“Most certainly. They are not so common as they once were when this land was being settled, but they cannot be dismissed, especially this time of year. They’re looking for food, and they’re just as satisfied with the meat in the smokehouse as they would be killing their own.”
“Then it is just as well I came back,” she said spiritedly. “You might have been a delicacy, lying there as you were.”
“Yes, well, it didn’t happen.” He touched his wound, thinking there were wolves, and then were werewolves.But he refused to alarm Shannon. He got to his feet, using the rifle as support, then extended his hand toward Shannon, helping her up. “Let me carry the other musket as well.”
Choosing not to argue, Shannon handed it over. “Don’t fall,” she said saucily, and led the way out of the wood.
They were met in the clearing by Henry and Aaron, both carrying rifles. “Martha sent us out,” Aaron explained. “Didn’t want to see Miz Shannon hurt. Martha says you ain’t got no sense, sending her back for the rifles.”
“Martha says that, does she?” Brandon asked dryly, glancing significantly at Shannon.
Shannon coughed delicately and tried to look apologetic. “She can see for herself that I am quite unharmed,” she told Aaron. “Although the same cannot be said for my companion. Do you know he gave chase to a wolf with nothing but a hunting knife?”
Henry’s eyes widened. “A wolf? What you thinkin’ of, Master Bran? Ain’t no—”
“I know,” Brandon said quickly. “There isn’t any excuse for going alone. I should have summoned help.”
“No, suh. I was goin’ to say there ain’t—”
“Bend my ear later, Henry. Miss Shannon’s already given me a set-down. I want to go to the house now.”
Exchanging puzzled looks and simultaneously shrugging, Aaron and Henry stepped aside and let Brandon and Shannon leave, then followed at a slower, more thoughtful pace.
Upon returning to the folly, Brandon was cosseted and cared for, though he made light of his injury. Shannon couldn’t fail to notice that his story about the wolf was greeted with skepticism, but she supposed it was because no one wanted to believe he had been so foolish as to chase the creature. Shannon was at once congratulated and chastised for her bravery. Shattering a few pumpkins, Martha told her, didn’t make her a marksman, but she hugged Shannon just the same for trying to protect “that no-account boy” from hurting himself.
As a topic of conversation, Brandon’s reckless pursuit of the wolf was less than a two days’ wonder. Aurora’s announcement that she intended to invite the Reverend Robert Whittaker and his wife to the folly gave everyone something else to talk about. Brandon was the only one who greeted the announcement calmly, knowing well the futility of trying to dissuade his wife. Cody was certain Aurora’s intention was less to discuss the divorce and more to find a method of humiliating Shannon. Brandon was inclined to believe his brother, though unable to guess how Aurora might attempt to accomplish the thing. He considered that perhaps it was time to send Shannon elsewhere, if only for a few days, but when he broached the subject with her, she refused his offer, saying that if Aurora’s purpose was to shame her, it could not be done without her permission. There is no shame in loving you, she had said, and it had sorely tested Brandon’s willpower to keep from backing Shannon into the linen cupboard and kissing her breathless.
The Whittakers arrived for dinner at the folly three days after Aurora issued her invitation. Brandon did his best to put the couple at ease. For all that his wife was intent upon playing the gracious hostess, it was clear the Whittakers were uncomfortable with the reason that prompted their visit.
Molly Whittaker was, in the best circumstances, given to a perpetually flustered expression. Her eyes, set wide apart in a round face, often blinked in a staccato movement, as if she were constantly surprised. Confronted as she was by Aurora’s apparent gaiety in spite of the serious nature of their visit, Molly’s lashes fluttered so quickly, Brandon found himself thinking they would take flight. It seemed that her husband thought so, too, for Brandon saw Robert give Molly a reproving look as Aurora ushered them into the drawing room.
Though Robert Whittaker did not share his wife’s outwardly innocent air, he remained a thorough optimist at heart. In all matters he tended toward thoughtfulness, reserving judgment behind a thin-lipped smile and grave pewter eyes, giving the impression he not only listened, but heard more than was said. When Brandon sought him out, Robert had given him such a hearing and, for the first time, found his calmly delivered assurances would not suffice. Brandon did not want to hear that his marriage must not be dissolved; he did not want to be quoted Scripture or lectured on the sanctity of his vows. He wanted permission from the church to divorce, and Robert Whittaker was loath to apply for it, certainly not without speaking to Aurora.
Robert Whittaker had heard the gossip concerning Aurora Fleming, and if but a tenth of it was true, he believed Brandon had been given cause to seek divorce. He had Brandon’s own statement, which gave credibility to much of what he had heard. But Whittaker, humbly acknowledging he was merely a Doctor of Divinity and had not the wisdom of Solomon, could not sanction divorce without first listening to Aurora’s concerns. He would have preferred to speak with her in the privacy of his own study, but after learning of the attempt on her life, he agreed that seeing her at the folly was the wiser choice.
“Please, be seated,” Aurora said, indicating the gold and green striped love seat with a graceful wave of her hand. Her ring, a large polished onyx stone set in white gold, caught the candlelight and flashed briefly before Aurora dropped her hand to her side. “Dinner will be served soon, and the rest of our family will be joining us. Would you care for some refreshment now?”
Molly looked inquiringly at her husband. At his brief nod she answered, “A small glass of wine for me, thank you.”
“Reverend Whittaker?”
“The same.”
Brandon served, having already dismissed the liveried servant because he wanted as few ears as possible privy to their conversation. Aurora also had wine, but Brandon felt in need of something stronger. He splashed a leaded crystal tumbler with Scotch, examined it, and then added another fingerful.
Aurora smoothed the folds of her pale blue taffeta gown as she sat down opposite the Whittakers. White garters studded with seed pearls caught her sleeves above her elbows, and a waterfall of lace fell over her slender arms, pointing to her wrists. Other than her ring, the only jewelry she wore was a choker of pearls, which drew attention away from the scooped neckline of her bodice. She fingered the ruching decorating her skirt, betraying a moment’s nervousness before she lifted her glass to her lips.
“It was very kind of you to accept my invitation to dine,” she said, looking at the Whittakers over the rim of her glass.
“We were happy to come,” Robert said politely. “May I say that you are looking well? Molly and I were concerned that mayhap you suffered some injury from your…” He faltered as he tried to choose his words carefully. “From your accident,” he finished.
“I am quite recovered,” she said. “A few bruises, nothing more.”
Brandon’s dark eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “You know about Aurora’s fall?” he asked, leaning one shoulder against the mantelpiece. “How did that come about?”
“I told them when I sent the invitation, Bran,” said Aurora, saving the Whittakers a reply. “Surely you did not mean for it to be a secret. I believe Robert and Molly have every right to know there was an attempt on my life, coming as it did on the heels of your decision to divorce me.”
Robert’s winged brows slanted upward. “I’m certain you don’t mean to imply there is a connection between Brandon and your accident,” he said.
