By the end of the week, Foxglove has brought all necessary furnishings and the old items have been stored in vacant rooms. Most of the work that remains are finishing touches, which results in several talks with Foxglove about the number of doilies each room should have.
“Are you sure you like the fae style of this room?” Foxglove asks as he takes me on a tour of the newly finished parlor. “We could try the human style instead, if you like. I have several hat stands and grandfather clocks that were rejected from the Verity Hotel’s design proposal.”
I take in the freshly cleaned walls, the gleaming floors covered in plush, elegant rugs, the fashionable furniture. “No, Foxglove. This is perfect as it is.”
“I’m so glad you like it.” He grins, but it soon turns into a grimace. “Hopefully the bristly Mr. Rochester won’t have too many complaints.”
“I’m sure he’ll find it lovely,” I say, although I can’t be certain what he’ll think of it.
I’ve hardly seen him since his confrontation with my father. Once work began on the parlor, he made himself scarce. I imagine he’s been holed up somewhere by the fire in a quiet wing of the manor, far from the noise. I can’t say I blame him. It’s been chaos around here, with hardly a place to sit and ruminate like he’s so fond of doing.
Foxglove extends his hand toward the wall of windows at the other side of the room. “Come see the work in the garden.”
I follow him to the windows, the afternoon sun streaming in from outside. Today, the sky is bright and clear instead of cloudy, a light dusting of snow coating the leaves of plants and shrubs like powdered sugar. It’s been interesting to watch the weather patterns from the manor. There’s always snow on the mountains, but just like in town, never a massive accumulation of it on the property. And unlike Vernon where foot traffic makes the snow slushy and brown by the end of each day, it’s always pristine here.
I study the swarm of activity in the gardens as the landscapers Foxglove helped me hire set about their tasks. Hedges are trimmed, shrubs are shaped, and debris is hauled away in wheelbarrows. “It’s turning into an elegant garden indeed,” I say.
“They’re working on the front too. Although,” Foxglove points out one of the windows, squinting, “any idea why your employer refuses to let us enter that courtyard? It’s a mess. Brambles and thorns everywhere. And one single rose, nearly smothered by thorns.”
My heart leaps into my throat, knowing exactly what part of the garden he’s referring to. That’s where I’ve caught Elliot sitting, watching that very rose. The one that counts down to the day the curse will claim his life. I shudder at what could happen if anyone were to accidentally brush up against it, dislodge its petals. “It’s a sacred place, Foxglove. Do not let anyone set foot in it.”
He frowns, releasing an irritated sigh. “Fine, fine. Mr. Rochester said as much.”
“Thank you,” I say. “It’s very important.”
“Very well.” He turns to face me and reaches inside his jacket to retrieve an envelope. “Here’s my bill for this week. There won’t be much more to do next week, so whatever grand event you’re preparing for can probably commence.”
I take the bill from him, my pulse quickening at the mention of the grand event. In other words, phase two. Everything has happened so fast, I’ve hardly had time to plan Elliot’s first meeting with Imogen. “Wonderful,” I say. “I’ll see that you are paid as soon as possible.”
He nods with a warm smile, then takes his leave. As soon as he’s gone, I rush to the new bureau—one of rich mahogany—and take out a new piece of paper. There I start my list of ideas and tally everything I’ll need to execute my phase two plan. I’m so engrossed in my work, I don’t even notice the figure that stalks into the room.
“Where is my chair?” asks a gruff voice.
I whirl to find Elliot standing before the fire, glaring at the elegant furnishings that have been placed around the hearth.
It takes me a few moments to compose myself, blinking away the numbers and calculations that dance over my eyes and turn my attention to the king. He’s back to walking with his staff instead of his prosthetic, but his clothing is new. Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t wear a full suit, but at least he’s chosen a nice pair of trousers, the leg neatly folded and pinned on his amputated side, as well as a crisp white shirt and open waistcoat. “Take your pick,” I say, recalling his question.
He frowns at the two new chairs, then his gaze flicks to mine. I’m surprised how much more prominent his eyes are now that his hair has been trimmed. Luckily, Foxglove was able to salvage far more hair than I expected, with the back falling to the nape of his neck and the top a little shorter, parted to the side where it sweeps away from his face in a light wave. Most of his hair is dark now with just a hint of gold at the ends. The close trim of his beard reveals all the angles of his striking jaw and cheekbones. “Where’s my old chair?”
I grit my teeth. He may look something like a gentleman, but he’s the same old wolf on the inside. I rise from the bureau and approach the sitting area, quirking a brow. “Have you even bothered to try any of these chairs? I asked Foxglove to keep your comfort in mind when selecting these furnishings.”
“What was so wrong with my chair that it needed replacing?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps it was the fading, the stains, the tears, and—oh, yes—the white fur coating the seat.”
“I liked sitting on it as a wolf!”
“And you’ll like this one too,” I say, extending my hand toward one of the chairs. “Although, next time you’re a wolf, we must have the seat brushed of fur afterward.”
He furrows his brow, a hint of worry creeping into his tone. “Do you think your scheme to break my curse will take longer than the next full moon?”
“It’s hard to say. I doubt it will take much to get Imogen to fall in love with you, or at least be desperate enough for your hand that she thinks she does. But these things can still take time. Plus, there’s the matter of getting her to actually make the sacrifice that will break your curse. We can’t broach the subject until we’re certain she has her whole heart set on you.”
His jaw shifts back and forth, shoulders tense. “What if it takes too long?”
I skirt between the couch and table to bring myself closer to the king. Infusing my voice with as much calm as I can, I say, “It won’t. We have almost three months. This will work.”
“What if it doesn’t?”
“It will.” My words come out firm, hiding the flicker of doubt that’s never far beneath the surface whenever I consider this plan. As much as I want my scheme to come to fruition, there’s a chance it will fail. If life has taught me anything, it’s that even the best, most certain things can go horribly wrong. Painfully wrong. Life has a way of pulling the rug from under my feet just when things seem perfect. It happened with Mother. Then again with the viscount—no. I will not think of him. What matters is that any good accountant must know how to prepare for losses. How to counteract them and not be blindsided by them. Thankfully, I know how to protect myself in this situation. As for Elliot…
I shake the thought from my mind and pull my lips into a warm grin. “Try one of the chairs, Mr. Rochester. Please.”
He grumbles but finally relents, choosing the seat closest to the fire. It takes him a few moments to settle in and find that slouch of his. Once he does, there’s no denying the truth; it’s written all over his face. “Fine,” he says. “This chair is adequate.”
I clap my hands together in triumph and take the seat opposite him. His gaze turns to the flames and I suddenly can’t recall what reason I’d had for sitting down in the first place. Surely, I should leave him to enjoy the first peaceful moment he’s had in the parlor all week.
I’m about to rise when his eyes flash to me. “Stay,” he says.
I settle back in, expecting conversation, but his gaze returns to the hearth, and we fall into silence. I’ve never been too comfortable with being still, not
without a book at the very least. It doesn’t take long before words reach my lips, begging to be free.
“I never thanked you,” I say.
“For what?” he says, not looking at me.
“For standing up to my father. I appreciate what you did—confessing who you are, despite your desire to remain anonymous.”
“He was stinking up my property,” he says flatly, but there’s a gentleness in his tone that betrays his act of disinterest.
I study him for a few moments, replaying the event in my mind. There’s one thing I haven’t quite figured out. “How did you know to tell him you pay his salary? Surely, the king isn’t personally responsible for paying every citizen. But when you said that about my father, it was true.”
“I know who he is,” Elliot says. “He’s the owner of the quartz mine my court recently acquired rights to. The quartz from that mine has filled my own vault. In turn, his contract with the Winter Court has made him a wealthy man.”
I furrow my brow. “Did you know all along? When you captured me? When you planned on holding me for ransom?”
He shakes his head. “Bertha told me the day after I brought you here. Before that, I only knew what I’d read in the documents I’d been delivered to sign, that my court had acquired new quartz and that the seelie king and I would be paying the salary of a man who had brought it.”
“Wait, how did Bertha know who my father is?”
He barks a laugh and meets my eyes. “Apparently, your father is a popular specimen amongst the people of Vernon. She’d already heard your family name weeks before she met you.”
“How? She’s…fae. Doesn’t she live in some cabin out here in the woods?”
“She may be fae, but she loves gossip nearly as much as those wretched humans do. When she goes to town, she hides her ears, and the townspeople share all the latest news. Luckily, I trust her not to ever mention me.”
I can imagine the easy-mannered Bertha charming gossip from the people of Vernon, leaving them no clue that she’s actually a fae bear shopping for dinner supplies to feed a pack of cursed wolves. Which reminds me…
I sit up straighter in my chair, my stomach buzzing with excitement. Or is it trepidation? “Mr. Rochester, I think it’s time.”
“For what?”
“To invite Imogen Coleman to meet you.”
He blinks a few times, then frowns at the fire. “All right. That’s your phase two, isn’t it?”
“Yes. I was just planning it out when you came in. I think we should host a casual dinner party.”
His head swivels back to me, eyes wide. “A dinner party? Does that mean…more than just the human girl?”
“Trust me, I’m not any more pleased about that than you are, but yes. I think, to impress her, we should host a dinner with a small selection of important families. I’ll ask Imogen to decide who to invite, so that she feels like she’s been given a distinguished task. What it will really do is make her recognize her own desire and possessiveness when she finds herself excluding any eligible young women to compete with.”
He groans. “How many guests are you subjecting me to?”
I lean forward, my tone placating. “I’ll tell her no more than three families. She’ll bring the most tiresome and uninteresting people in town, only to make her own family look better. It will be the most boring dinner imaginable.”
“Boring. Well, that’s selling it.”
“Boring is good. It will allow you to dazzle Imogen with very little effort.”
He releases a sigh. “Fine. I take it you’ve already considered cost—”
“Don’t worry. I won’t go overboard with the budget. Like I already told you. I know how to handle these things. We’ll utilize minimal staff, have Bertha cook, and none will be the wiser. Oh, and speaking of budgets.” I rise from my seat and fetch Foxglove’s bill from the bureau. When I return to the sitting area, I stand before him and hand over the envelope.
“What is this?” he asks, tearing open the seal.
“That’s this week’s bill for the renovations and decor. Do not be alarmed. This will be the highest bill of all. After this, very little expenses will be required to maintain the manor.”
“Freezing hell,” he says, tipping his head back. “How many rooms did you have him redecorate?”
“Not many,” I say with a grimace. “I’ll show you everything. You’ll appreciate it once you see it.”
He rises, securing his staff beneath his arm, and heads for the door. “I doubt that.”
“Where are you going?”
“Where do you think? If I’m supposed to pay this ridiculous sum, I’ll need to fetch it from the vault.”
I follow after him. “I’ll come with you.”
He stops and whirls to face me. “No.”
I’m surprised by his reaction. “Mr. Rochester, it makes sense for me to know where your vault is. Since I’m in charge of your ledgers, I should also be in charge of auditing the vault and paying the staff.”
“I can handle that just fine.”
“But you don’t have to. That’s what I’m here for.”
“Oh, is it?” He laughs, but there’s no amusement in his eyes, only scorn.
“Yes,” I say. “I bargained to be your house steward because it’s a job I’m good at. I’m—”
“Don’t think I haven’t figured it out,” he says, voice firm, cold. “Don’t think Gray hasn’t told me how many times you’ve asked where my vault is. I’m sure you’ve noticed by now that neither she nor anyone else in the manor will tell you.”
My pulse begins to race as a creeping dread churns in my stomach. “I don’t understand.”
“I think you do, Miss Bellefleur. I know you seek to assure your success, but you should also know that I will do the same.”
“Speak clearly, Your Majesty,” I say through my teeth. “What exactly are you accusing me of?”
He takes a step closer, one that makes me shrink back. “Let me ask you this. If you learn where to find my fortune, what’s to stop you from taking it even if the curse isn’t broken?”
I swallow hard as a bead of sweat trickles behind my neck. He knows. He knows about my backup plan. Have I been that obvious?
“I’ll tell you what will stop you. Me. I will put every preventative measure in place to ensure you don’t get a single quartz chip if you fail your side of the bargain and let the curse claim my life.”
“Is that a threat?” I try for fierce, but my voice comes out with a tremor.
His, however, is calm, confident. “Yes, Miss Bellefleur, that’s a threat. I know better than to put my full trust in a human.”
Guilt sends my knees quaking. I hate that he’s right about my intentions. But he doesn’t have the whole story! He doesn’t know me or the pressures I face. He doesn’t understand that I don’t seek a backup plan because I want him to die. I seek it because…because I’ll have nowhere to go if this fails.
I push my guilt away, burying it beneath mounds of indignation. Folding my arms over my chest, I burn him with a glare. “How dare you threaten me? How dare you act like you know my mind? You know nothing.”
“I know what humans are like. I’ve been living amongst them far longer than you’ve been alive. I’ve seen their follies, and trust me, your kind have no redeeming qualities. Each human I’ve met has been a thief, a liar, or a murderer to some degree.”
“You’re wrong. Not all humans are like that.”
“No? Can you honestly say you’ve never lied? Not once?”
Heat rises to my cheeks. “Of course I’ve lied before.”
“Well, I haven’t. I’m incapable of it.”
“And yet you were perfectly willing to deceive me. You tried to trick me into sacrificing my greatest treasure to free you from a curse you brought upon yourself. Don’t try to act like you’re so high and mighty. If you were able to lie, you’d do it all the time.”
His expression darkens, eyes flashing with rage. “I haven�
�t tried to deceive you once since we made our bargain. I’ve respected our arrangement. But have you done the same for me?”
My chest heaves, and I curl my fingers into fists. “What do you think I’ve been doing all week, if not respecting our bargain? Do you think I went through the tedious process of redecorating your manor because it’s fun? Do you think I relish the thought of having to interact with Imogen Coleman at a saintsforsaken dinner party? No! I do it because it’s necessary for our plan to work. I could very easily put far less effort into our arrangement and still fulfill my end of our bargain. But, no, I created a solid plan because I want this to work.”
He shakes his head, a snarl curling his lips. “That’s so human of you to evade my question and make yourself seem honorable instead.”
“I’m telling the truth. I don’t want you to die.”
He goes still, silent, gaze boring into me for several tense moments. Then, finally, his voice comes out cold and quiet. “Look me in the eye and tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you wouldn’t take my money if I died.”
I hold his gaze but can’t find my voice.
“You can’t say a thing because you know I’m right.”
Yes, he’s right. He’s so right that I hate myself for it and hate him even more for confronting me about it. He has no right to make me feel this way! I’m certain that if our roles were reversed, he’d do the same thing. Worse, even. There’s no doubt in my mind that he would betray me simply for the sake of his vindictive pleasure alone. All because I’m human. A disgusting creature in his eyes.
I take a step closer, rage dripping from my tongue. “You know what? You and Imogen deserve each other.” Then, turning on my heel I storm from the room, blinking away angry tears with every step.
22
I spend much of my time the following week alone in my room. With the majority of the remaining work on the manor well under Foxglove’s control, my presence is not as vital to operations as it was before. More than that, I’m avoiding Elliot. I still can’t shake our conversation, with equal parts rage and guilt taking up residence in my heart. Just when I started to think the wolf king was a decent creature, he ruined everything.
Curse of the Wolf King: A Beauty and the Beast Retelling (Entangled with Fae) Page 15
