Page 12 of Bound By The Christmastide Moon

The door closed with a thump, causing Mallory to nearly leap from the settee, a splash of tea spilling over the rim of her cup, marring her cream glove. The liquid should have scalded her skin, even with the protective layer of fabric, but the droplets were only room temperature.

How long had she, her aunt, and Lord Lichfield sat in the Tetbery receiving room?

Glancing at the window, the dark blue drapes pinned back to allow light into the room, Mallory noted the sun had progressed high into the sky. The day was clear and would be unseasonably warm. Why were icy-cold tendrils of dread racing through her?

Lord Lichfield was naught more than a stranger, a man her father had selected for her, without so much as meeting him if she’d heard the earl correctly.

She had no ties to him. She owed him nothing. In turn, he was not indebted to her.

It should not matter what her visions showed for his future.

“My child,” her aunt said, taking the cup from her tight grasp. “What is it? What did you see?”

Mallory swallowed. How could she tell anyone—even her most dear aunt—she’d lose her intended, likely before they were even wed?

Her vision had shown a winter-kissed garden with a moon glowing from above, lighting the blossomless shrubbery sufficiently enough for Mallory to take in the scene.

A shiver coursed down her spine, and her aunt leaned into her line of sight that was still focused on the window.

“I have an awful pounding in my head.” Shaking off her aunt’s hold, Mallory stood, struggling to keep the room from blurring about her. “I think I will retire to rest. The journey from Blenheim Park must have me more exhausted than I’d realized. Do give my best to Felicity if you see her.”

“You do not look well—“

Mallory forced a weak smile. “I promise it is only my head. A spot of rest will have me feeling much improved.”

Neither woman believed Mallory’s lie, and to be honest, she wasn’t concerned with disappointing her aunt. If anyone knew the hardships of their gift, it was Aunt Hettie. For many years, Mallory had watched her aunt fight through her visions and seek refuge in her solitary existence. She could not deny her niece the same recourse, especially if she were to keep her gifts hidden from her betrothed.

In that moment, Mallory realized that Aunt Hettie’s fate, and the loneliness it brought, was not something she hoped to live with in her own life.

“I will attend you at supper.” Her voice did not crack on the words. “We can speak of Lord Lichfield at that time.”

“You worry me, my child.” The woman’s brow knitted as she stared up from under her heavily hooded lids, attempting to straighten her stooped back. “Tell me what you saw, and I can—“

“I saw nothing…of import,” she added to assuage the guilt that surged at her continued deceit. “Until our meal.”

Mallory leaned down, placing a quick kiss to her aunt’s plump cheek before she fled the room. She kept her pace sedate and even until she reached the main stairs. The front door was firmly shut, Lord Lichfield gone and the butler disappeared to parts unknown, freeing Mallory to expel a bit of her apprehension as she took the steps two at a time until she was racing down the deserted hall to her assigned room.

The door closed without a sound.

The click of the latch falling into place seemed to open Mallory’s airways, blessedly allowing her to draw in a deep breath. Concentrating on the rise and fall of her chest, constricted by her corset and tight bodice, Mallory’s heart slowed its frantic pace. Her headache receded, and she clenched and unclenched her fists at her sides.

She hadn’t been affected by a vision in this manner since she’d seen her father’s end in a particularly vivid revelation when she was but eight years old. The startling occurrence had rocked Mallory to her soul. No child should see their parent perish, even if only in a vision. Though the same could be said for a father learning of his impending death from his offspring.

That was the day her brother, Adam, had labeled Mallory a curse, a hex, and a blemish on her family. A lump formed in her throat at the memory. It was the day she’d been sent to Blenheim Park, separated from her father, mum, and brother, to live with her addlebrained Aunt Hettie.

However, as it turned out, Aunt Hettie was far from senseless. For if she were crazy, that meant Mallory was also afflicted with the crux of insanity.

Mallory did not feel dull or senseless.

In fact, her visions were usually clear and precise.

All too vivid and accurate for her family’s liking.

Her breathing returned to normal at last, and she moved to the window thinking to push it open and allow in a cool breeze. Perhaps it would also clear her mind and give her some idea of what was expected of her. Rarely did she keep her visions to herself when they so evidently impacted another.

But death…that was not an omen she easily shared.

She’d only been presented with such life-changing visions on two previous occasions: her father’s death, and that of Felicity’s guardian, the countess. She’d spoken of it to her father and had been sent away. Mallory had been wise enough to keep her knowledge of the countess’s sudden passing from Felicity, and she’d felt immeasurable guilt since. Felicity, had she known the end was near, could have taken better advantage of her time, perhaps planned for her future in a more sensible manner.