Page 11 of Bound By The Christmastide Moon

“I’ve only seen Castle Keyvnor from afar,” she shared, a new light coming into her pale grey eyes. “The place appears menacing yet fascinating at the same time. I have heard—from both Miss Felicity and Tressa—that spirits roam within its vast corridors.”

Spirits? Silas hoped his betrothed did not believe in the fallacies of ghouls, ghosts, witches, and curses.

It was not as if Silas could speak of any hauntings within the castle walls. He hadn’t been permitted beyond the front stoop.

“I only arrived in Bocka Morrow yesterday. I have yet to explore the castle in any regard.” It was not a lie. He had reached Cornwall the day before, and since the butler had turned him away, he’d been unable to sightsee on the property. At her crestfallen look, Silas continued, “However, when I do find the time for exploration, I will certainly keep my eyes and ears open for anything of an occult nature.”

His answer seemed to satisfy her, and her smile returned.

The woman would unquestionably do for his countess: demure and cultured, if a bit shy. And agreeable.

Yet, something hinted that there was more to the woman. He watched her as she took a deep drink of her tea, her eyes closing briefly as she enjoyed the flavor—or possibly the soothing heat—of the liquid.

Silas only need avoid shackling himself to a woman as flighty and fickle as his mother. Prone to emotional tirades and undeniable shifts in demeanor, his mother, while loved and cherished by all her children, had not been their provider. After fleeing England—and the control of his father—Silas, as a young child, envisioned a life of adventure full of marvelous, grand places and people. Instead, his mother had been content to stow her children in a one-room flat in a seedy part of Paris while she explored her artistic endeavors.

Years later, Silas had pondered the true reasoning behind his mother’s flight from England. Had there been a man she thought herself in love with? Perhaps pursued a promise of a future together. When he’d asked, his mother had waved off his questions as she did everything. Her children’s hunger, their education, a sprained ankle in need of a doctor’s care—his questions were no more important to her than those.

Meaning, there was aught that interested his mother beyond her own self-interests.

Silas would not wed a woman like the countess.

“Tell me, Lady Mallory, what hobbies have you?” he asked, setting his cup aside but keeping his intense stare on her. Even in her youth, it was said that his mother had such tendencies, and perhaps his betrothed would hint at similar interests, thus allowing him to avoid years of heartache before they commenced.

Her back stiffened, and Lady Hettie let loose an unladylike snort.

Did women in England not spend their free time in pursuit of hobbies?

Truly, what hobby would he deem normal and not in keeping with a woman in possession of a capricious mind?

Surely, needlepoint was acceptable. Even watercolors were a tolerable pastime. Though, a musical talent would be preferable to a love of oils or sculpting.

At this point, it would only further tarnish his family name if he walked away from their betrothal at such a late juncture. The banns had been read, the match announced in both London and his local parish, and he’d even found his mother’s simple gold wedding band in his father’s desk at Ditchley Hall.

When both women remained silent, Silas feared he’d overstepped some invisible boundary between cordial social call and intrusive interloper.

He pushed to his feet, the stool thankfully remaining upright after his sudden action.

“I think it is time I return to the castle,” he mumbled. “It has been a pleasure making your acquaintance, Lady Mallory. I look forward to our joining in the spring.” There, simple enough as goodbyes went. “Lady Henrietta, also lovely meeting you. I do believe you and my sister will take to one another quickly.”

Neither woman moved from their seats on the settee as he bowed. In fact, Lady Hettie hadn’t so much as taken a sip from her cup, though she’d brought it to her lips several times.

“You are staying at the castle?” she inquired, though her focus was on the cup in her hands.

“Yes, until after my cousins’ weddings. Then I will return to my estate, or mayhap accompany my brother to London.” It seemed important he answer the woman’s question, though he owed her no response. “Safe travels to you and Lady Henrietta. I look forward to your arrival at Ditchley in the spring.”

For a man who prided himself on knowing what was what, Silas could not determine with any certainty if he was or was not looking forward to Lady Mallory’s arrival at Ditchley. What he could say with all certainty was that despite this short time speaking with her, he did not have any greater understanding of the woman before him, or why she’d need resort to a union with a stranger coordinated by her father’s solicitor. She appeared like every other young woman he’d met since arriving in England.

“Good day, Lord Lichfield.” Lady Henrietta pushed to her feet, her hunched shoulders making it impossible for her to reach her full height, though he suspected it was shorter than her niece’s. “Mallory and I wish you well. My brother, the marquess, and Mallory’s mother look forward to traveling to Hampshire when the time comes.”

“My family will be honored to meet the Marquess and Marchioness of Blandford.”

The door to the salon opened as if the servant had been waiting with his ear pressed to the wood in wait.

“I will show you out, my lord.” The butler nodded toward the foyer, and Silas had little choice but to follow.

Their meeting had done little to ease his trepidation regarding their coming nuptials.

Chapter 5