Chapter Thirteen
Chapter
Thirteen
Future to Discuss
Satrine
I was in a new day dress, and so was Maxine.
I was curled into a corner of the settee with a cup of tea
and a plate of biscuits (in other words cookies, delicious ones), reading a
book.
The book I was reading was about the war between Lunwyn and Middleland that
reunited both countries to Lunwyn.
It was a book I sought at a local bookstore (needless to
say, to catch up on things, Mom and I had been doing a lot of reading) because
Ansley had told me, in his role in the king’s service, Loren had spent some
time in former Middleland (now again Lunwyn). He’d been routing out conspirators who would not
only see the restoration of Middleland, but also
attempt to regain the territory they conquered years before from Hawkvale.
Maxine was sitting in front of the window at her easel, the
plethora of paints Mom bought her scattered around, painting a picture of the
pretty park that was across the street from the house.
My sister, by the way, was a really good painter. It looked
impressionistic, what she did. I was no expert, but I’d seen things in museums
which weren’t half as pretty.
In front of me, scattered on the table, waiting for Mom’s
return, were a bevy of huge sheets of thick-stock paper on which were drawn a
variety of flower arrangements we were to look through and settle on for my
wedding.
I was ignoring them because I was engaged with what a dick
King Baldur of Middleland was and wondering how on
earth he could have any followers at all, much less ones who wished to restore
him to the throne after he was deposed.
It was two weeks after Mom gave the staff huge-ass raises
and Dad went down for a variety of this-world felonies.
News on that front, he hadn’t been offered bail.
Even so, we had not, as yet (and I was concerned about what
this might mean), been cut off from Dad’s funds.
That said, it didn’t matter anymore.
Mom told me later, when we were alone, that the withdrawal
she made, “Ansley assures me is enough for us to buy our own townhome, staff
it, and for me to live the life befitting the lady I am, doing this until I
die. This as well as take care of Maxine until she goes. Though, he also
assured me I shouldn’t bother myself with that worry, as you and Loren would be
around to do it.”
In other words, we were set to carry on in this world for,
apparently, ever, which was a load off my mind.
Because not only did witches not put out shingles, we’d
discovered, after the whole Minerva-she-god-plague-on-the-land situation,
practicing witchcraft wasn’t verboten, but people were twitchy about it.
I mean, Idina nearly went into vapors when I casually tried
to discuss how to find a witch.
I couldn’t click my slipper heels together and ask to go
home.
So, although Mom and I hadn’t officially discussed it, it
looked like we were there for the long haul.
Honestly?
I didn’t really mind.
We’d had a couple of sit downs with her doctor to understand
what Maxine needed and had hired a nurse who was a groovy chick, but we didn’t
much need her because Maxine was settled and content. And Mom and I made sure
one of us was around at all times so she had stability, and although Maxie and
I weren’t giggling together, she’d definitely grown used to me (as demonstrated
with how we were now).
Then there was the fact Mom was getting off on being Lady
Corliss.
Also, the staff were in raptures at our “family” and they
whistled while they worked (I am not kidding, though some hummed and others
sang).
The curtains had been thrown open (literally and
figuratively, Dad-not-Dad liked it dark) on the house. A ton of knickknacks and
bric-a-brac (no matter how expensive, it was ostentatious and oppressive) had
been cleared away. Mom had purchased some warm throws (autumn was around the
corner) and bright toss pillows (Mom was doing a lot of shopping, then again,
she’d never been loaded, neither had I, so there you go). She’d also moved
around some furniture and had other pieces carted off to be reupholstered or
auctioned because she didn’t want them anymore. She’d even had two rooms
repainted in lighter, brighter colors.
The place had totally been changed from dark, stifling evil
den where the villain lurked to bright haven where the fairy princesses lived.
It rocked.
For my part, I hadn’t seen Loren since we had dinner
together (all of us, not just him and me alone), the night after it all went
down at the constabulary.
We’d had a mini-makeout session
prior to him leaving for the evening, and then he informed me he had “business
to attend” and he’d be back in “no later than a fortnight.”
Now, I was in a quandary.
Because I was thinking we were stuck there.
I was also thinking Mom was hunky dory with that because
being a countess and rich as shit far from sucked, but also she adored Maxine.
As an aside, we’d managed to dodge the deluge of former
friends and acquaintances sending letters or calling at the door in order to
check out the Countess Come Alive, because she had the excellent excuse of
sharing she was “finding her feet back home” and would “reenter society” during
her beloved daughter, Satrine’s wedding to the Marquess of Remington.
To do this, she had a new secretary, a widowed woman named
Palma who worked part time while her adorable toddler daughter toddled around
the study, and she wrote letters explaining this to everyone, and declining
dozens upon dozens of invitations.
For now.
Yes.
As ever, we were taking each challenge as it came.
Maxine was, according to the doctors, blossoming under the
care of her family.
We were set, money-wise.
I dug Loren a whole lot (though, I’d like to have the
opportunity to get to know him better).
And due to his absence, the wedding had been put off for two
months, so there was more time to do it up right, but also for me to find a way
out, which didn’t seem to be forthcoming.
But in the end, if we stayed, and I got hitched to my hot
guy, our marriage would be based on a total lie.
He didn’t even call me by my real name.
Obviously, I realized my mind had wandered from my book as I
felt Maxine wander from the window.
She sat beside me, not close (we were getting there, but I
figured the fact we looked alike freaked her).
She shuffled through the pictures, pulled one out and showed
it to me.
Her pretty eyes (and our eyes were the same, but hers were
still prettier) came to mine and she said quietly, “I think this one, Sattie.”
Sattie.
She’d never called me that.
Yes, we were getting there.
I smiled at her and didn’t make any sudden movements, just
looked down at the picture.
Brides of this world didn’t carry bouquets, by the by. They
walked down the aisle with their intended, a garland of leaves and
flowers wound from his elbow, over both hands, and up her elbow, connecting
them.
It was pretty danged rad.
The one Maxie liked would not have been my choice, although
it was lovely. It looked made of eucalyptus leaves, cream and pink sweetheart
roses with some tiny pompom green things stuck in to give it fullness.
“I love it,” I whispered.
Her lips curved.
“I love the picture you’re painting more,” I told her.
Her gaze drifted to the easel then back to me, and
bashfully, she offered, “When I’m done, do you want it?”
“It would be my most prized possession in this world.”
I said that, and I meant it.
Her eye warmed, her cheeks pinked, and seeing both was both
a gift of the fates and a curse to hate Edgar Dawes, Seventh Count of Derryman
even more.
Rushing footsteps came down the hall.
We both looked there and saw Carling sway to a halt right
before we heard the front door swing open and Mom call out, “Look what the cat
dragged in!”
She appeared, looking like the winner from the world’s most
flamboyant beauty pageant, carrying four humongous,
individually-wrapped-in-paper bunches of spiky stems of different colored
irises.
“Darling Carling,” she greeted.
Carling blushed.
Mom grinned.
“Can you take these?” She handed off the flowers. “Please
put them in water. I’ll be down to stem and arrange them a bit later.”
And there you had it.
Totes getting off on this Lady Corliss thing.
She then dramatically swept off her giganto
hat, nearly hitting…
Loren.
“Oh my gods!” I cried, tossing my book aside.
I hopped off the couch, ran across the space, and threw
myself at him.
I pulled his head down to mine and gave him all I had.
His arms closed around me, tight, he growled into my mouth,
and obviously with all that yumminess, it instantly got heated.
I vaguely heard my mom tutting and muttering, “Kids.”
I also heard a man clear his throat.
Loren tore his mouth away.
I pouted and panted.
He let me go but grabbed my hand and started dragging me
down the hall.
“We’ll be back,” he said.
“Don’t mind me,” Maitland replied. “I’ll be fine as my life
just became all about studying this extraordinary painting of the
park.”
I looked over my shoulder to see Maitland wink at me.
And then Loren pulled me into the study.
He whipped me around.
I slammed into his body.
He slammed the door.
We went at it again.
My gods, I barely knew him.
But I missed him.
I was pressed back to the desk, and he was pressed to me
when his mouth left mine and went to my ear.
“Fuck,” he growled.
“Why’d you stop?” I bitched.
“Because I’m not having you first in a carriage, and I’m not
having you first on a davenport in a study.”
I grabbed his head and pulled it back to me.
We made out again.
He ended it…again.
“I feel it safe to confess I’m enamored of your greeting,
dear heart, but we must talk.”
“Okay,” I replied, pulled his mouth to mine and kissed him
again.
He groaned and pressed deeper into me.
And harder, if you get what I’m saying.
Yum!
He lifted his head, muttering, “Darling.”
“Maxie picked our wedding flowers.”
He pulled his head away further in a manner that made me