Chapter 8
AUGUST
Iwas halfway through my second cup of coffee when I heard the commotion. Sharp footsteps on the entrance hall floor, the rustle of skirts, and then Adeline's voice breaking the morning quiet in half.
“Where is he?”
I set down my cup and braced myself. Mrs. Hartley's muffled response was too soft to make out, but I knew that tone—the particular pitch of Adeline's fury.
The pocket doors to the study slid open without warning. Adeline Wolfe stood in the doorway, all five feet and two inches of righteous fury wrapped in a sage-green walking dress. Her blonde hair was pinned up with ruthless efficiency, and her brown eyes promised murder in a dozen inventive ways.
“Adeline.” I stood. “Good morning.”
“Don't.” The word snapped like a twig underfoot. “Don't you dare 'good morning' me, August Hawthorne.”
Behind her, Garrick appeared, looking resigned to his fate. “I did warn you she wouldn't take this well.”
“Take this well?” Adeline rounded on her brother. Then back to me. “You volunteered me to harbor a potential Weaver, to live in your home, lie to everyone we know, and risk your father's wrath if this goes wrong. 'Not taking it well' implies I had a choice in the matter.”
“You do have a choice,” I said carefully, though we both knew it was a lie.
“Oh, do I?” She turned that razor-sharp gaze on me. “And what happens if I refuse? This woman gets delivered to the Unraveler? Dies because I wouldn't play along with your scheme?”
The accuracy of that assessment shouldn't have surprised me. Adeline had always been perceptive—too perceptive for her own good, my father had once said. A dangerous quality in a woman.
“Yes,” I said simply. No point in sugar-coating what we both already knew.
Something flickered across her face—anger giving way to grim acceptance. “Of course. Because that's how it always works, isn't it? Do what the hunters say, or someone dies.”
“Addie—” Garrick started, but she held up one hand.
“Don't. I'll do it. I'll play the doting cousin harboring my poor relation. But I want to meet her first. I want to see this woman who's supposedly from the future and decide for myself if she's worth the risk.”
“That can be arranged,” I said.
“Now.”
“She's likely still asleep—”
“Then wake her.” Adeline's tone brooked no argument. “If I'm going to lie for her, put my reputation and possibly my life on the line, I deserve to know what I'm protecting. Or is she such a delicate flower that she cannot handle a simple introduction?”
I almost smiled.
“Very well.” I moved toward the stairs. “But perhaps we should establish some ground rules first.”
“Such as?”
“Such as not terrifying her before we've even begun the cover story.” I glanced at Garrick, who looked like he was trying not to laugh. “She's already suspicious of me. If you come at her with accusations and hostility—”
“I'll be perfectly civil,” Adeline said coolly, though her smile suggested otherwise. “Assuming she gives me reason to be.”
This was going to be a disaster.
I led them upstairs, Adeline's footsteps sharp and purposeful behind me. At the guest chamber door, I paused.
“Let me go in first. Prepare her.”
“For what? My devastating charm?” But Adeline stepped back, arms crossed.
I knocked once, knuckles against wood sounding too loud in the quiet hallway. “Miss Whitmore? Are you awake?”
A pause. “Yes.”
I opened the door to find Lily standing by the window, already dressed in the blue gown I’d left last night. Mrs. Hartley must have helped her—the buttons were fastened properly—but she looked distinctly uncomfortable in the high collar and fitted bodice, like a wild thing forced into civility.
She turned as I entered, and her expression shifted immediately to wariness. “What's wrong?”
“Nothing's wrong. But there are some people I'd like you to meet.” I stepped aside, and Garrick entered first, all charm and practiced smiles.
He gave Lily an easy smile—the one that had gotten him out of trouble more times than I could count. “Miss Whitmore. Garrick Wolfe. Technically we met when you were unconscious in the woods, but I'll forgive you for not remembering my dashing rescue.”
“You didn't rescue her,” I said flatly. “I did.”
“I provided moral support. That counts.” Garrick's grin widened as he turned back to Lily. “And I must say, you look considerably better now than you did covered in leaves and mud. Though I have to admit, those were trousers, weren't they? Fascinating choice for a midnight woodland adventure.”
“I didn't choose—” Lily started, then stopped, seeming to recognize he was baiting her.
“Relax, Miss Whitmore. I'm on your side. Mostly.” His smile turned more genuine, warmer.
Then Adeline swept in, and the temperature in the room dropped several degrees.
She stopped a few feet from Lily, studying her with the kind of intense scrutiny usually reserved for suspected Weavers.
Lily, to her credit, didn't flinch. Just stood there, chin lifted, meeting Adeline's gaze with equal measure.
“So,” Adeline said finally. “You're the woman supposedly from the future.”
“And you're the one who's supposed to be my cousin.” Lily met her gaze without flinching. “I'm guessing you're not thrilled about the arrangement.”
A ghost of a smile touched Adeline's lips. “That depends. Are you from the future, or is this an elaborate Weaver trick to infiltrate Oxford society?”
“I'm from 2025. I'm a PhD student researching Victorian history. And until two days ago, I didn't even know Weavers existed.” Lily gestured at her dress with something close to exasperation. “Does this look like someone who planned to infiltrate anything? I can barely move in this thing.”
Adeline's smile widened fractionally. “At least you're honest about your incompetence. That's refreshing.” She circled Lily slowly, examining her from every angle. “Your posture is terrible. You walk like a man. And that accent—where are you supposed to be from?”
“We haven't established that yet,” I interjected.
“Well, we'd better establish it quickly, because she sounds nothing like any of my actual cousins.” Adeline stopped in front of Lily again. “Can you dance?”
“What?”
“Dance. Waltz, quadrille, cotillion. Basic requirements for any respectable young woman.”
Lily's expression suggested she'd rather face a firing squad. “I can. . . sort of waltz. Badly.”
“Lovely. So I'm meant to pass off a woman who cannot dance, cannot walk properly, and speaks with an accent I cannot place?”
“We were thinking somewhere remote,” Garrick offered. “Scotland, perhaps? Or—”
“Yorkshire,” Adeline said decisively. “Our mother's side. Distant enough that no one would have met her, provincial enough to explain any social awkwardness.” She looked at Lily again.
“You'll need a backstory. Parents, siblings, education. Everything that makes you a person rather than a poorly constructed fiction.”
“I can do that,” Lily said. “I've spent three years researching this time period. I know how it works.”
Something passed between them—recognition, maybe. Or respect. Two women caught in circumstances neither had chosen, finding common ground in their shared captivity.
“Good.” Adeline moved toward the door. “We'll start immediately. Posture, deportment, basic social graces. By the time we're done, you'll at least be able to walk through a drawing room without looking like you're about to bolt.”
She paused at the threshold.
“And August? If you're going to keep her locked up here, the least you could do is let her have some air. A walk in the garden, perhaps. Under supervision, of course.”
Then she was gone, leaving the rest of us in her wake.
Garrick let out a low whistle. “Well. That went better than expected.”
“Did it?” I wasn't so sure.
Lily was staring at the door where Adeline had disappeared. “She doesn't take any shit, does she?”
The vulgarity caught me off guard, though I tried not to show it.
“No,” Garrick said cheerfully. “She absolutely does not. Which is why she's perfect for this. And why you two are either going to get along brilliantly or drive each other mad.”
He looked at me. “She's right, you know. About the garden. Fresh air would do our time traveler here some good. And it's not as if she can escape—where would she go?”
He had a point. And keeping Lily confined to a single room would only breed resentment and resistance.
“Fine,” I said. “Supervised.”
“I'll supervise,” Garrick offered immediately, grin widening.
“No!” The word came out sharper than intended, possessive in a way I hadn't meant it to be. “I will.”
Garrick's eyebrows rose, that knowing look deepening into something more amused. But he just smiled—the bastard. “As you wish. I'll leave you two to it.”
He left, and suddenly it was just Lily and me in the morning light, the space between us charged with everything unsaid.
“Your friends are. . .” she started, searching for the right words.
“Complicated,” I finished. “But trustworthy. Adeline will keep you safe, and she'll teach you everything you need to know. You just have to be willing to learn.”
“And to be honest with her,” Lily added. “She made that very clear.”
“Yes.” I moved toward the door, needing the movement to ground myself. “Which brings me to my next point. Today, we begin your education in earnest. Adeline will handle the social aspects. I'll handle everything else.”
“Everything else?”
“Your story. Your background. Every detail of who you're supposed to be.” I met her gaze. “And in exchange, you'll tell me everything about who you actually are. Where you came from. What you know about Weavers and time magic and the necklace that brought you here.”
“I've already told you—”
“You've told me fragments. I want the whole story. Because if I'm going to keep you alive, I need to know exactly what you are. And what you're worth.”
She studied me for a long moment, those sea blue eyes searching for something I wasn’t sure I wanted her to find.