Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 116547 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116547 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
No, I am not well. How are you all so happy? These were my true thoughts. Instead of speaking them, I quickly presented my best smile and said, “I am afraid not, Marchioness, as your daughter has stolen away my brother.”
Humor is always a good way to deflect from one’s self.
“Ha! I beg to differ. For it is your brother who has stolen away our daughter!” the marquess declared with a hearty laugh, Abena still at his side.
“Father, someone cannot steal someone whom you have formally given away.” Hathor rolled her eyes and pointed back to the house behind her. “Especially in such a grand fashion as this.”
“Hathor, it is called a joke,” Damon replied.
“Let us agree to call it the past, as in finished. As in, can we all retire for the evening so we may start afresh tomorrow? Hopefully with a new main character.” Hathor didn’t even wait, already turning to walk through the gate before anyone else.
“I pick Verity to go next!” Abena yelled, purposely running right by her sister’s skirts, causing Hathor to nearly stumble.
“Abena!” Hathor hollered, steadying herself.
The small girl spun around, grinning. “She is much more handsome, and she’s a duke’s daughter! Everyone will be engaged this season before you!”
“To the pots with you!” Hathor dashed after her into the house.
“Only Mama can do that!” I heard her little voice yell back.
“Where do they find this energy?” The marquess snickered and then looked over to his wife. “Ah, never mind. I have found the source.”
Damon, his wife, and the rest of his siblings all laughed. The marchioness managed only to shoot him a glare, detaching herself from his side entirely and walking over to me.
“Since you all wish to join your father in teasing me, I shall focus on this good child.” She met my gaze and smiled from ear to ear, taking my hand. “Oh, how happy I am to finally have you stay with us, Verity.”
“Thank you once again for having me, your ladyship—”
“Have I not told you that you may call me Godmother? I shall accept only that title. Now come, let me show you to your rooms,” she said as she led me back into the house, where the splendor of my brother’s wedding feast was slowly being dismantled by the servants.
“Ingrid,” the marchioness called out, and immediately, a slender older woman with a white streak of hair amidst all her pinned-up dark hair arrived at her side, curtsying before her. I found it strange that a lady would ever call any servant by anything but their surname, but no one else seemed to be concerned. “Do tell the servants they may leave the cleaning up until the morning—”
“And they may have the last barrel of wine!” The marquess’s voice boomed from behind us. Only now that we were inside could I see the redness of his cheeks more clearly. He was drunk. And I noticed that with a simple glance from the marchioness his valet was already beside him, leading him elsewhere.
“Ingrid, tell the servants they may take remainders of whatever they like,” she spoke to the housekeeper. “They all did so splendidly. I shall come down and thank them personally later.”
“Yes, madam.” Ingrid curtsied again before going.
“You will thank the servants personally?” The question came from me before I even realized, but only because I was so surprised. The thought of the marchioness or any noble lady going to thank the servants in their quarters seemed…abnormal. My governess lectured me nearly to deafness over my many trips to the servants’ hall or my escapes on my own throughout the grounds.
She glanced over at me, a bit saddened. “You do not think it is proper?”
“No, of course not. I mean, no, I do not think it is improper. My former governess would disagree, but she was very strict, though not unkind. I was very well taken care of. Just—oh, forgive me. I am a bit caper-witted all of a sudden.” I had apparently lost all control of my speech. Who was I to judge the way a lady ran her household, least of all the woman renowned for having the best-run home in the ton?
I thought she might be cross, but she merely giggled as she walked up the stairs with me. “You need not be so nervous, my dear, nor do you need to be so rigid. This home is your home.”
It very much was not my home. It was far too loud to be my home.
As if to prove my point, we both heard a loud crash above us.
“Ouch!” First came Hathor’s voice, then came a blur of curly hair as Abena sought to run back down the stairs toward us.
The girl’s small brown eyes widened in terror at the sight of her mother. “It was not my fault, Mama! Hathor is just cow-handed and you know it!”