Page 22 of Bound By The Christmastide Moon

“I would say the same, but I haven’t the faintest notion who you are or what you are doing in my home.” The countess looked down her long, beakish nose at Mallory, pinning her with a stare that was both intense and lackluster at the same time. “Well, girl?”

It took her a moment realize the countess truly had no clue who she was. “Well, I am Lady Mallory—“

“I know that much from my butler,” the lady snapped, waving her hand toward the servant, who immediately backed from the room and closed the door. “What. Are. You. Doing. At. My. Castle?”

Her slow, deliberate words had a blush rising up Mallory’s neck. Thankfully, her cloak hid the worst of her embarrassment. “I am here to call on my betrothed, Lord Lichfield.”

“Impossible,” she huffed. “Lord Lichfield is my brother-in-law and safely wed to my sister, Mary Louisa.”

“I assure you, my lady, I am betrothed to Lord Lichfield, Silas Anson.” Mallory paused to take a deep breath. “While I did not travel with the betrothal agreement, we are, indeed, set to wed early next year.”

“Silas, you say?” The woman’s tone softened immediately, and she took the few steps to the lounge, lowering herself to sit and then gesturing for Mallory to do the same on the chair opposite her. “Silas. I have not seen him since he was a lad of six or seven before Mary Louisa took…”

Her words trailed off as if she’d said too much; however, Mallory thought she hadn’t spoken nearly enough.

“You must be mistaken. Lord Lichfield is staying at Keyvnor and attending the weddings of his cousins—your daughters, I presume.” From the woman’s severe look, it would have been wise for Mallory to keep her assumptions to herself. “I am here from Launceston, Northern Cornwall, and staying at the Duke of Wycliffe’s estate, Tetbery.” It felt like a betrayal to Felicity to refer to Tetbery as Wycliffe’s property, but there was no way around it. “I am there with my aunt, Lady Henrietta Hughes. Lord Lichfield paid a social visit to Tetbery yesterday.”

“My dear, dear, dear girl.” The countess clucked her tongue with each address. “I am sorry to say you have been misinformed. My nephew is not staying at the castle, and neither was he invited to the wedding. Although, if something happened to his father, I suppose the invite would, socially speaking, be transferred to the new earl, which would indeed be Silas. But I can assure you, I have not seen him. You say he is in Bocka Morrow?”

“Yes, but—“

“If the lad is in the area, rest assured I will locate him.” The countess stood suddenly, and Mallory followed suit. “This is not good, not good at all.”

“Why ever not?” Mallory asked.

“Because if my nephew has claimed the title, that means two things: my brother-in-law passed away without anyone sending word, and my sister, Lady Lichfield, has no doubt returned to England at long last.”

Silas had mentioned nothing about his mother’s return to England, only that his siblings had accompanied him from France. “I am afraid I can speak to neither.”

The countess stepped forward, reaching for Mallory’s hands and clasping them tightly. “Regardless, this is wonderful news. Wonderful news, indeed.” Lady Banfield paused as if realizing she still held Mallory. “You and your aunt, Lady Henrietta, must come to the wedding…and the Yule ball to follow.”

As Mallory was ushered to the front door and unceremoniously deposited on the stoop, her waiting carriage in the drive, she remembered nodding at the countess, but if that simple gesture meant that she’d accepted the invitation, Mallory was uncertain.

Glancing at the sky above, she noted the sun had not moved at all.

Aunt Hettie was correct. She hadn’t been long inside, but much had changed in the short time she was.

Chapter 9

Silas’s mind reeled with such ferocity he feared falling from his horse. It was as if he had been caught up in a strong wind and could not right his person as strong gale gusts continued to blow him to and fro with no end in sight. He still sat motionless at the end of the drive to Castle Keyvnor where the main road split in several directions. One would take him closer to Tetbery Estate, one to Bocka Morrow and the open sea beyond, and the last…London.

Everything screamed for him to take the fastest route back to London, away from his family and Lady Mallory.

When the servant had arrived at The Crown & Anchor the evening before, unmistakably garbed in Banfield livery colors, with a hastily jotted note from the countess, Silas had agreed readily to meet with her at the allotted day and time. It was his main reason for being in Cornwall, after all. It hadn’t even irked him that his aunt hadn’t given him an option for the time or place. He would have attended her in the dark of night in a tavern, if she’d requested it.

Perhaps he should have been more leery about the information she had to impart.

Yet, it hadn’t dawned on Silas that he’d been summoned based on anything other than his visit when he first arrived in Bocka Morrow.

He’d regretted his decision the moment his aunt entered the room and wrapped him in an embrace so firm, he thought she’d broken one of his ribs—his chest still a bit sore from the altercation at the tavern. Once they’d been seated, and she began talking at great length and with much vehemence, Silas had allowed the words to wash over him. He’d listened to her speak of the letters and money she’d sent to Paris, the many trips she and his mother’s other siblings had made across the Channel in vain attempts to bring Mary Louisa and her children back to England, and the countess’s condolences at Silas’s father’s passing.

If he believed any of it, he’d need to accept all of her words as truth.

It was a daunting thought. Silas had spent most of his life cursing his family, his mother included, for the cruel nature of his childhood. He’d blamed his father for not coming to bring them home. He’d despised his mother’s family for abandoning them. And he’d resented his mother for being such a fickle, delicate woman.

When the countess had asked after Silas’s mother, he’d seen a tear in the woman’s eye when he spoke of his mother’s refusal to leave Paris; however, a spark had entered her hard stare at the news that Slade and Sybil were in England once more.

If his entire foundation hadn’t been ripped from beneath him, his aunt’s mention of his betrothal to Lady Mallory Hughes had surely done it. The woman had professed her remorse over not hearing of his father’s death but she’d known of his betrothal. It had quickly come to light that his intended had paid a visit to Keyvnor to meet with him but had learned he’d lied about his status as a guest at the castle.