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The tea was warm and comforting as I took another sip. Mariana huffed something about controlling busybodies and took a bite of a delicate cookie, which well, she wasn’t off the mark there. I had never heard of a wedding happening where the bride wasn’t in control of every detail.
Harold Norton’s muttonchops flashed to mind. What had he said again? Arranged marriages were a tradition of Fairy?
Annoyance spurted through me as I remembered the way he said Delilah should step in line.
Maybe it wasn’t so bad that I hadn’t been to Fairy. I wasn’t at all sure I would like it.
Delilah sent her friend a small, reassuring smile before bringing home her argument. “I am not a fool and I realized that if I sought the aid of our family’s counselor, everything Brock and I spoke of would be common knowledge to our parents.”
I lowered my teacup. “Which is why you sent Constable King on a hunt for a new counselor.”
“Precisely. I knew you’d understand.”
I did, in fact, understand, and my resentment for the girl began to dissolve. She did not truly wish marital counseling, but she did need something I could provide: a private moment to speak with her groom. What she needed to tell him that she didn’t want to reach her mother wasn’t my business, as curious as it made me, but I couldn’t imagine living under such scrutiny either.
To have every moment and conversation monitored?
No, I wouldn’t be able to stomach that.
Folding my hands in my lap, I contemplated the full extent of my situation. The moral obligations of acting as a counselor were negated here, as I was not doing any formal work. However, to the rest of society, it would appear that I was under the Leslie’s employment, and professionalism did require something of me.
In for a penny, in for a pound, I thought, and met Ms. Delilah King’s gaze.
“You must understand, Miss Delilah, that if I do this for you, my name will forever be linked to the Leslie clan.”
Delilah reached across her little white table to grasp my hands where they lay folded in my lap. She squeezed, her grip firm enough to be reassuring. “You and yours will have Leslie protection. I will put it in writing, and we will make a pact as is tradition, for all of Fairy to know.”
I tried for a smile, but it didn’t seem to hold. Warnings rang clear in my memory, urging me yet again to run. Nana Bess’s voice pulled through me, telling me to stay away from unfamiliar Bright because nothing with the Bright is ever free. There’s always a hidden cost, it’s the way of Fairy. It’s why we stay Earthside, why we stick to the people we know. But try as I might to think of an alternative, there was nowhere to go, and this was the best offer I could hope for under the circumstances.
With a deep breath, I nodded and accepted Miss Delilah King’s word.
Chapter Eight
Stepping out of Delilah’s breezy, bright room and into the golden glow of hard woods and brass fixtures was startling. For a long minute I stood outside her door and tried blinking my eyes into adjustment. There seemed to be shadows everywhere, dark corners and moody portraits, and I wondered again at how different Delilah was. It was difficult trying to read the woman without my empathy. On the surface she seemed delicate, like a hummingbird in a murder of crows, but there was something else, something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. I didn’t feel entirely safe with her.
But then, she was a werewolf, and if I was honest, I didn’t feel entirely safe anywhere in this manor.
“How was your tea?” Derrick’s voice startled me enough that I jumped. He emerged from the corner to my left, hands lifted in peace. “I’m sorry.”
I scowled at him, choosing to ignore his apology. “It was illuminating. I have half a mind to murder you in your sleep, Constable.”
He smirked, producing one of those cursed dimples again. Casting a glance at Delilah’s door, he shoved his hands in his pockets and sauntered toward me. “Delilah’s not that bad.”
No aviator jacket today, I noticed. Instead, he was in slacks and a simple white buttoned shirt, which fit him too well. He was a marvel of a man, capable of settling into any environment with ease, and I began to suspect why I failed the Constable tests when I was younger. Every Bright aged thirteen and older was encouraged to take the tests and at the time I’d fancied myself the adventurous type.
But I was not nearly as adaptable as Constable King and if the current circumstances were any indicator, I was also not the adventure type.
I lifted my chin. “You understand politics with the Bright as well as I do, Constable. No matter how favorable things look now, this arrangement is bound to bite me later.”
“Pun intended?” Derrick proffered his elbow, ever the gentleman, and gave me a wink.
Glaring at him, I took his elbow and tried not to smile.
“You really ought to try trusting me.”
“Trust is earned, Mr. King.”
He turned us to the horseshoe shaped staircase and clucked his tongue. “Back to Mr. King, I see.”
