I meet Thorne’s eyes with a triumphant grin. “See? You can’t argue now.”
He emits a string of grumbled curses. “Fine, but I won’t slow down for you.”
* * *
The field isas lovely to stroll though as it appeared from the coach window. My only regret is that I can’t take off my shoes. Well, I suppose Icouldtake off my shoes, but then Thorne would be annoying about it. He’s already reached the edge of the field while I’m still at its center, and if I dawdle too long, I’ll lose sight of him completely. I’ve already lost Minka. Despite her offer to chaperone my walk with Thorne, she immediately grew distracted by pouncing about and batting rustling grass with her paws.
I quicken my pace and discover the field ends with a curving hill. Thorne waits on its crest, hands in his pockets. I reach his side and nearly gasp at the sight before me. More green fields stretch out at the base of the hill before the wild land gives way to an elegant garden. A manor twice as large as the Phillipses’ lies beyond that, with rich forest and towering green mountains as its backdrop.
I knew Mr. Blackwood was a wealthy man, famed for his well-loved bakeries, but I never realized he was this well off. I face him, and find him smiling down at his property, a gentle expression on his face. It’s almost enough to make me want to keep quiet, to let him enjoy whatever he’s experiencing right now. The key word beingalmost. My curiosity is far greater than my kindness.
I narrow my eyes at him. “How in the stars did a baker come to own all this?”
He gives me a withering look, but there seems to be humor in it. “Marriage.”
The word makes my pulse kick up. “What do you mean, marriage? You…you haven’t been married, have you?” Surely society would have been all over that news.
“No, not my marriage. My father’s. His first occupation was as a baker, and he still was one when he had his short-lived dalliance with my mother. When she got what she needed from him—me—they cut their ties. Soon after, he won the heart of a wealthy heiress, Alina Mayes. By then, he’d become more than just a baker and had gone into business with Lord Phillips. So he had just enough status to appease her parents. They married. She died a year after I came into the picture.”
I’m surprised at the sorrow that laces his tone.
“I wish I’d gotten to know her longer,” he says. “Alina was kind to me. Accepted my existence and all my secrets without question, which tells me my father had already confided in her long ago. She claimed me as her own, going so far as to pretend she and Father had conceived me in secret to keep me from her family’s battle of heirs. By the time Trentas thrust me upon my father and his wife, Alina was in full possession of her family’s fortune. After she died, my father inherited it. Then after he died…”
His lips tug into a frown. I dare not utter a word, dare not shatter this moment no matter how my curiosity begs me to. It’s so rare I get to hear him speak candidly about his past, and this time I didn’t have to coerce him into doing so.
“The bakery was for her,” he says. “She’s the one who first fed me sweets, to cheer me up after the loss of my family. She encouraged Father to dabble in his former trade and bake us cakes, even though we had ample staff to do so. After her death, baking was the one thing that saved Father from his grief. The one subject I could get him to talk about, and soon he taught me the craft, purely for the sake of bonding. That led to us opening Blackwood Bakery. We didn’t need the additional income, but making cakes together brought us joy. It kept Alina’s memory alive.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “You’ve known a lot of loss in your life, haven’t you?”
His expression hardens, jaw tight. “I told you not to pity me. Were I deserving of it, I wouldn’t have sought vengeance on your family. I would have honored my father’s dying wish and left revenge in the past. Come. Careful down the hill.” Without another word, he begins his descent.
My feet won’t follow, as I’m busy reeling from what he said. From the tender vulnerability he showed me.
“I caught this.” Minka’s voice makes me jump. She sets something small and brown in the grass at my feet. Is that a dead mouse?
“Oh—um, that’s…great job?”
She blinks up at me with her amber eyes. “Do you want it?”
“No, thank you,” I say, then proceed down the hill, one careful step at a time.
She saunters beside me. “Do you mind if I stay in this form a little longer? I am quite enjoying myself. I haven’t felt a mouse struggle beneath my paws in years. It was almost as enjoyable as sorting wine by vintage, variety, and alphabetical order.”
If she wasn’t full fae and unable to lie, I’d wonder if she was being sarcastic. “You like beverages that much?”
“I do. And while I appreciate the promotion to lady’s maid, I hope you’ll allow me to return to my previous position once this is all over.”
“Of course,” I say, spreading my arms for balance as I traverse the decline. “If that is what you wish. And yes, you may remain in unseelie form as long as you like. But why have you spent so long in seelie form if you enjoy being a cat so much?”
“I once spilled a glass of wine at dinner when I tried to pour it with my paws, so your parents forbade me from shifting into my unseelie form in their presence thereafter. I understand now that paws and glasses don’t go together unless your objective is to line them up in a neat row and knock them down one at a time from a high place, but I only do that on my days off.”
“I see,” I say, trying not to laugh. Her tone is earnest, so I wouldn’t want her to think I’m making fun.
I reach the bottom of the hill where Thorne waits by a rushing stream. Arching my brow, I say, “I thought you said you wouldn’t slow down for me.”
He ignores my comment. “We’ll have to cross here. It rained recently, so the stream is unrulier than normal.”
I assess the body of water in question. It’s about a dozen feet wide, and while it appears to be shallow, it would be impossible to cross without getting my feet wet. Thorne walks downstream a ways, then stops before a row of large rocks that protrude from the water—a makeshift bridge of sorts.
