Page 12 of Wolf's Bane
He gave an elegant bow and left.
She breathed a sigh of relief. She knew that people called her a spinster behind her back. Twenty-six was not so very old, but the expectation was to marry young. Her mother had been twenty when she married Godwin, who had been thirty. The double standard of men notspoilingwith age rankled her.
If she were to believe the gossip, she needed to pick someone, anyone, while she still had options. Colonel Chambers might not inspire warm feelings in her, but he wasn’t a bad choice.
Just a bit dull. And tedious. And the last person she’d ever want to marry.
“It seems the long winter has not determined Colonel Chambers’ regard for you,” Charlotte said, returning to the veranda. She had a small platter of fresh cookies, steam still rising.
“Lemon cookies?”
“Cook made your favorite. Too bad our guests left so soon.” Charlotte set two down on the plate next to her teacup, then grabbed one for herself directly from the platter.
“I see. Two for Solenne, and the rest for Charlotte,” Solenne joked.
Charlotte ignored her attempt to lighten the mood. “He’d be a fine match. Retired but not too old, settled but lively, and wealthy enough for a wife and family.”
“The gentleman farmer.” Solenne grimaced, nibbling on her cookie.
She refused to be pressured. Any match she made would be purely practical and loveless. Her troublesome heart had belonged to the same man since she could remember: Aleksandar. Two years older than her, he seemed so mature and handsome and clever and a dozen other favorable attributes. But more than that, Aleksandar had been her friend. They trained side by side. He listened to her. He never pressured her into going against her nature. Instead, he made the worst ideas seem like the best. He led, and she very much wanted to jump in after him.
At some point, her willingness to take foolhardy risks to make him laugh turned into a desire to have his approval. She wanted his attention, and she wanted his kisses.
Not that much ever came of it.
Was a secret engagement still valid if your fiancé vanished for ten years?
Solenne gave up hope of Alek returning after her first year at university. He knew her plans. He knew where to find her. He just…didn’t.
Yes, she knew it was pitiable to carry a flame for a man she hadn’t seen in ten years, but her feelings remained. Her regard for Aleksandar, or her memory of him, prevented her from forming a strong attachment to another. She had simply never met another man she admired half as much.
And he still hasn’t replied to my letter.
She was not worried. He would answer the call for help. Aleksandar was a good man. Godwin, unjustly, made him leave, but he would return. She knew it, felt it in her bones the same way she felt the nexus surge with the seasons.
A wind stirred, carrying the bright floral scents of the garden.
She hated this; longing for a man who walked away. She had tried and tried to harden her heart to him, to move on, but it stubbornly refused. She was no longer that sixteen-year-old girl infatuated with her friend, but it seemed her heart very much was.
Ridiculous things, hearts.
She didn’t have the time or the luxury for sentimentality. Marechal House desperately needed money for repairs, and Colonel Chambers had money. A husband who could aid Luis would be ideal, but money bought new equipment. Wouldn’t it be lovely to have Luis in new armor and not fret about it failing when he needed it most?
Love and adoration would be nice, but those were luxuries for an aging woman in her position.
Colonel Chambers was a good match. The girl she had once been no longer held dominion over her heart. She had to make adult choices now. She had to think of the future.
Chapter 4
Aleksandar
Fallkirk
A desolate road
The horses gave a startled cry,and the carriage lurched precariously to one side. Wood groaned, and Alek shifted to the far side to act as a counterweight, as if that would help. The horses reared back, hooves thrashing as the driver snapped his whip. The wheels on one side left the earth and crashed back down. Alek tumbled against the carriage door. Glass shattered.
Dazed, he pulled himself upright. Broken glass dug into the calfskin leather of his gloves but did not pierce. Wetness trickled down the side of his head. Using a handkerchief that had once been grand but now was in tatters, he pressed the cloth to the head wound. Feeling the chill of the cold spring air, he pushed open the door and stumbled out of the carriage.
