Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
August regarded her, then looked back out at the valley. She’d seen something ancient, something ageless and unexplained, and all of them knew it. Fortenbury knew it and didn’t like it. He turned back to Lord Lisburne.
“Are you a man of God, to put such ideas in people’s minds? Your own granddaughter’s mind? Wales is a Christian nation.”
“The People were here before Christianity, before civilization,” he said, sticking out his lower lip. “I’ll tell you this, Fortenbury—you’ll do well not to speak ill of them where they can hear you.”
“I pray to the Lord. I’ll not guard my tongue against devilry. The Lord God defends me.”
“Does he now, you pompous a—”
“Papa!” The duchess interrupted before he could finish his comment.
August stared at the spectacle of Elizabeth’s wizened grandpa scolding Lord Fruityberries, then looked back at Elizabeth, who seemed suddenly pale and peaked.
“I wish you wouldn’t argue,” she said, placing herself between them. “I misspoke. Now that I look again, there’s nothing there at all. Just the sun reflecting off the snow.”
Elizabeth was only making peace. Hiding her gifts, as she must within society’s strictures. August glanced back where she’d been looking, wishing he could see the fires, which had to be a sort of magic. Elizabeth had magic inside her that none of the rest of them possessed.
Fortenbury was not impressed. He scrutinized his dark-haired fiancée, looking down his nose with his arms crossed upon his chest. “It’s devilry, Elizabeth. I think you ought to pray for your soul,” he said to her, not loud enough for everyone to hear. But August heard. The Duke of Arlington heard, for his face went hard. “There is a part of you that needs prayer and forgiveness,” the man continued. “You don’t have to live this way.”
“What way?” she asked.
Fortenbury shook his head at her, his lips tight.
An awkward silence permeated the gathering. Many of the guests still looked out at the valley, searching for fires. Lord Lisburne grumbled, glaring at Fortenbury. Lord Marlow suggested to his wife that she looked cold, that they ought to go back, and the duke agreed that everyone ought to return to the manor for some luncheon and tea. The servants went ahead with their great wagons of greenery as Lisburne guided them back, but the day’s celebratory feel was gone.
August hated that. He hated Fortenbury for ruining everyone’s fun, for ruining Elizabeth’s bright day. He wanted to go to her and tell her how fascinating it was that she’d seen fires. He wanted to tell her she did not need to pray for her soul, that she ought to commune with Old People if she was able to, if the faeries of the forest found her worthy. He wanted to tell her that she was sweet and kind and that Fortenbury was the devilish one, no matter how rich and eligible he was.
But it wasn’t his place to do so. Still, it broke his heart to see her walking back with a feigned smile on her face. Fortenbury and his frowning family gave her the cold shoulder. Her parents walked with her instead, and her brother and Ophelia, and her sister Hazel, who looked ready to spit nails.
When they reached the manor’s courtyard, the Duke of Arlington separated himself from the group and approached Fortenbury with the sort of expression August had only seen him wear a few times before. It was called the Arlington glower, and it eclipsed the Arlington frown in potency.
“I should like to have a word with you in the library, Fortenbury,” he said. “At once.”
Chapter Five
Tension in the Air
The Duke and Duchess of Arlington did not appear at dinner. Nor did the groom-to-be, although many in his family were present. Elizabeth presided over her usual table with her cousins and friends. August felt sympathy for her, for the way she had to pretend everything was all right. Her guests partook of braised beef, scalloped potatoes, and roasted vegetables and made steady conversation to be polite, but things were not all right.
Beneath the conversation, whispered snippets made their way from table to table: The Duke of Arlington and the Marquess of Fortenbury had had a great disagreement in the library, one so heated it had been overheard by some of the guests. Apparently, the duke had reached his limit with Fortenbury’s frowns and stiff manners, and his not-so-subtle proselytizing for Elizabeth’s eternal soul.
Well, they’d all witnessed the way Fortenbury had spoken to her at the cliff’s edge, when she’d seen the fires no one else had seen. Any husband of Elizabeth’s would have to grow accustomed to such events and accept them without judgment. Her fiancé did not appear capable of such acceptance.
August wondered for the hundredth time if the wedding should proceed when they did not seem a suitable match. Of course, his parents had not seemed suitable for one another at the onset, if teasing reminisces were to be believed, and they’d made a strong, loving marriage through the years.