Page 3 of Bound By The Christmastide Moon

This earl seemed more suited as a friend for Slade, as opposed to an ally for Silas. “I would have the family name.”

“The Marquess and Marchioness of Blandford.” The solicitor again searched his paper, his finger running down the page until he found what he sought. “Their daughter, aged eighteen summers, is Lady Mallory Hughes.”

Silas only hoped the woman did not have a third eye—or worse, the facial hair of a man. Silas supposed the son of a flighty countess could not expect much on his return to England, and the advantages of the match certainly outweighed the negatives. He needed money and means to see him and his siblings settled among the ton. Things that his father hadn’t seen fit to provide.

“You will handle the paperwork?” Silas inquired, his brow rising in challenge.

“Without a doubt, my lord.” Peabody pushed to his feet again, clutching his folders to his narrow chest as the stack threatened to escape and cascade to the floor. “I will write him at once upon my return to London. I am certain he will entertain the match.”

Silas remained seated as Peabody scurried from the room. Odd a man of such height and thin frame could scurry, but that he did. With any luck, the solicitor would arrive in London and secure the proper paperwork within a fortnight.

The grandfather clock chimed once more—five loud gongs, echoing through the house, reminding Silas he was to meet his siblings in the grand hall for supper.

Chapter 1

Bocka Morrow, Coast of Cornwall, England

December 19, 1811

Lady Mallory Hughes gazed out the carriage window at the passing landscape—rolling seaside hills ending in rocky cliffs that plunged into the Atlantic Ocean—and marveled at the awe-inspiring sense of it all. Having visited Tetbery Estate numerous times over the years, Mallory was still awestruck by the beauty of the region.

However, this trip to Cornwall was far different than her previous visits. Mallory relished a few days spent with her dear friends, Felicity, who called Tetbery home, and Tressa, the vicar’s daughter. However, the true purpose of her visit to Cornwall was far less enjoyable, and the main reason her Aunt Hettie had been sent as her chaperone.

“Mallory?” Lady Hettie’s gruff voice called from across the carriage. “Child, I swear your father is right to worry over you.”

She brought her stare to Lady Henrietta Hughes—or Hettie as the woman was called by one and all—where she sat, her hunched shoulders appearing almost painful, and her swollen knuckles white where her hands were clasped in her lap. Any irritation Mallory might have felt—which she most certainly did not feel—would have dissipated at the sight of the older woman.

Despite her peculiar ways, Aunt Hettie loved her.

Precisely because Hettie was peculiar, as well.

“Do you worry over me?” Mallory questioned, assessing her aunt’s reaction in the shifting color of her grey eyes. Irises that Mallory need remember she shared with her aunt—her emotions as vivid and stark in her gaze as Hettie’s. “Do you not think I can care for myself?”

Hettie shook her head, her stringy, brown hair shot through with grey falling over her shoulder. “It has naught to do with your ability to care for yourself but your need to care for those around you.”

Very accurate, Mallory mused.

“Was your father right to be worried?” Hettie prodded as their carriage shifted, turning on to the long drive that would lead to Felicity’s home at Tetbery Estate.

“It is not my fault I see an obligation to speak when my gift presents itself.” She would not apologize for who she was. “I do not understand how you keep such things to yourself.”

Hettie smiled, revealing her slightly crooked but pearly white teeth. “Speaking of that which I see does no one any good, my child. What shall be, shall be.”

It had been the debate between them since Mallory came to understand and accept her gift—or curse, as her older brother, Adam, called it. As if she and her aunt were common witches who brewed steaming concoctions in caldrons to hex those who angered them.

It did not work that way. Although, Mallory would be hard-pressed to deny she’d dreamed many times of placing a curse on her brother. Not because of his normalcy—she had never longed to be normal—but due to his views on those who did not fit into society’s mold for acceptable behavior.

Thank the heavens they were arriving at Tetbery Estate, and the long journey to London was not necessary.

Tetbery was the one place Mallory could be herself without fear of judgment or admonishment. She need make no excuses for her visions, nor fear them overtaking her as was common. “As your father has commanded, you will speak of your visions to me and only me during our stay at Tetbery.” Her aunt gathered her book and shawl from the bench seat as she spoke, quickly shoving them into her satchel. “That is unless it is your wish to end your betrothal.”

Mallory turned back toward the window, spotting Felicity sitting upon a fallen timber, her gaze on their carriage as it drew near. “I have given my word that I will in no way jeopardize the agreement my father made with Lord Lichfield—unless I find the man unacceptable.”

“Very good, my child,” Hettie mumbled. “Though, if you decide that remaining unwed better suits, I will support that decision, as will my brother.”

Yes, Mallory had long believed her aunt—more a mother figure to her—would back any decision she made for her future as long as it did not include joining a Gypsy tribe and using her gift to raise coin.

The life of a spinster was not for Mallory. A fact she’d known her entire life. She wanted a family, a husband and children, and did not believe her visions excluded her from that, despite the rare glimpse of her future she’d gotten, showing Mallory’s fate following the path of spinsterhood. Adam would not prove as kind and accommodating to his spinster sister as Mallory’s father had been to Hettie.