All she got in return was a dismissive hand wave that appeared to the side of the newspaper. The rest of the meal was eaten in silence. Lenna, chewing thoughtfully, let her mind wander back to the nightmare. The dead crone, the rustling wings, the odd golden light. She dismissed it as a weird dream. Maybe she would tell Marlo about it. He was always interested in dreams and what they could signify.
Marlo claimed his ancestors descended from roving bands of wanderers that explored far off lands and charged small amounts of coin to interpret dreams and read one’s future. It wasone of the reasons she liked him. He brimmed with life, always telling grand stories that were rarely, if ever, true. She knew for fact the only family he knew had passed away.
After breakfast, Lenna wandered the halls to seek out Marlo, who appeared carrying a tray of tea and oatmeal for the servants working in the main hall. His short blond hair was trimmed neatly, cut close to his head, per the requirements of working in the Estate. When she first met him, it had been down to his shoulders and peppered with dirt from living on the street.
“Do you have time to take a ride over to the vegetable plots and the greenhouse today?” Lenna questioned, her lips quirking up as the servant came into view.
Marlo laughed, his blue eyes lighting up as he noticed she cornered him. “I absolutely do. I’ll get the stable hands to saddle up two horses for us.” He winked before breezing past her to deliver the contents of the tray. Lenna knew Marlo would tell her all about Leon, as Marlo was the only servant Leon trusted to get expensive brandy out of his locked cabinets. And the only servant bold enough to spy on him during his drunken stupors.
Lenna smiled at the young man’s back. Marlo was tall and lanky with the same arrogance and invincibility as every other twenty-four-year-old man she’d ever met. She hired him last year after finding him begging on the streets. It didn’t take long for Lenna to learn all about Marlo’s upbringing–the father who left before he was born, the mother who passed when he was a small child, the elder uncle who raised him as his own. The trauma of watching his uncle go mad and drink himself to death before being sent to the streets to beg for coins to feed himself through the winter hit Lenna in the heart, and she offered him a position at the Manor before even learning his name.
Even though there was an almost thirty-year age gap, he was the closest thing she had to a friend here. She hoped one day he would find a sweet girl, get married, and travel far away from this wretched house.
Lenna hurried back to her rooms where Olivera was busy making her bed.
“M’lady,” Olivera greeted her, “How is your head feeling this morning?”
“Much better. Thank you, Olivera,” Lenna replied politely, crossing the room to her wardrobe and shuffling through the drawers for anything she could wear riding. “Didn’t there used to be a set of breeches in here? I’m riding over to the vegetable plots.”
“I packed them away with the light linens. Let me retrieve them.” Olivera fluffed the pillow she was holding. setting it back down on the bed, before pivoting to the cedar chest where Lenna stored clothes she rarely wore.
Lenna chose a white button up, quarter sleeved blouse and fished socks from the bottom drawer. Olivera came back with the breeches–a pretty chestnut color–and tall, black boots that were perfect for riding. The handmatron frowned, rubbing her hand across the toe as she brought them to Lenna.
“These haven’t been polished in a while, I’ll get oil.”
“No need, Olivera. I won’t be gone long, and the boots will simply get dirtier anyway,” Lenna replied hastily, squeezing into the breeches and noting they were now slightly uncomfortable, the buttons digging into her skin. Lenna huffed out her frustration before trying and failing to suck in the soft pudge below her belly. Just a month since she last went riding–before the headaches began controlling her waking moments and the nightmares her sleeping–and it was clear her body had grown stiffand soft with the lack of movement. Lenna shook her head. She hadn’t done much at all this past month, forgoing her usual activities in favor of laying in bed to rest. Hopefully, the headaches would subside for a long while, and she could get back to walking, riding her horses around the property, and working in the flower gardens she had diligently maintained since she was newly married.
Lenna straightened off the bed, shoving her heel down into the last boot before walking up to her mirror and ruffling her hair. The springy red curls puffed up with the humidity in the air, and no amount of smoothing was going to control the flyaways. Olivera appeared at her side, holding a small bottle of glistening hair oil and a pearl comb Lenna found during one of her walks into town that the shopkeep swore would do wonders for her curls. It was too pretty to not purchase, and the shopkeep had thanked Lenna about one hundred times before she left.
Life in the small township of Doortan was hard. There were few inhabited Estates left in Doortan after a particularly snowy winter concluded with an exodus of socialites yearning for warmer weather and a more vibrant city. Since Leon’s Lordship passed down from his late father, along with the deed to the largest Manor in Doortan, he refused to move.
With the remoteness of the town, the only lucrative work was found during the summer when ships came back from sea. Captains came looking for new sailors, sailors came looking for a good bottle of rum, and any man with two coins to rub together looked for a few women to warm their hostel bed. Sailors would spend their pay in brothels and bars before dropping small amounts on the counters of the shop folk. Unfortunately, this negatively affected Doortan’s social standing as well–with more than one not-so-friendly street Lenna avoided at all costs.
Leon’s inheritancealso included a fleet of merchant ships and a large abundance of wealth with the Lordship and Estate. Leon knew very little about trading, and even less about how much the captains ripped him off to sail Doortan lumber to Bardon, a larger port situated to the south. Lenna had been to Bardon only once, early into their marriage, and felt very out of place there, too. It was a much livelier town with an abundance of glittering shops, plenty of wealth, and enough sin to keep the temples packed on service days. The social crowd consisted of many Lords and Ladies, most much younger, who received their money through inheritances and barely lifted a finger to do any sort of work.
“Have you seen Orla today?” Lenna asked Olivera, keeping her face neutral. She might as well push and see if Olivera knew anything about the black eye Leon was sporting. Orla was a newer servant to the Estate, hired due to Olivera’s status in the Manor, though Lenna had only spoken to the young woman on a few occasions. “She wasn’t at breakfast service–was she pulled to help elsewhere?”
“She…isn’t feeling well this morning, M’lady. I told her to stay in bed.” Olivera’s thinning lips confirmed for Lenna that she struck a nerve.
“Goodness, I hope she’s alright. Is there anything I can bring her back from the gardens? We have cabbage ready to harvest and potatoes we can add to a stew for her dinner.” Lenna kept the bite out of her words, taking the olive-green head scarf Olivera brought over from the vanity. Wrapping her hair up and out of her face, Lenna watched Olivera’s reaction in the mirror.
“That won’t be necessary, my Lady. I’m sure she’ll be feeling better tomorrow.” The handmatron gave Lenna’s shirt a brisk sweep down her back, removing a few pieces of dust while dutifully avoiding Lenna’s hardened gaze.
Expressing her wishes for Orla’s speedy recovery,Lenna hustled down to the stables. She couldn’t wait to hear what ripe piece of gossip Marlo had for her.
Chapter three
Lenna
Lennagallopedacrosstheperfectly manicured lawns, kicking up that atrocious white gravel, feeling the power of the beautiful brown mare’s muscles shifting underneath her. As they neared the first vegetable plot, she gently pulled against the reins, slowing to a trot before easing into a walk. Marlo, on the grey dapple next to her, mimicked her movements.
“I’m going to assume you don’t truly care to hear about vegetable yields,” Marlo drawled, removing his worn riding gloves. “You want to know about Leon’s latest nightly activities.”
“Was the black eye a gift from Orla?” Lenna asked quietly, scanning the area to make sure they weren’t overheard. A smattering of servants worked at the next plot over, their baskets bowing under the weight of the leafy produce they picked, far enough away that they couldn’t hear the quiet conversation.
Marlo rolled his eyes at Lenna and nodded. “I fetched Leon a new drink and was leaving the study as she was walking in.”
“Leon was drunk?”
