by Barb Hendee
But Chloe shrank back. “No, no, no, no, no. I will stay here. I am safe here.”
Had I been in her place, I would have viewed this cottage as a cage, but she viewed it as a wall of safety from the world.
Lord Belledini walked over. “My lady,” he said, more gently, “this place is not fit to inhabit, for you or the child.”
“Don’t make me leave,” she begged. “Please. I must stay here.”
My poor sister. She had suffered and she was so broken.
Lord Belledini frowned and then spoke to me. “If she insists on staying here, I can have supplies brought in tonight. Tomorrow, I can send servants and new furnishings. I will pay any debts and provide for her. I do give you my word. She and the child will be cared for.”
Again, it seemed he spoke from a place of guilt, but he appeared sincere. I wanted Chloe to come home with me, but I also knew what it was to have my wishes ignored, and I laid my hand on her arm. “You won’t come with me? You truly want to stay?”
“Here,” she said. “I want to stay here.”
* * * *
Christophe and I remained with Chloe for several days. Julian was buried in the family crypt and the cottage was stocked with food and furnishings. Lord Belledini sent a cook, a maid, and a gardener.
The day we departed was difficult for me, but Chloe was determined to remain at the cottage. I looked ahead into her future and Gideon’s, seeing years of isolation. But she would not come with me and I could not stay here.
Christophe needed to return home.
I asked him to promise there would be no recriminations against Lieutenant Solange and he agreed. Three days after Julian’s death, Christophe and I rode at the head of our small contingent, traveling home.
* * * *
After the long journey—when at last I walked through the courtyard of Whale’s Keep and the main doors were flung open—Mildreth came running out, straight to me, grasping my hands.
“Oh, Nicole. You are safe.” She touched my stomach. “And the child is safe?”
She was so distraught that I embraced her. “I am well. The child is well. I am so sorry to have worried you.”
It was clear she had worried. She had suffered from worry and to my astonishment, I could see that she cared for me. Somehow, somewhere along the way, she had come to care for me. Perhaps Chloe was no longer my only sister.
“I am home too,” Christophe said, but I could tell he was teasing.
In spite of everything, I smiled.
* * * *
The next day, Christophe did not go back to shore to ride out to a village. He stayed on the island with me and we walked in my meadow to visit the beehives.
“You are glad you married me and came to Whale’s Keep?” he asked.
“Yes.”
I was glad, more than glad. No one had ever looked at me the way he did, with such open admiration and love.
I belonged here.
I belonged with him.
The Choice
Chapter 18
The meadow around me vanished and I found myself inside my bedroom, looking into the three-tiered mirror. The memories of all three experiences I’d just lived existed in my mind at the same time.
Now, there were three reflections of the dark-haired woman as she gazed out at me from all three panels.
“Which path?” the woman asked. “You must choose.”
Images and memories continued turning in my mind.
“Which of the paths will you follow?” she asked. “Telling Erik…or remaining silent…or telling your family?”
Choose? How could I choose?
Faces passed by me one by one.
My thoughts flowed back to the first choice. Erik would kill Julian and stop him from ever threatening or harming Chloe. Gideon would grow up as the heir to Whale’s Keep. Christophe would have a son he loved unconditionally. Chloe would be safe and live in a place of honor as the lady of Whale’s Keep.
No one who I loved suffered in this choice.
But Christophe would never know the truth. Chloe would be safe and honored but unhappy. And I would lose Christophe. He would forever be a beloved brother-in-law.
When I thought on the second choice, my heart ached. Christophe would learn of my betrayal in the worst possible way and I would come to see the depths of his true self, and he would see the depths of mine. The damage we would do to each other was irreparable.
I saw that awful wedding in the hunting hall.
And yet, Chloe would be able to take her rightful place as a daughter of White Deer Lodge. She would find her strength and her power, and Gideon would grow up in a place of honor, a potential heir to the family title and lands, as a son of White Deer Lodge. He would be so loved.
My mind flowed to the third choice, to the perfect life I had shared with Christophe. I saw our beautiful exchange of vows by my family’s dining hearth and the joy that surrounded us. I saw our wedding night. I saw how proud he was to bring me home to the island. I saw myself in his eyes.
More, I thought of Mildreth. Poor, lonely Mildreth. She was not cold or hard as many people thought. It simply took more to reach her and I had reached her. We had formed a family at Whale’s Keep.
But Chloe…I saw the image of her half-starved and beaten and broken. I saw how she had suffered. I saw her hiding out, afraid of the world. What of Gideon? What would become of him? He seemed to have no place in the Belledini family, and how would he fare growing up in isolation with no prospects and no future?
Could I do this to her or to him in order to gain my own happiness?
Was there any way that I could marry Christophe and stop her from marrying Julian?
“Once I choose,” I asked, “will I remember what I’ve seen? Can I alter events via what I’ve seen here?”
“No. These are the possible paths and you have been given the gift to see and to choose. Once you have chosen, all the memories you have seen will be gone.”
I’d remember nothing.
“Choose for yourself,” she said. “This is a gift and there is nothing more I can tell you. Which of the paths will you follow? Telling Erik…or remaining silent…or telling your family?”
How could I choose?
Then I thought on the second choice. By the end of what I was shown, Christophe and I were finding a way to breach the distance between us. We would never have that perfect love. We would hurt each other. We would see each other’s deepest faults.
But we would end up together and we had been creating the start of a life together.
And Chloe and Gideon would both find their true place and neither would suffer.
For a few moments, I couldn’t speak.
“Silence,” I whispered.
The woman hesitated as if she’d not heard me correctly. “Silence?”
“Yes. I choose silence.”
She nodded, standing now only in the center panel. “The second choice.”
The air before me wavered and the mirror vanished
* * * *
I was standing in Chloe’s closet, feeling disoriented. Peeking out a crack between the closet door and the wall, I saw my sister standing in her bedroom with Julian Belledini.
Then I remembered. I’d come in here to find her dress from the banquet, so that it might be laundered, and I’d overheard that she was carrying Julian’s child. Panic rose inside me. I couldn’t betray Christophe and yet I could not betray Chloe either. What should I do?
Why had I heard any of this? I should not have been in this closet. Had Chloe’s gown not been hung back up by one of the housemaids, had Jenny not remembered that it needed to be washed, had I not heard Chloe retching on the night of the banquet and therefore been so determined to come find the gown, I would not have come here.
Had one small event played ou
t differently, I would be ignorant of this awful truth and I would not be faced with the decision of what to do with what I had learned.
And then, I knew the answer. This was not a decision for me to make. Were I not in this closet, I would be as blissfully ignorant as everyone else and fate would take its own course. I could not choose between Chloe and Christophe and therefore, I would not.
I would pretend that I’d never left the laundry room, that I’d heard nothing.
I would keep this secret to myself.
Read on for a preview of Barb Hendee’s
THROUGH A DARK GLASS
Also available from Rebel Base Books
Chapter 1
I was trapped, and I knew it. Worse, it came as a shock on my seventeenth birthday, the same day my elder sister died.
Daughters of the nobility are mere tools for their families, so in truth, what transpired shouldn’t have come as such a surprise, but I’d been trained and honed as a different type of tool than my sister, Helena.
She was beautiful, tall and well figured with ivory skin, green eyes, and a mass of silken red hair. She was quick-witted and skilled in the art of conversation. When she walked into a room, all heads turned. She expected everything in life to come to her just as she wished, and as a result, it usually did. Our father had always intended to profit from her by way of a great marriage to improve our family’s fortune.
In contrast, I was small and slight, with light brown eyes and dark blond hair. Although I was much better read than Helena, my prowess in circles of social conversation normally amounted to nodding and appearing attentive to those more proficient than myself.
Helena was the shining star of our family.
Yet, on my seventeenth birthday, I stood over her bed, wringing my hands as she lay dying. Her once ivory face had gone sickly white, and her green eyes were closed as she struggled to breathe, each attempt resulting in a gasp followed by a rattle.
My mother stood beside me, looking down at the bed, her face unreadable.
“She may yet recover,” I said by way of attempted comfort. “She has always been strong.”
I shouldn’t have bothered.
My mother glanced at me in contempt. Like Helena, she was tall with red hair, and she had no patience for offers of false comfort.
Only three days ago, Helena had complained of feeling warm at our midday meal. Shortly after, she’d been helped to her bed by several of the household servants, and within hours, the fever had taken hold. In a panic, my father had called upon our physician, who had done what he could—which in my opinion hadn’t been much. The illness settled quickly into Helena’s lungs.
Although I had been allowed inside her room, I’d not been allowed to touch her.
As Mother and I stood over her, my sister fought for one last breath. The following rattle was loud, and then all sounds vanished from the room as Helena went still. Looking down, I didn’t know what to feel. We had not been close, but she was still my sister.
As if summoned, my father walked in, dressed in a blue silk tunic and black pants. He was of medium height with broad shoulders and a thick head of light brown hair. He shaved his face twice a day.
“Well?” he asked.
“She’s gone,” my mother answered. “Just now.”
Father frowned, but that was all. His initial panic at the prospect of losing a valuable tool like Helena had passed yesterday—for he was ever a realist.
Walking over to the bed, he didn’t even look at his eldest daughter. Instead, he looked at me, and I couldn’t help noting the disappointment in his eyes. “Megan,” he said. “The Volodanes arrive this afternoon. You’ll have to take Helena’s place.”
I blinked several times, not certain I’d heard him correctly.
“Take her place? What does that . . .?”
“You know what it means,” he said coldly. Then he turned to my mother. “Make sure she’s presentable.”
I took a step backward as the awful truth set in.
The Volodanes were arriving afternoon.
And I was to take Helena’s place.
* * * *
Less than hour later, I found myself seated at the dressing table in my own room, wearing a muslin dress of sunflower yellow—that had been hanging in my closet for over a year—and staring at my own reflection as my maid, Miriam, tried to do something with my hair.
Her mouth was tightly set, and she was not any happier about the situation. Miriam was pretty with dark hair, and only five years older than myself. She’d been hired by my mother when I was fifteen and Mother had deemed it necessary that I should have a “lady’s maid.” I’d resisted at first but not for long. Miriam had soon become devoted to me, and I welcomed her friendship.
The turn of events today had taken her by surprise.
“Your father was very clear,” she said, holding handfuls of thick hair. While the color might not be enticing, at least it was abundant. “I may have to cut a few pieces in the front.”
“Do what you must,” I answered quietly.
Normally, I had Miriam weave my hair into a single thick braid, as no one cared too much about my appearance. All my life, I’d been told that I would never marry, that I’d remain here in my family’s manor serving as a shadow advisor to my father, for I possessed a unique . . . skill that was of use to him.
He was the head of our great family, the house of Chaumont, and he held a seat on the Council of Nobles that met four times a year in the capital city of Partheney.
The power and prestige of our name reached back over eight hundred years, and every family for five hundred leagues envied us our name, our bloodlines, and our political power. Unfortunately, noble bloodlines don’t always correlate into wise financial management, and my grandfather had nearly run our reserves of wealth into the ground. He drank. He gambled. To pay debts, he’d sold off our more lucrative investments such as the family’s silver mines, which decreased our income.
Though my father possessed greater wisdom, upon inheriting the family title, he’d fought to make a good show of things, to try and prove we were not paupers. This had meant quietly borrowing large sums of money, and now several of those debts were being called in.
To his great relief, Helena had proven herself everything he’d hoped for, and in recent months, he’d made an arrangement to solve all his immediate financial woes.
Another family, the Volodanes—of noble birth so low they were scorned by the better families—had made my father an unprecedented offer.
When a young woman married, a part of her worth was determined by the size of her dowry. Lord Jarrod, the head of the house of Volodane, had offered a small fortune in exchange for Helena marrying one of his three sons. For while the Volodanes might suffer snubs for their painfully low birth, in recent years, they’d become one of the wealthiest families in the nation. They had money in silver, in cattle, in wheat, and in wine. They also ruled their own territories in the north without mercy and taxed their peasants nearly dry. Now, they wanted to use this wealth to link their name to the name of a great family.
Jarrod offered to forgo a cash dowry and pay my father a great deal of money for Helena. She in turn would bring certain furnishings from Chaumont Manor to make it appear as a dowry. In this way, the secret could be kept.
My father had jumped at the bargain.
At first, my mother and Helena had not. They’d both been appalled at the thought of regal Helena tied forever to some brute who most likely had no idea how to dine at a proper table. But instead of ordering Helena to obey, our father had cajoled her, and then he’d promised that of the three brothers, she would be allowed to meet them and choose one for herself. Then he’d appealed to her sense of family honor and obligation.
In the end, he got his way . . . and this afternoon, the Volodanes would arrive so that Helena might spend t
ime in conversation with the young men, allowing her to make her choice.
But my sister was dead.
Staring at myself in the small mirror of my dressing table, I wondered what a slap in the eye I was going to be.
Miriam continued twisting my thick hair and piled it on top my head. She left several strands in the front loose, and before I could follow what she was doing, she took up a pair of scissors and snipped those strands at about the length of my jaw. The strands instantly curled up to frame my face. The result was astonishing. I did look a bit more like a lady than I had a few moments before.
She put small silver earrings in my earlobes and then drew something from her pocket. I blanched. It was a diamond pendant.
“That’s Helena’s,” I said.
She glanced away. “You mother wants you to wear it.”
Without another word, I let her fasten it around my neck. This was only the beginning. Miriam wasn’t even dressing me for dinner yet—but rather to help greet the Volodanes when they rode into the courtyard.
I rose from the dressing table.
“You look lovely, miss,” she said. “You should go down.”
I didn’t feel lovely. I felt a knot growing in my stomach, and I wanted to reach out and grip her hand. In the entire manor, Miriam was the only one who cared for me, and she had no power.
So, I left my room and made my way down the stairs, past the great dining hall, and down the passage to the main front doors. The guard there opened the doors for me, and I stepped outside into the open courtyard.
My father, my mother, and six other manor guards stood waiting.
Turning, my father looked me up and down. Instead of looking at me, my mother looked at him. His eyes focused on my sunflower-yellow gown and my hair. Then he nodded once at my mother in approval. She returned to her vigil of waiting for the Volodanes.
I held back, near the doors. We didn’t wait long.
I heard several of our guards down at the front gates calling to each other before I saw anything. Then I heard the grinding of the gates being opened . . . followed by the sounds of hoof beats.
