Page 20 of Bound By The Christmastide Moon

She may not have had a headache before, but the mere disgust of the powdery substance almost incited one.

“You do not agree with my match to the earl?” Mallory asked, already sensing her aunt’s response would be to the affirmative. “He is a kind enough man.”

Aunt Hettie snorted, crossing her arms over her heavy chest. “You met him for no more than an hour’s time. You cannot know if he is kind—or much else. He hardly spoke of anything of a personal nature.” Hettie glared at Mallory across the carriage. “Plus, he was raised in France. An English lord, raised in France. What will people think?”

At her aunt’s questioning stare, Mallory remained quiet. Never, in all the years she’d lived with her aunt, had Mallory ever witnessed Hettie giving a single care for what people thought of her or her choices in life. It had to be a ploy to convince Mallory the man was unsuitable because her aunt knew Mallory cared greatly about what others thought of her.

Mallory would not fall into Hettie’s trap.

Nor could she admit that she did, in fact, know beyond a reasonable doubt that Silas was an honorable man.

Which was exactly the reason they were headed toward Castle Keyvnor.

She needed to apologize for not trusting him, for accusing him of intentionally lying to her, to assure him she was resigned to their match. More than resigned, as it were, but content with it.

If she and Hettie left Bocka Morrow to return to her family estate, Silas could determine she was unfit to be his countess and send word to her father to discuss the matter. He’d said he had no intention of crying off, but with her less than appropriate behavior the day before, she would not blame him for running. He likely thought himself tied to a hellion, which was certainly not the case. She need only convince him of that.

Once she apologized for her erratic comportment and confirmed her commitment to their betrothal and coming marriage, she could return home knowing she’d made the best impression possible—under the circumstances.

Their carriage hit a large bump, and Mallory grasped hold of the side to keep from tumbling off her seat. The road between Tetbery Estate and Keyvnor was not a heavily traveled one. Felicity—nor her guardian, the countess—ever mentioned visiting the castle.

With the Duke of Wycliffe now taking his rightful place at Tetbery, that might very well change.

The carriage rolled to a stop outside the fortress.

Mallory looked out her window at the intimidating fortification and had to crane her neck to see all the way to the imposing towers above. They stood so tall, they shrouded the carriage in shadows. The stronghold was massive, boasting a moat and battlements—much like the castles so popular many years before. Mallory could envision invaders setting their sights on Keyvnor, prepared to loot and plunder its hidden bounties. Men would be at the ready on the parapets above to defend their home and their families against the raiders.

The carriage door swung open, and the footman lowered the steps, reaching in to assist Aunt Hettie down.

Mallory glanced at her when she made no move to take the servant’s proffered hand. Hettie’s face had drained of color until she appeared nearly green with sickness and her hands visibly trembled. With her eyes clamped shut, Mallory could not ascertain if a vision had struck her.

She slipped to her knees on the carriage floor without thought of the damage to her skirts and took her aunt’s shaking hands into her own. Rubbing them between her palms, warm and moist with nerves, she attempted to banish the chill from her aunt’s fingers. Yet, Hettie did not acknowledge her, nor was she calmed by her niece’s presence.

Releasing her aunt’s hands, Mallory cupped Hettie’s face to still her quivering chin and bid her to open her eyes.

When Hettie only tried to pull from Mallory’s hold, she relented. The woman’s gift was too powerful and all-consuming when it struck.

“I will have the driver return you to Tetbery with all due haste,” Mallory whispered. Her heart ached for her dear aunt, her own chest feeling constricted by some unknown force that held Hettie captive, as well. “Close the door!”

“No, no, my child,” Hettie mumbled. “Go forth and see Lord Lichfield. Say what needs said, and we shall return home after. I will not enter Castle Keyvnor—I cannot.”

“Is it safe for me?” Mallory was familiar with her aunt’s aversion to entering certain domains or so much as walking across random paths. While Mallory’s visions overtook her when she touched people or objects, her aunt’s gift was much more prolific than that—she sensed things without touch. A mere smell could send her aunt reeling as an image invaded, clouding not only her irises but also her mind. Hettie nodded, keeping her eyes closed. “Then I will send you and the carriage back to Tetbery and have it return to collect me.”

“I—I—“ Hettie struggled to gain strength. “I will wait here—in the drive—for you. You shan’t be long.”

“Are you certain?” It seemed inconceivable to leave Hettie in the drive in such a state.

“Yes, my child.” Hettie straightened her shoulders, her eyes fluttering open to show no storm within their depths. “I will remain here and rest.”

Still, Mallory was hesitant to leave her. “I can take you home and return with Felicity—or possibly Tressa—on the morrow.”

Hettie shook her head with such force, her cheeks wobbled and her eyes glazed over. “You will go now.” The older woman pushed Mallory away and waved to the waiting servant. “Do assistant my niece down.”

With one last, lingering look at her aunt, Mallory collected her handbag and departed the carriage. She knew better than to think her aunt would relent and allow Mallory to see her back to the estate.

Her cloak billowed around her in the brisk, bitter cold. Tugging at her hood, she stared up at the castle, her view uninhibited by the bevels in the windowpanes of the carriage. It struck her as odd that anyone actually lived in such a place. Its ancient facade and imposing size were daunting, even to Mallory as a visitor.

“Shall I announce your arrival, my lady?” The Tetbery footman stood at her side, staring up in awe at the castle.