“Your entire family would welcome my opinions in your Planning Parlor?”
“Without question,” he replied. “Not only does your practicality balance our impulsivity, but also quite frankly, we could use all the help we can get. You wouldn’t be a hindrance, Vivian. You’d be a godsend.”
Her heart pounded and her skin flushed. Who could say no to that?
She dashed a note for her cousin—though she suspected he well knew where to find her—then packed her correspondence and writing implements into a traveling satchel.
If spending every waking minute with the Wynchesters was what it took to convince Quentin to come back home faster, then so be it. She could spend a day or two in a comfortable chair at a larger table, participating in strategy sessions that would undoubtedly be far more interesting than replying to the usual letters about unfaithful fiancés and overbearing mothers-in-law.
Viv hoped it would be enough. Her throat grew thick, and she swallowed hard. She wouldn’t put it past Quentin not to return for anything short of full and complete acceptance of his beloved idols.
If she didn’t embrace the Wynchesters to Quentin’s satisfaction, he might choose them over her… permanently. Spending sufficient time with each of them was her new mission. If she failed, Quentin could return home only to send Viv packing. He was grown now. He didn’t need her.
The letter he’d written to Newt proved Quentin was perfectly capable of sending word to Viv—but chose not to. A discourtesy that was unprecedented, hurtful, and clearly as serious as an aristocrat disowning one of his heirs.
If she didn’t play her hand right, she would lose Quentin forever.
16
Together, Viv and Jacob moved her working quarters from her tiny kitchen table to a significantly larger corner of the Wynchesters’ oversize sitting room table, ostensibly to help them with their planning. The “small” space allotted to her here was bigger than the entire table back home. She could move her elbows without knocking things off walls, and stretch her legs without banging her feet against her cousin—or taking out poor Rufus.
Who was currently at home, awaiting Viv’s return. Her temporary relocation was only for the middle daylight hours. She spent time every morning and early evening playing with Rufus, as was their routine. He slept curled at the foot of her bed every night.
“You’re sure I can’t bring Rufus here?” she asked.
“No attack badgers allowed,” said Jacob. “It’s a house rule, and a hazard to hedgehogs.”
She made a note in her journal. What had started as one page on Jacob Wynchester had turned into a dozen. There were now pages for every member of his family, as well as the creatures in his barn. Quentinhadto accept this evidence as proof of her good-faith effort to get to know them.
Her studiousness certainly wasn’t becauseVivwas at all fascinated by anyone in this family.
“What?” Jacob asked.
“W-what?” Viv stammered.
“You’re staring at me.”
“I’m not.” She definitely was.
Was it her fault this man looked as thirst-quenching as a cold glass of lemonade on a hot summer’s day?
She could sense his warmth and his masculine scent from yards away. It was as if every particle in her body became aware of him even before he came into view. And whenever he was right there before her very eyes, her traitorous fingers longed to pull him to her by the lapel and taste his kisses for herself.
Jacob stood and turned to stride from the room.
Viv pushed to her feet. “Where are you going?”
“To drill Hippogriff on his new tricks. You can watch if you like.”
She hurried to keep up as Jacob headed outside.
Hippogriff was a hawk.Accipiter gentilis, to be exact: a large goshawk with red eyes and black wings and white eyebrows and a black-and-white patterned belly above yellow clawed feet with sharp black talons.
The moment the raptor appeared in the sky, Jacob lifted his leather-gloved forearm up high, signaling for Hippogriff to land on his massive wrist.
Viv was faster. Or perhaps, more persuasive.
Hippogriff swooped down, cutting across the wide blue sky with a speed so swift the air whistled past his wings.
