Page 73 of Wizard of Most Wicked Ways

Sometime later, Merritt came out and sat beside him, a warm hand on his back, weathering the sorrow at his side. With his help, Owein made his way back to the house, a house that was once all of him and would shortly be his no longer.

When he fell asleep, he did so with a tearstained letter in his hand.

Dear Owein,

I am trying very hard to be honest with you in all things, so I will confess this is my seventh draft of this letter.

I’m eighteen now. Or I will be by the time Mr. Adey delivers this to you. I’m so very excited to see you, Owein. Meet you. I know we’ve met before, but this feels like a first time, doesn’t it? It’s so different, speaking to a person face-to-face as opposed to writing. I am afraid I will not be as eloquent in person. Afraid I will wear politeness as a mask as everyone else does, without an envelope to hide behind.

I hope you do not resent me, Owein. Me, or our impending marriage. You have been nothing but perfect in your letters to me, but my greatest fear is that this is not what you want and that I will be a burden to you. I promise I will not be. I will do everything in my power to be a good wife. But I am nervous. Excited—so excited—but nervous.

I have so much to show you. You shall finally see the library! I have requested a few additions to it that I think you might like.

Please understand that you can take your time. This is a big change from the life you describe so wonderfully in your letters. I will help you in any way I can. We will do this together. Please have faith in me.

And since I have a little room left on this page, I will tell you the silliest thing that’s been on my mind lately. Last we spoke, you had the most peculiar lilt to your voice. A little Welsh, I think, and a little American. Do you still speak that way? But I suppose I will discover it for myself soon enough.

With my utmost love,

See you soon,

Cora

Chapter 27

August 13, 1851, Blaugdone Island, Rhode Island

Baptiste tied careful knots around stems of rosemary at his kitchen table, his chair askew so he could stretch out his long legs. Henri sat on the floor near his feet, slapping down block towers faster than Owein could build them up. His laugh cracked through the room, making the farewell sit a little lighter.

“La femme est belle.” Baptiste set the bundle of herbs aside and started the next. “Do you know the meaning?”

Owein stacked blocks with both hands to keep up with the toddler’s destruction. “The woman is beautiful?”

“Oui.You will do well. But. By the time you are back, this one will speak more French than you.” He paused in his work to grin at the boy. “C’est un garçon très intelligent.”

Owein smiled but didn’t hold it. He didn’t know when he’d be back. He had no idea what his schedule or finances would look like after marrying Cora. He knew he’d be titled—Hulda had ensured that was in the contract—but he didn’t knowwhichtitle, or what roles would come with it. He still couldn’t keep the peerage straight, despite all her lessons.

Owein sighed. He wanted to stay longer, but his time was running low. Adey had given him two days to collect his things. Two days to pack up 227 years of living on this island. To inform the millwrightthat no, he would not be taking that apprenticeship. To say goodbye to his family.

Yesterday, he’d tended the Mansel graves, cutting back the grass and laying fresh flowers by the headstones. Today, he gave his farewells to the living.

Standing, Owein stretched his back. Baptiste finished his knot and stood as well, clapping large hands on either of Owein’s shoulders. His dark eyes peered right into Owein’s. “You will do well. You willprospérer.”

Owein nodded. “I will try.”

“Try. Ha!” Baptiste released him and scooped Henri off the floor, earning a shriek of delight from the child. He set the toddler on his shoulder. “Owein, you are good at everything you do. I am not worried.” He shrugged. “But she will.”

“I’m going to see her next.”

“Good. She is at the other house.” Baptiste grinned up at his son, then sobered, gaze shifting once more to Owein. “You will do well,” he said again.

“Thank you,” Owein replied. “And goodbye, Baptiste. Henri.”

He found Beth in the sunroom, watering the plants. The muggy space was alive with green crawlers and vibrant flowers. It smelled like hardwood and summer.

Owein wondered how summer passed in England.

“Oh!” Beth exclaimed when she saw him, immediately setting down the watering can and wiping her hands on her apron. She ran over to him and threw her arms around him, squeezing him tight. “Oh, Owein, I haven’t been able to think of anything else all day.”

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