Page 70 of Wizard of Most Wicked Ways

“I will tell you,” she proclaimed with her nose lifted high, “but read first.”

Owein picked up his book and set it on his lap. “I’m not sure you’ll like this one.”

Mabol frowned. “You never read books I like.”

He scoffed. “Ialwaysread books you like.”

“Not by yourself.” She slumped. “Carry on.” She waved her hand, demanding he proceed.

Owein swallowed a sigh and opened the book to the dog-eared page. “‘Calm is all nature as a resting wheel. The kine are couched upon the dewy grass; the horse alone—’”

Mabol groaned and slid off her boulder. “I’m here to tell you that you have a guess.”

“A guess at what?”

“Aguess,” Mabol insisted.

Owein closed his book. “Aguest? Who?” Had Hiram Sutcliffe returned again? Merritt had said he wanted Owein to meet him. They were, technically, family.

“An old man who talks funny,” she answered, and skipped away.

Frowning, Owein tucked the book under his arm and followed, approaching Whimbrel House at a walk, until Mabol decided they were in a race, and she was determined to win. She ran ahead of him and slapped her small hand against the porch railing before losing interest and joining Hattie and Henri by the chicken coop. Little Ellis was with Hulda, again, stationed in Providence, normal work hours resumed. The clock hands ticked nearly three o’clock, so the pair would be home in about three hours.

Owein stepped into the reception hall, feeling, for a moment, the barrel vault ceiling stretching across his back. He knew which floorboards were looser than others and the length of each. He sensed the thickness of each stair and the age of the door hinges, each fiber of the carpet and paint stroke of the portrait on the wall. At the sound of a low voice, he tilted his head. Had he possessed hanging ears like a dog’s, his left would have lifted. Following the sound, he spied Merritt with another man in the living room. Glimpsed Fallon in the far corner, knees drawn to her chest, eyes downcast. Owein entered, then froze.

He had not seen Dwight Adey since that man had brought Owein and Merritt to England to meet the Leiningens.

Mr. Adey turned in his chair. “Owein! My, you’ve grown.” He stood and looked Owein from head to foot to head before extending a hand. “Quite a lot in four years, hm? Nearly four and a half now.”

Owein dazedly shook Adey’s hand while setting the poetry book on the nearest shelf. “What brings you to the States, Mr. Adey?”

The man chuckled and dropped his hand. “It seems I’m the only fellow in these parts with a calendar. Tomorrow, young man, is Lady Cora’s birthday.”

Owein froze. His limbs, his lungs, even his heart, for a moment.Cora’s birthday.Was tomorrow August 12 already? He’d been so preoccupied ever since Silas ... but ... yes. Cora was roughly eight months younger than Oliver Whittock. Oliver Whittock was eighteen.

The marriage contract went into effect on Cora’s eighteenth birthday.

Mr. Adey blinked. “Have I surprised you?”

“I ...” Owein fumbled with his words. Met Merritt’s concerned gaze and, over his, Fallon’s hard one. He swallowed. “No, you haven’t.” He’d written to Cora to wish her a happy birthday in the past. Not this year. “I just ... with everything that’s happened, I admit I lost track of time.”

“Understandable.” Mr. Adey gestured to an open chair as he took his own, but Owein found himself rooted to the floor. “Mr. Fernsby and I were just talking. I’m happy to bring him as your escort again, though I’m aware there are children at home now. Oh, and this.” He reached into his vest and pulled free a letter marked with Cora’s handwriting. “I promised to deliver it.”

Owein’s heart beat quick and shallow. He only distantly recognized that he took the letter. “Yes, three ... he needs to stay here. I’m ...” He exchanged a glance with Merritt, who masked his expression. “I’m fine on my own.”

“As I knew you would be.” Adey rubbed the pad of his thumb along his chin. “I’ve been in touch with the Leiningens, who are happy to host you, of course. The other details I’m not privy to—not my business, you see.”

Owein nodded. Or, he thought he nodded. He couldn’t really feel his neck.

Footsteps crossed the room. Someone grabbed his arm. It took him a moment to recognize Fallon. “Owein isn’t looking well.” She spoke under the guise of friendliness, but her tone carried an edge. “Let me get him some fresh air. I’m sure you’d like to stay for dinner?”

It wasn’t Fallon’s place to invite him, but no one said otherwise. Owein blinked, and suddenly he was in the reception hall, at the front door. He locked his knees, impeding Fallon from pulling him outside.

She turned to him, empathy dribbling off her like spring rain. “You don’t have to talk to him right now, Owein. You don’t have to play by their rules. Take time to think it through.”

He shook himself, though it lessened the shock of it all by only a fraction. “Yes, that’s true.” He rubbed his eyes. Combed back his hair. “But ...”

Fallon squeezed his hand, the one not holding Cora’s letter.

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