Page 80 of Wolf's Bane
“It’s a bit easier when you’re immobile.”
“Alek, I’m serious. I don’t think I can live with him after what he said, what he planned to do.”
Yes. Marrying Solenne off to the highest bidder while keeping Alek chained to her side, unable to leave his anchor.
“Hardwick House is standing,” he said.
“With four walls and a roof?”
“Yes.” Barely.
“I noticed you failed to describe it as habitable.”
“It was empty for a long time, but it is habitable. The groundskeeper kept it repaired. No broken windows and the roof is solid. Mrs. Suchet was the housekeeper when my parents…for my parents. I don’t think she ever left or plans to leave. There are a few tenant farmers, but they’re used to looking after themselves,” Alek said.
The Hardwick’s ancestral home was not as grand as the Marechal’s house, but it produced some income. Since the curse forced him to flee back home to hide, he had not cared enough to make repairs or upgrades to the property. Now he regretted his lack of action.
“It has—had—a library. Nothing as extensive as yours, but the mice have not chewed up every book to pieces.”
“How long would it take to travel there?”
“Three days direct but five by coach.” It was not an easy journey with no direct road, requiring frequent coach changes.
“Oh. I don’t suppose it matters. It’s not like I’ll be a frequent visitor,” Solenne said.
He heard her grief at seeing her brother infrequently, if ever, and that hurt him. “Fallkirk needs a hunter. It is a few hours by coach.”
“But your house—”
“Has done well without its landlord in residence and will continue to do so. The charter was granted to another after my parents’ death.” He imagined Mrs. Suchet would continue on splendidly without him.
Solenne made no reply, staring off into the distance. The sun neared the horizon, giving them perhaps an hour before it grew dark. The days were growing shorter, and the equinox would arrive soon. He wondered what that cycle would be like with his anchor firmly in place. Before, Solenne had been an idea, a hope, that gave him the thinnest possible tether back to his humanity. Maintaining control had always been a struggle. He felt stronger now but also stable, like shifting forms would be a choice, not an inescapable burden.
“I’m sorry my father is so difficult,” she said, breaking the silence. “Call it guilt, depression, or grief, he’s…I’ve been making excuses for his behavior for years and I’m tired of it. When I came back from university, the house and the finances were in chaos. Papa was stinking drunk most of the time. The tenants left, except for the shepherd. Thank heaven, because while the sheep mostly take care of themselves, we do need a shepherd. We’re barely holding onto the charter. Charlotte told me that the village council is considering taking it away.” She gave a weary sigh. “And I can’t get Papa to care. At least he’s not drunk all the time now.”
He understood what she did not say explicitly. She felt obligated to remain to care for her father, Luis, and the household. “Your kind heart is one of the many things I love,” he said, kissing the top of her head.
“But you don’t know why I’m so devoted to Papa,” Solenne replied.
“He’s complicated.”
“That’s a polite way of saying he’s an asshole.”
“He did rescue me after my parents were killed.”
“Because he thought you would be useful, which you are.”
“See? Complicated. No one’s action can be strictly black and white.”
She twisted around to face him. “Please stop making excuses for Papa. I won’t live in a house where you’re merely tolerated. We’ll go to Hardwick House. I want to see it.”
“It’s not much, truly.”
“Your grandfather lived there. Perhaps there’s a secret journal hidden in the floorboards. It could answer some questions.”
Just like in one of her novels.
“I highly doubt it, but yes, after the wedding, we can visit. It won’t be much of a honeymoon,” he said, already mentally preparing the letter to have the house made ready for their arrival. The exterior needed a new coat of whitewash, as did all the interior rooms. Fresh paint would make the rooms seem brighter, but the furniture shabbier. New furniture then, at least for the master bedroom. Perhaps all the work would turn up a secret journal, however improbable.
