Page 28 of Legacy of Roses

But where was his grandfather now? Two decades had passed, so Dimitri had to accept the possibility he was dead.

He read the letter again more slowly, and it hurt just as much the second time. At least he now knew why his mother had not only left Glandore but had hidden any knowledge of its Legacy from him. However misguided she had been, she had thought she was protecting her son from a malevolent and all-powerful force.

She had ultimately failed, however. While the Legacy wasn’t what she had painted it as, it still had the power to cause harm, and he was more enmeshed in it now than he had ever been as a baby. His mother hadn’t fit the criteria necessary to attract any serious amount of its power—she had already been married before she lost her fortune, making her belief in the Legacy’s involvement even more nonsensical. But ever since Dimitri’s return, he fit the Legacy’s requirements far too closely.

He didn’t regret returning—he couldn’t regret it now that he’d found the letter. He had suspected the manor of holding answers, and he had been right. But he wasn’t the only one caught up in his current situation, and he couldn’t allow his choice to turn someone else into a victim. He needed to find out what was fueling Rosalie’s excessive fear so he could work out how to shield her.

He leaped to his feet, ready to rush back into town. But darkness had almost fallen, and armed criminals lurked near the road. He would have to wait for the next day, however little he felt like patience.

As he prepared to sleep on the sofa in the sitting room, as he had on the previous nights, he decided it was time to choose a proper bed. There was no point heading into Thebarton too early, so he would spend the morning establishing himself in the home he had inherited. For a start, he would choose the most convenient of the bedchambers and make it his own.

By the time he walked into Thebarton the next day, he had spent enough hours working to have earned a meal at the Mortar and Pestle. The Legacy’s enchantment had allowed him to avoid scrubbing, but there had still been furniture to shift as well as countless trips up and down the stairs. In the end, he had readied not only a bedchamber for himself, but a small dining room and a smaller sitting room as well.

The Mortar and Pestle was positioned on the main road into town, but closer to the town’s edge than to the central square. Since it was well-positioned for passing travelers, it had a large, enclosed yard and substantial stables. A carriage had arrived just before Dimitri, the driver calling for a change of horses to be brought along with some refreshments. Its arrival set off a flurry of activity, and Dimitri had to skirt the chaos in the center of the yard as he approached one of the inn’s doors.

Stepping through, he entered a calmer atmosphere. But when he followed the hallway into a large, open dining room, the noise levels picked back up. Apparently, plenty of the locals had come to enjoy the fare produced by the inn’s cook. Dimitri had clearly been directed well by the Fosters. Not only was the dining room popular, but the number of families present indicated it was a respectable establishment.

He had intended to come early but had ended up becoming absorbed in his morning’s task and was later than he had planned. Most of the inn’s patrons had nearly finished their meals. Even so, he was only standing inside the room a matter of seconds before a middle-aged man bustled toward him.From his clothing and bearing, Dimitri guessed him to be the innkeeper.

The man bowed quickly, bouncing back up with a beaming smile. “You honor us with your presence, sir!” he said with enthusiasm.

Dimitri blinked in silence, taken aback.

“You’ll be wanting a meal, of course!” the man continued, undaunted. “I’m sure you’ve heard of the excellence of our kitchen!”

“Y—yes, I have,” Dimitri said.

“Of course, of course.” The man finally seemed to notice Dimitri’s confusion. “I forgot to introduce myself!” he cried. “I’m Otis, innkeeper here, as my father was before me and his father before him. Thebarton runs in my veins, you know. It’s a prosperous town and large in size, but I still pride myself on knowing every face within it.” His chest puffed out. “You mustn’t be surprised at me recognizing you, Your Lordship.”

“Just Dimitri,” Dimitri said quickly. “Please.”

His response seemed to please Otis, who attempted to lead him to an attractive table near a large window. Dimitri hung back.

“Actually,” he said, “since I’m here alone, I was hoping to eat at the bar.” He would learn nothing sitting in state by himself. It was the old-timers at the bar who had drawn him to the inn in the first place.

Otis’s eyebrows shot up, but he recovered a moment later, his beaming smile returning. “Of course, of course! I’ve heard you’re a modest young man, as every young man should be. This way! This way!”

He ushered Dimitri toward the empty end of the bar, but Dimitri pretended not to notice, taking an empty seat beside an older man who was nursing a tankard with one hand and making short work of a large plate with the other.

Otis made no protest at Dimitri’s choice of seat and had soon taken his order and disappeared into the depths of the inn. Dimitri remained silent, however, not trying to engage his neighbor in conversation. He had learned from the older men of the mountains that he would learn more by keeping quiet than by rushing in with questions.

Sure enough, when a few minutes of silence had passed, the man beside him spoke.

“Ye can’t go wrong with a meal at the Mortar and Pestle,” he said.

Dimitri murmured agreement before returning his eyes to the bar in front of him and nearly jolting off his seat. When had his plate of food appeared? He must have been more distracted than he’d realized not to notice Otis’s return.

The enticing aroma of the food wafted up to his nose, and his stomach rumbled in response. The man chuckled, and Dimitri smiled.

“I’m very much looking forward to trying the food,” he said. “I’m a newcomer to Thebarton, so it’s my first time here.”

The older man barked out a laugh. “Aye, aye. We all know who you are, princeling.”

Dimitri winced. “I’m really not a prince.”

“Oh, aye, aye.” The man chuckled, apparently finding Dimitri’s protests amusing. “I heard you were a good sort.” He took several more bites before adding, “I’m Wyatt.”

“Is there anyone in Thebarton who hasn’t heard of me already?” Dimitri asked ruefully.

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