Chapter Thirteen
Hecate Ridlington sat in her small parlor and gazed from the window out onto the snow, giving silent blessings to the half-dozen mostly silent servants who had saved her skin on this occasion.
She’d known that the two young women would return to see where they had been, and it had taken a bit of doing and a lot of rushing around, but they had been able to make it look as though the house had been empty for quite some time.
She was as tired now as she had been after she’d sent the sleeping girls off to the village. It had taken more than a little work to turn this cottage into the kind of home where they would feel comfortable.
But it had been worth it.
“What do you think, Bub?” She looked down into a pair of fathomless green eyes. “Did we do the right thing?”
“Meowww.”
“I needed to see if I still had the will to accomplish something like that.” She rose and limped to the fireplace, bending to add a log to the blaze. “And it would seem I do.” She smiled at the flames. “It felt good, you know.”
“Mrrrooow.”
“Yes, it is cold. But it’s winter in the country. And we’re not living at Ridlington anymore.” She resumed her seat and pulled a thick blanket onto her knees. The cat accepted the invitation and within moments was kneading himself a perfect spot in which to circle twice, knead a little more, and then curl up contentedly. Which was Hecate’s signal to rub his head and his ears.
“Spoiled boy, Beelzebub.”
The answering purr agreed.
Her gaze turned once more to the snow covered landscape. She had felt powerful again, after letting her will lie dormant for so long. She hadn’t cared much for anything since the accident, afraid that the shock and pain might have stripped her of her savage determination, as her father had so desperately wished.
He never realized that it was part of who she was. That it was a gift bequeathed to her from her mother.
But then again, he never saw her mother as anything other than his third wife and potential brood mare.
Brushing off the darker thoughts, she turned to a consideration of Prudence Eldridge. When a friend in London had entertained her with gossip, at a time when Hecate was out of the social scene and healing as best she could, the topic of Lady Eldridge had arisen and Hecate remembered her vaguely from some evening event they’d both attended.
She was young, beautiful, and wed to a man who was clearly not in love with her at all. He treated her much as he would a maidservant, even on the rare occasions they were seen in public. But she never protested or complained. Her fortitude was admired by some, but condemned by many more, who voiced the opinion that she should take a few lovers just to ease the agony of living with such a grouch.
The story had stayed with Hecate after her friend had left. And a few months later she’d glimpsed the now-widowed Lady Eldridge at a lending library. Tall, still lovely and very pale, something about her made her memorable.
And for one of the few times in her life, Hecate went home and pulled out her mother’s scrying bowl.
She peeked into the life of Lady Eldridge and saw—secrets. Hidden, some dark, others sad, these matters were best left where they were.
But then there was a quick flash of a man with Lady Prudence, a lover, and it was in the winter. The entire vision changed to one of light and laughter and abundant joy.
Hecate knew now that she’d seen Reid Chillendale. She’d recognized him as she watched the foursome staring at the cottage, and remembered that strong connection she’d felt when his aura had flashed into her mind in connection with Prudence. At that time, he had no name, but that sensation was strong enough for Hecate to focus on Prudence, letting her know she should go for a walk in the snow. A man would be needing her help…
So Prudence had found her mate. She hoped so. Then she remembered the last part of her vision in the scrying bowl. The one that showed secrets revealed and a wedding, lit with sunlight and colors reflecting from icy crystals.
Which begged the question of whether one particular secret was now publicly known, or still lurking in the past, concealed at first by design and then the passage of time.
“Hmm.” She absently pulled at Beelzebub’s ears. His purring paused for a moment and he lifted his head to look at her.
“Yes, I agree. I think in this particular case, we may be forgiven for making sure that the future proceeds as it was foretold.”
“Mrrrooow.”
“Then let us give Fate a hand, shall we?” Hecate smiled. She reached out and rang the small bell on the side table. “I think I need to write some notes, and Dal shall take them to Chillendale for me. After that? Who knows. Time to pack up our belongings and move on, I think.”
*~~*~~*
Prudence had done her best to throw herself into the country holiday events. She’d had brunch with the Reverend and his wife, a young couple who were devoted to each other and their flock. And had presented an excellent fruit cake to their guests.
