a genuine smile.
Helen’s lips purse slightly, as they do when she’s silently fuming.
It prompts me to continue. “He’s been nothing but generous, kind, and understanding.
He enjoys my lute playing, even. He’ll sit out in the woods with me while I play.
” He’s done that a few times over these past weeks.
The last time, he trusted me enough not to try to steal a glance that he sat on the stump behind me, our backs almost touching…
which caused me to dream about his skin pressed against mine that night.
Helen snorts. “Be realistic. No man actually enjoys your lute playing. Have you not been satisfying him enough in bed that he feels the need to go out of his way to woo you with such ridiculous gestures?”
I don’t know where to start to respond to that remark.
I want to insist that he genuinely likes my lute playing.
But my defensiveness will only make Helen double down.
Worse, just with those few words, she’s made me doubt my instincts.
Even though I’ve never smelled smoke on him, even though I sit in my new home with my new life…
she manages to bring out the old me, the meek parts of myself that I still can’t shed around her.
“He has made no demands in that department.”
My sisters glance at each other. Laura leans in. “But you have fulfilled your duties as a wife, haven’t you?”
I purse my lips.
“That’s a no.” Helen seems amused by this revelation. “So he is as hideous as we expected. You couldn’t even muster up the courage.”
“It’s not—he’s not.”
“Then why did he not greet us? A bit strange for the lord of the manor not to greet his guests.”
“He’s busy during the days. And you are not normal guests, you’re kin. He knew I could handle the formalities.” I’ve been wondering what he thinks of this meeting. My Lord Fenwood doesn’t seem like the sort who enjoys unexpected houseguests.
“There is no reason why a man of sound mind and body would not take his new bride to bed, even if that new bride is merely passable-looking, as you are.” Helen says it as though the fact should be obvious. As if I am a foolish woman for not realizing it myself.
“Perhaps such things are not his priority.” I shift in my chair, sitting a little taller.
Perhaps I have started to wonder if or when he will take me to bed…
but I rarely let those thoughts out of their vault in the corner of my mind during daylight hours.
Those are for enjoyment during the quiet hours of the late night only.
“What is his priority, then?” Laura asks.
“His work.”
“Oh? Tell us about that.” She smiles as she deftly shifts the conversation, much to my relief. My little ally, even still.
“He’s a hunter.” And that is all they will know of my husband’s true profession.
Helen snorts. “No hunter catches enough game to afford land like this. I’m sure hunting is an excuse and he’s sneaking off at night to some other woman. He’s made his fortune doing who knows what and now plays the field.”
I think of the noises, of the rules, of the mysterious tower and whole other wing of the house that I’ve never explored or even questioned. What if he does have another woman over there? One woman by day and another by night? I bite my lip.
Helen reaches forward and pats my knee. I almost kick her in her button nose. “There, there, many women have unfaithful husbands. But you must give him an heir to his fortune, and quickly, if you wish to stay relevant to him. Otherwise he might put you out on the street without a second thought.”
“Didn’t you say you thought he must be hideous?
If he’s so horrible-looking, enough that he has to bargain with someone for a wife, how could he ever get a lover?
” I say. She’s trying to break me down. Mess with me.
I don’t want to let her, but the frustrating thing is, she’s had years to hone this skill—Joyce no doubt prepared her for this.
She knows exactly what tears me down and what buttons of mine to push.
“His home is so close to the woods—he must be a hunter,” Laura interjects. “And there must be rare game somewhere in woods that are this thick and old.” She leans in, eyes shining. “Maybe he hunts the fae.”
I nearly spit up my mead and instead force a laugh. “A fae hunter? Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I imagine he must look positively dashing, all dressed for the hunt.” Laura brings the back of her hand to her forehead and pretend-swoons.
I take another sip of mead and glance away.
Helen tilts her head. She’s inspecting me. I hate it when she does this. She’s able to put together things that no one else would see.
“…Why do you seem hesitant when we comment about his appearance?”
“Perhaps I do not like my sisters commenting on my husband’s looks.” I’m rather proud of myself for that response.
“Come to think of it, you hesitated earlier when we spoke of his looks. You’ve had not even a mention of your favorite feature of his.” She hums. “Have you even met him?”
I open my mouth and then wordlessly close it, pressing my lips into a scowl. This skill of hers has been my nemesis for ages.
Laura gasps at my silence. “Is Helen right? You haven’t even met your husband?”