Page 7 of Bound By The Christmastide Moon

He swung onto his waiting horse and set off across a barren strip of land toward town—and a tumbler of Scotch.

Chapter 3

Mallory sat across from Aunt Hettie in the formal dining hall as the woman finished her late-morning meal of toast and poached eggs. With Mallory’s stomach still churning from her earlier vision, she’d yet to manage even a bite of toast. Aunt Hettie hadn’t seemed to notice her aversion to their meal.

Her usual comfort when visiting Tetbery Estate had not presented itself as yet. Since the countess’s death, and Felicity’s mourning, nothing about the lush, coastal manor gave her the same sense of calm. The servants were not as welcoming—though that could not be their fault—and Felicity was keeping a secret from Mallory. Despite her insistence that they’d speak on the matter at a later time. Mallory was sensible enough to realize it was a ploy to halt her questions about the vision. Certainly, Mallory and her aunt would remain at Tetbery for a couple of days, but when would the time present itself to discuss Felicity’s experiments in greater detail?

Ink remained on Mallory’s fingertips from when she’d drawn an image from her latest vision on the foolscap provided by Felicity while they huddled in her friend’s lab. She hadn’t any idea what the symbol meant beyond its connection to the Philosopher’s Stone—or so her friend had confirmed. She wished she’d been able to see more, sense more while in Felicity’s hidden laboratory that morning; however, it had not come to her. And forcing her visions had never worked except to incite a headache that lasted for days.

Two visions, less than a day apart, and both surrounding her dear friend.

The kiss and the symbol—could they be connected beyond what Mallory pictured when her gift overtook her?

She dabbed her cloth napkin in her water goblet and swiped at her right hand in another vain attempt to remove the blasted ink. Perhaps Felicity could concoct something to cleanse her skin.

The only positive was Mallory had been able to keep the greater nature of her vision to herself. Her aunt would be proud of her for keeping the tidbit to herself. For, truly, Mallory did not seek to change the course of her original vision when she embraced Felicity the prior day, especially if the information might alter Felicity’s chance at happiness.

Happiness. It was an odd thing to ponder, yet, as Tressa always spouted, every woman deserved to be happy.

Mallory believed happiness was in her future. If her betrothed, Lord Lichfield, was to bring it into her life, all the better.

“Why are you smiling so, my child?” Her aunt’s peeved words cut through Mallory’s daze, bringing her back to the present as Hettie wiped a glob of jam from her chin, her narrowed stare all the while focused on her niece. “What has you in such overt cheer?”

Setting her napkin aside, Mallory folded her hands in her lap. “I am always brimming with merriment.”

“I assure you, this is different.” As Hettie searched Mallory’s eyes for some hint of what she was up to, Mallory did her best to gaze back with less enthusiasm. “You know I can spot a fibber when I see one, correct?”

“Yes, Aunt Hettie.” When her aunt turned her attention back to her plate, a sense of accomplishment settled within Mallory. Not that she enjoyed misleading her aunt, but some things were none of her business, including Mallory’s knowledge that the duke was, at this very moment, in Felicity’s laboratory, and the pair were destined to kiss. Yes, everything had been as it was in her vision: beakers placed and filled with the exact same shade of liquid, Felicity’s dress the same black, and the dark, depressing shroud in the room.

With any luck, Mallory would know firsthand the delights of such an embrace.

Though she must needs first make the acquaintance of the gentleman who would claim her first kiss.

“Dreadfully awful coincidence, arriving yesterday to find that pompous duke in residence,” Aunt Hettie huffed before spearing another egg. “I cannot think his presence is at all good for Miss Felicity.”

Just how horrible it was, her aunt could not know. Even Mallory could not project what was to occur with the duke in residence.

Felicity was up to something—something big if the power of Mallory’s vision was anything to go by—and the Duke of Wycliffe’s unexpected attendance would muddle everything. Her experimentations had increased in urgency…nearly to the point of desperation.

“You had truly never met the duke before yesterday?” Mallory questioned, keeping her expression as placid as possible.

“Nope, never seen the man.”

“Oh, well, Felicity has never spoken kindly of him.”

“I think it best we keep a watch on him,” Hettie proclaimed, thumping her fist on the table. “He can’t be up to anything good. Nothing, I tell you.”

“I will do as you wish.” Mallory made to stand, a footman appearing to pull her chair back. She smoothed her gown. “Besides, it will keep me occupied until we hear from Lord Lichfield.”

Hettie smiled confidently, sensing her nervousness. “The lad will send word as soon as he arrives in Cornwall. The pair of you will meet, you will appear normal, he will be taken in by your classic English beauty, and the union will progress on schedule.” Hettie sighed, pausing for a moment. “At least, if that is still what you desire.”

It was the unending question her aunt had been asking since her father journeyed to Blenheim Park several months before to discuss the offer of marriage. Though the banns had been read and the announcements posted in all the relevant newspapers, Aunt Hettie continued to prod her over the decision; a choice her aunt hadn’t made for herself, and in the end, relegated herself to a life of spinsterhood.

Which was exactly the vision Hettie had for Mallory.

However, Mallory was determined to prove the bloody prophecy wrong.

She had to, there was no other choice except accepting her fate and living a solitary existence alone at Blenheim Park. That was if her elder brother allowed her to stay at their family home after their parents passed away.