“It’s fine,” I smile.
And it really is. I’m just hugely relieved that Jem is his brother and not his sexy and powerful lover. Though the news that Harry has an obviously tapped, yet unbonded hellion of a vessel as a brother is a little alarming. I vaguely recall hearing that Harry had a younger brother and that he was sickly. I love gossip. I thrive on it. How on earth have I not heard about Jem?
Harry has done a fantastic job in keeping the black sheep of the family a secret. Which makes me wonder, what else is he hiding?
I watch Harry as he turns back to his newspaper, but his secrets are not suddenly laid bare for me to see. It’s unsettling, but I’m sure it is fine. Everyone has secrets. Especially wealthy, powerful men. Harry may not be the nicest person but I really don’t think he is going to hurt me or cause me any harm. Neglect and ignore, yes. Actual malice? No. So therefore his secrets are none of my business.
And he didn’t like Jem being rude to me. That has to be a good sign? A sign that I’m safe at least. Harry is going to protect me, even if for no other reason that I am his husband and any insult to me, is an insult to him. I have nothing to worry about.
“So, what are our plans for today?” I ask brightly.
Harry puts his paper down. “Your time is your own. I have no need of you until you are ripe.”
Oh. Okay. I gulp my orange juice in an effort to hide my crushed expression. It’s entirely my own fault for expecting too much. My glass is empty and I have to put it down, but my eyes are still watery.
Abruptly, Harry stands up. “Let me know when you are ripe,” he says, and he strolls away, out of the room.
I blink and stare after him. I think I will know when I’m ripe. I’ve never experienced it before, but I get the impression it is hard to miss. My magic will brim and I will be unbearably horny. It could happen tomorrow, or in a month. It will be sporadic and all over the place until it settles into a rhythm. Terribly inconvenient for Harry. He will need to stay near me so he can empty me when it happens, so I don’t explode or burn his house down or something.
He is a busy man who usually travels around the world for business and now he is tethered here to me until my rhythm is established and he can plan his calendar around me. I swallow tightly. I’ve exploded into his life and disrupted everything, when the only thing he did was be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
I need to make it up to him somehow. I need to be the best vessel and husband there ever was. And that means, I need to go find the housekeeper. My parents didn’t want to subject me to vessel training, but they taught me how to run a large house efficiently. I’m sure Harry’s housekeeper is competent, but it is my duty as consort to oversee everything. There may be some things I can improve on.
With a renewed sense of purpose, I hurry from the room. First day of the rest of my life.
Chapter eight
Ileavemymeetingwith Mrs. Matterson, the housekeeper, feeling rather deflated. She is a formidable woman, that is for sure. It’s going to take a while to win her over with my charm and help her to see that I’m not threatening her job, I’m here to make it easier. I can be an asset.
Oh well, time is one thing I don’t have in short supply. Like right now. What on earth am I going to do with myself? Languishing in my rooms doesn’t sound fun at all. Looking around the hallway I’m walking down doesn’t give me any inspiration. Oh! I know! I could explore the house. There are bound to be parts that weren’t included in my grand tour and those probably are the bits I really need to see. Neglected rooms. Leaky corners. Sections the staff don’t dust because no one ever checks.
Humming to myself I set off on my new adventure. It feels good to have a direction and a purpose. Something to do that I’m actually good at.
A few hours later, I’m covered in dust. I have a lot of notes on my phone of repairs that need doing and rooms that need a thorough clean out. I open another door and freeze in surprise. This room isn’t dusty and neglected like the rest of this wing. This room is well used. And full of magical paraphernalia. It’s a ritual room.
My gaze takes in the crystals, dried herbs, and the runes marked on the walls. It takes me a moment to identify the type of arcane lore I’m looking at. As soon as I do, I swallow uneasily. My husband is a Revivalist. Or as my parents call them, idiots.
I kind of agree with my mother and father. Why anyone would want to bring the fey back to our realm is beyond me. By all accounts the fey were ruthless, cold, vicious and murderous. Whether or not they are our distant ancestors and regardless if they are the reason we have magic, I’m pretty sure they would show us no mercy if someone did succeed in bringing the fey realm close enough for portals to work again.
They’d probably just take over the world and subjugate all humans. Not caring if we are Old Blood or mundane. I shiver.
The idea that I have magic because my great, great, great something shagged a fey, is unsettling and I’ve never been able to believe it. I don’t know why some humans have magic and most do not, but that explanation just seems so fanciful. Though clearly, magic is hereditary. Hence why all the noble families are fanatical about breeding.
I huff out a breath. I’m just a vessel. All these theological questions are far above me. I just need to make sure not to ever voice my opinions, so I don’t insult my husband. It should be easy enough to do. It’s not as if the topic of conversation comes up very often. It’s far too divisive to be considered a polite subject.
I shiver again. What is wrong with me? Am I getting sick? Oh gosh, I can’t possibly be ripe already? Something that feels a lot like dread clutches my stomach. Frantically, I assess myself. No, I’m not full of magic. In fact, I’m fairly empty. Which makes sense, I was taken last night. As my slightly sore ass can confirm.
But there is an awful lot of magic swirling around me. Thick and potent. Raw, natural earth energy, just seeping out of the ground. Oh wow. All the noble houses were built on such naturally occurring wells. Sadly, my family’s one dried up a hundred years ago. But it seems this one is still going strong. Very strong.
I’ve been to Stourleat House before. Balls and dinner parties. But I never felt this before. Come to think of it. I didn’t feel it yesterday or last night. It must be shielded. Hidden. That makes sense. Harry wouldn’t want anyone to know how much power he has access to. People would want it. People would plot to murder him and his family and get their hands on Stourleat House and its huge well of magic.
I swallow nervously. Another thing I’m going to have to pretend not to know. This exploration plan was terrible.
A sudden thought makes me nearly heave. What if Harry thinks I already knew? What if he believes this is why I trapped him into marriage? Oh gosh, I’m going to faint. He would loathe and despise me if that were the case.
But surely anyone can see I’m harmless? A bit dim? I’m definitely not a cunning schemer hungry for power. A chess piece in a plot against him. Unless he thinks my entire personality is just an act. Oh my. How on earth am I going to convince him that I really am just dumb and ensnaring him in marriage was a genuine accident?
My feet are fleeing and returning to safer parts of the house. It’s a great idea. At least some part of me is capable of competence.
