Page 81 of Boy of Chaotic Making

“Well, there you go,” he said to Owein. “Back bynoon.”

Owein replied with an airy bark. A span of silence followed.

Standing, Merritt slid the stone into his pocket. “He wants your help writing a letter to Cora.” He took a moment to listen to further instruction. “‘I don’t want to run away from this,’” he added, speaking verbatim again.

A small smile pulled on her lips. “I would be happy to help, Owein. Let’s aim to be precise, for Merritt’s sake.”

As Hulda had the neater handwriting, she penned the letter for Owein, trying to keep it as much in his voice as she could, making suggestions where she found them prudent. It was a single short page, but it would do the job nicely enough.

Lady Cora,

I’m sorry about the trouble this has caused. I hope you’re feeling better after the incident at the carriage house. I want everyone to stay safe, so we’ll proceed with caution. I appreciate your patience, kindness, and friendship. I hope one day I’ll have a voice to express that myself.

Sincerely,

Owein Mansel

Hulda sealed and addressed it. She’d post it on the morrow, if they didn’t head straight back to Cyprus Hall. They could only take the situation one day at a time ... though time was a commodity she was quickly running low on. BIKER could not go on without its director forever.

Owein took to pacing the hall, listening for Sean’s arrival. Merritt sipped water slowly, staring off into space, thinking about, oh, his book or some such. He had a tendency to daydream, but such was the mind of a creative.

“Did we ever decide on flowers?” he asked later, voice returned.

“Hmm?” Hulda glanced up from the receipt book she’d opened only a minute before. “For the wedding?”

He nodded.

“I believe lilies are in season. I’ll have to check with Miss Taylor.” Beth had been helping with the arrangements while Hulda was busy stitching BIKER back together. The thought made her oddly melancholy. “I wish I hadn’t postponed everything.”

Merritt lifted his head. “What do you mean?”

“The wedding. We could have been married before Christmas.” She smoothed a wrinkle in her skirt.

“Hard to find seasonal flowers at Christmas.”

She rolled her eyes. “Flowers hardly matter, in the end. Flowers, the dress, the venue ... it’s all furbelow, in the end.”

Merritt smiled. “Pardon?”

She rechecked her words. “Embellishment. Superfluity. Hardly matters.” She tossed the receipt book onto a nearby empty shelf. “We’d already be married if I wasn’t so deep in work.”

“Your work is your life,” Merritt objected.

“My work ispartof my life, and my life is in dire need of balance.” She adjusted her glasses. “You are a very critical component, as are Owein and Whimbrel House and the lot of it.”

“Careful, Miss Larkin.” He grinned. “I might think you like me.” He sat up straighter. “December was a hard month.”

“It was,” she conceded. “But still.”

Merritt shrugged. “We could just get married.”

She eyed him. “We are getting married.”

“I mean now.”

She waited for the conclusion of the joke, a witticism of some sort, but when none came, eager nerves began popping in her chest. “Now?”

He smirked.

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