Page 23 of Bound By The Christmastide Moon

The cold wind swept inland off the sea at his back, chilling him to the bone through his coat, reminding him that he still stood at a crossroads, one of both the literal and emotional kind. Silas only hoped no one watched him from the castle.

Silas had no urge to return to his dank, musty room at the tavern. Nor was he prepared to admit defeat and return to London.

That only left Tetbery Estate…and Lady Mallory.

When the countess had initially spoken of Lady Mallory’s visit, there had been an intense pounding in his ears. He’d withdrawn from the conversation with his aunt, but quickly realized it was his fault it was all happening.

He’d no right to be angry with his betrothed.

Silas had lied to her. He’d been given the opportunity to clear his conscience and admit his wrongs, but he’d continued with the charade.

But there was little doubt left that his aunt had shared all his secrets.

Lady Mallory would know of his estranged status with his family, his lodging at the tavern, and certainly, the dire financial state of the Lichfield earldom.

It would be she—and her father—who called off the betrothal, as what man would wed his only daughter to such a man? And what proper lady would seek to tie herself to a family in ruins?

He’d thought Lady Mallory, with her aunt in tow, would have already departed Cornwall for their home in Launceston in order to arrive before Christmastide morning.

Again, he’d been wrong to assume anything.

Obviously, she remained at Tetbery Estate.

Silas tilted his head back, his eyes closing, and took a deep, fortifying breath. It seemed his obligations were never-ending: his siblings, his estate, his family, and now, Lady Mallory.

There was only one direction open to him, and it led back to his betrothed.

Lady Mallory deserved an explanation, and Silas was the only person to give it. If she could see past his deceptions and accept his apology, there may still be hope for them.

Oddly, Silas was perturbed to realize he actually longed for Mallory to forgive him. The woman was unlike any he’d met before. Silas’s mother was indecisive, scatterbrained, and undependable. His fear of Lady Mallory being, in any way, like the present Lady Lichfield had been ungrounded.

Silas kicked his horse into action with a backward glance at the castle.

His aunt had made amends—or at least she’d made an effort—and had invited him and Slade to join them for the Yule ball. She went so far as to pledge her support for Sybil during her coming Season.

But first, Silas had to make things right with Mallory.

No longer was it essential he wed for the societal acceptance a connection to the marquess would give him and his siblings. Everything he’d dreaded coming to pass over the last several months since Mr. Peabody proposed his marriage to Mallory to remedy some of the Lichfield quandary was not as overwhelmingly frightening as it had been before his arrival in Bocka Morrow.

The sun shone brightly upon his face, and the wind receded as Silas rode toward Tetbery Estate—and the woman with the captivating grey eyes.

Chapter 10

Mallory stepped out the door and into the bright sun, bringing her arm up to shield her eyes from the harsh glare as her vision adjusted. Pushing the door shut, she leaned against the rough surface as the scents from the garden invaded her senses. The smell of hellebore roses, or the Christmas roses as Aunt Hettie fondly called them, drifted on the light breeze as the sun crested above in the cloudless sky. The outdoors normally brought with it a feeling of peace and rightness—being surrounded by so many lovely, growing things.

However, after her morning in Felicity’s lab, it only brought to mind that which was gone forever, never to return, never to draw breath, never to live again.

Her dear friend had taken to the notion of using alchemy to bring her guardian, Lady Tetbery, back to life. It was a fool’s errand. Anyone with an ounce of sense would know working with ancient tomes, the mythical Philosopher’s Stone, and combining oddly scented chemicals would not return the countess to life. She was gone, deceased all these months. It was no wonder Mallory could not put the visions of strange symbols from her mind.

In the end, Felicity would fail, Lady Tetbery would never walk the grounds of her Cornwall estate again, and Mallory would need to be there for her dear friend when she grieved the loss of her guardian all over again.

Mallory pushed away from the door leading down into Felicity’s lab, determined not to dwell on the pain destined to come for her friend.

She hadn’t even time to speak with Felicity about what she’d learned at Castle Keyvnor the previous day. How insignificant was it that Mallory sought her friend’s ear to speak of her troubles with her betrothed, while Felicity had lost her guardian, was about to lose the only home she’d ever known, and the man responsible was darkening the halls of Tetbery at every turn?

Walking across the small, fenced-in garden, Mallory lightly caressed the pale pink petals of a winter rose, her touch soft enough not to disturb the precious blossom. How uncomplicated the life of a hellebore rose was, coming into full bloom during the dreariest months before wilting as the warm springtime heat bore down on them…only to return once the weather turned cold again. She envied the blossom’s ability to know its place, the proper time to show its beauty, and when to hide from the world.

Perhaps it would have been best for Mallory to stay at her family estate until the time for her wedding arrived. She would not have known the trivial way her father had bartered his only daughter—to a man he’d not so much as met. Lord Lichfield would have had no reason to deceive her either. Yet, that had been a decision he’d knowingly made. Did he think her so petty and lacking in compassion that the state of his relationship with his family would matter?