Chapter Fourteen
Brenna awoke from the deepest slumber she could ever remember. Izzy wasn’t at her side. A strange feeling of rightness pervaded her sleep and her dreams till morning light streamed through the window and she remembered her woeful thoughts just before she went to bed.
She pushed herself out of bed, having slept in her chemise. A fire crackled and warmed the room already. She glanced around for the muslin robe she’d left out after her bath. She’d undressed and laid her frock out on the wingback chair near her vanity. Neither were there. Something else in their place.
“Bloody hell!”
There, spread on the back of the chair was a lovely sapphire-blue silk dress. She padded closer on her bare feet, finding a new silk chemise, stockings, and corset folded neatly beside them on the vanity stool. A note on white parchment set atop the chemise. She picked it up and read the bold, slanting scrawl.
Good morning, beautiful.
Yes, I’ve burned that hideous gray frock. All of them, actually. Here’s one of many new gowns for you. Something more deserving to be flush against your perfect, alabaster skin. I’m envious of this blue silk garment, truth be told.
Till it’s me flush against your bare skin,
Friedrich
A heated blush crawled from the roots of her hair down to the tips of her toes. The man said the most inappropriate things. Inappropriate? That was putting it mildly.
“Bad man,” she murmured with a smile and lifted the lovely silken chemise. It was far more delicate and transparent than the one she usually wore. “Very bad man.”
She’d be having a conversation with him about him taking over her wardrobe without her permission, making decisions for her he had no right to. He wasn’t her husband. Stars above, he wasn’t even her lover. Not yet. But for now, she needed clothes to wear. Shimmying on the chemise and corset, she realized she couldn’t tighten the stays alone when in walked Sylvia with a breakfast tray.
“Well, well, well,” said Sylvia with an accusing grin. “Look who finally decided to wake.”
“Is it late?”
Sylvia laughed and set down the tray. “Yes. Near ten o’clock. Here, let me help you.” She walked to her and started tightening the laces.
“How could I sleep so late?” Even though she’d sent word to the town magistrate that there would be no school today because her house had burned down, she hadn’t wanted to sleep the day away.
“I expect because you’ve had a heap of worry and trouble. You needed it.” She cinched the last lace. “There now. Let’s get you in this new dress.”
While Sylvia unclasped the row of pearlescent buttons lining the back of the gown, Brenna slipped on the new stockings and clasped the top lace to the garter of the corset.
“I hope it fits,” said Brenna, stepping into it. “Thank you, Sylvia. I can button it up.” She didn’t like the idea of Sylvia waiting on her as if she were mistress of the house.
Realizing it fit absolutely perfectly, Brenna shook her head. “How did he know my size?”
“I’m not surprised. The duke knows everything.”
Brenna pinched a face. “Of course.” She turned and opened her arms for inspection. “Well?”
Sylvia’s eyes glazed. “I must say. The man knows what looks good on you. You look like a right princess, if I can say so.”
“You may not. This is too much for a village schoolteacher. What could he be thinking?”
Sylvia smirked, but made no reply.
Brenna sat at the vanity, grabbed a brush and untangled her hair, then began plaiting, while her mind set to thinking too much per usual. She wondered what last night meant, whether they should let their passion take them where they wanted to be, tangled in his bed. What would the children think if they suspected? She didn’t want to confuse them with any ideas of this being a permanent home. She must speak to him about how they would go on while they remained at Winter Hill.
“So the duke knows about your involvement with the Black Lily, does he?” asked Sylvia, tossing another log on the fire.
“Yes.” She used her hairpins she’d put in the vanity drawer to coil the braid in a crown atop her head.
“And he’s not tossing you to the crown, obviously.”
“Not at the moment.” Brenna grew silent. She didn’t like deceiving Sylvia, who was her only true friend, but she wasn’t sure if Friedrich would be happy with her for spilling his secret that he was in fact one of the Black Lily’s greatest allies. Even more so than she was. Brenna wanted a thorough discussion with him about the subject as soon as she tracked him down.
“There now.” She popped off the vanity and glanced in a long mirror on the wardrobe. The sweep of blue silk with delicate lace trimming the tight-fitted bodice was a far cry from her gray frock. She hardly recognized herself. She’d always dressed for expediency. No, that wasn’t true, either. She dressed to hide herself. After Elliott, she didn’t want to attract unwanted attention. It was better to keep her head down in her work and in caring for her children. And it had worked…until Friedrich took notice.
“I’d better get moving and check on the children.”
“Not before you eat something.” Sylvia nodded to the tray. “And I’d best get to my work,” she said, bustling out.
Brenna made quick work of a slice of buttered bread, a poached egg, sliced cheese, ham, and a few wedges of orange. She washed it down with a glass of warm honeyed tea then stood and took a breath with a hand on her abdomen, her corset restricting from inhaling too deeply. Her normal breakfast fare was toast and tea.
A maid servant dipped a curtsy as she passed her in the hall.
“Oh, good morning,” said Brenna with surprise, nodding to her. She was being treated like a lady, which put her on edge.
This notion that she was elevated somehow simply because the duke doted on her and had bought her a lady’s wardrobe racked her nerves. Other women had stayed at Winter Hill. She’d heard them brag about their overnight trysts as boldly as you please down at the baker’s or the milliner’s or wherever a gaggle of women gathered with one of his more recent lovers happened to be.
At the time, she’d scoffed and turned her nose up at those women, offering their blood for a night’s pleasure and a few favors from the duke. And how was she any different if she followed through with what he wanted of her? What she wanted as well.
Perhaps he’d shown special treatment by taking in all of her children. But it was temporary. And it was only necessary because he’d demanded she burn her house down. He couldn’t take the chance of her being found right under his nose, so close to his castle, which could throw his uncle’s suspicion in his direction once again. Especially after the whole town had seen him take an interest in her. He had to protect her and her family in order to keep from being associated with the White Lily.
She walked toward the girls’ room, wondering whether she’d done any good with her messages to the people. The power of words was like magic, persuading people toward good or evil, depending on the wielder of the mouthpiece. She learned this long ago when her father would sit her on his knee by the fire at night with a cup of his special brew of cinnamon tea and read to her of great men and women of the past. Brenna had fallen in love with history, with people, and with the written word. And later, in those final years when his illness weakened him, she’d sit across from him by the fire, a quilt draped over his lap, and read those stories of old back to him, loving the gentle smile on his kind, grizzled face. That was what she missed most when he died. When she married Elliott, hoping for happiness that never came.
To this day, the smell of woodsmoke, cinnamon, and dusty parchment still buoyed her, as if her father’s spirit might still be lingering nearby. Perhaps that is why when she moved away from Korinth in search of a new life in Terrington that she began writing her radical leaflets and signing them the White Lily. She had no desire to replace the one they called Arabelle, who led the resistance. Quite the opposite. She longed to aid her fellow sister of the revolution. In any way possible. And here she’d landed in the hands of the vampire duke who was aiding the resistance all along. Perhaps fortune had intervened, casting them together like two fateful stars.
It was too quiet this late in the morning. The lot of her children were early risers. She heard rustling from the girls’ rooms. Stepping inside, she found Helena digging in the trunk of clothes.
“What have you lost, dear?” asked Brenna.
“I can’t find my cloak,” she said on a frustrated moan, half bent inside the trunk. “I don’t know where I left it.” She heaved a sigh and stood. “And now I’ll freeze to death.”
She stood to face Brenna, her eyes widening at the sight of her. “Oh, my.”
Brenna remembered her dress, glancing down. “It’s nothing. I was just tired of the gray and the duke had this one laying about.”
She was such a liar.
“You look so lovely, Mimi.”
“Do I?”
Helena beamed, meeting her at the door and touching the silk skirt. “Yes. He must truly adore you.”
“Helena,” she started in a grave tone. “You’re the oldest and of an age where you must understand that a man giving gifts to a woman doesn’t mean there is affection tied up in the gift. It just means…well, it means that…”
She frowned. She couldn’t well say that a man, especially a man like the duke, enjoyed bestowing gifts on his would-be lover. She cringed, feeling like a bought woman.
“Well? What does it mean?”
“All right. It may mean that he likes her. But that is a far cry from adoration as you put it.”
“What about love?” asked Helena.
Brenna shook her head, pitying sweet Helena so unspoiled from the bitter heartbreak of men. “No, my darling. A man giving a woman a dress does not mean anything like love. Don’t even mention that word again in regards to the duke. It will never happen.”
“But what if it did?”
Brenna let out a harsh laugh. “It won’t.” And yet a fluttering in her belly spun her nerves into a whirlwind. “Follow me.” She walked back to her bedchamber.
“But what if it did?”
“Helena,” she chided. “The duke is not the kind of man to fall in love with any woman. And certainly not a woman of lower class. Didn’t you even read my book?”
“Of course I did.”
“And do you remember the chapter on the high-born being raised to associate deep and abiding affection only for their own kind, those they deem worthy for such feeling? Equals?”
“Yes.”
“Then there it is.” Brenna opened her own trunk and began digging for her extra cloak. “Now you know.”
“But, Prince Marius eloped with the peasant woman Arabelle who is leading the Black Lily. Everyone says they are truly, deeply in love.”
Brenna frowned, feeling a sudden headache coming on. “Here we are.” She plucked her cloak from the trunk and handed it over, then turned her attention back to the near empty chest. “What in heavens—” She pilfered through what was left, a few undergarments, stockings, and her blue shawl. “Where are all my dresses?” she asked frantically, coming to a realization the moment she asked the question.
She stood and stamped her foot. “Damn that man! He has no right to—”
“What is it? Did the duke do something with your frocks?”
He most certainly did, the arrogant bastard. He truly did it. She thought it an idle threat with his little missive this morning. Fiery heat singed up her chest and stung the tips of her ears. She spun to Helena.
“Who does he think he is?”
Helena stared wide-eyed with a shrug.
“Oh, that superior ass!”
Helena gasped then giggled. “Mimi, I don’t think I’ve heard you curse before.”
Brenna stormed toward the bed, pacing to try and free herself of the anger singing through her blood. Brenna stormed to the bed where the gold counterpane was quite wrinkled and askew.
“It’s him,” admitted Brenna on an exasperated sigh, straightening the counterpane. “He makes me do and say things I would certainly not if I could just control—” She bit her bottom lip and held her temper in check lest she say entirely too much, jerking the ends of the counterpane to smooth the surface of the bed.
“What do you mean?” asked Helena. “Is he cruel to you?”
Brenna snorted inelegantly. “Extremely.” She remembered the torturous things he did with his hands. His mouth. His tongue. The angry flush in her cheeks reddened further from a different emotion entirely. “Even though he has taken us in and offered us some kindness, it does not mean he has full control of my life. Including what clothes I wear.”
She stomped around to the other side of the bed, a piece of blank parchment catching her eye on the floor. Leaning down, she lifted it and flipped it over, her breath catching in her throat. She stared down at a charcoal portrait of herself. The smoky lines hardened along the jaw and softened around her dark eyes. Her hair was drawn in long waves, framing her face in a way that could only be described as seductive. And quite beautiful.
She knew without asking Helena that this was the sketch Friedrich was drawing with Izzy and Denny at her former dining table. The easy stroke of the pencil and sweep of the smudged charcoal to darken the lips…it was the loveliest drawing she’d ever seen. And he’d created it in mere minutes.
Damn the man. “Is he good at everything?” she asked the wind.
“What was that?” Helena had refolded a few things in the chest and closed the lid. “Oh, Izzy must’ve dropped that. She’s been carrying it around.”
Brenna recognized the crinkled edges from Izzy’s tight grasp. “Where is she? And all the others?”
“His Grace came and brought Izzy and Denny to his studio this morning.”
“His studio?”
“Yes. Mimi, do you think I could head into Terrington and purchase some fabric for a new cloak? I can’t just take yours all the time.”
Brenna tore her gaze from the drawing and set it aside, trying her damnedest not to read into the way he smoothed sweet affection into the intense gaze of her face, as if that’s how he wanted her to look at him. Or perhaps she already had and didn’t know it. Clearing her throat, she strode forward with Helena back toward the stairwell.
“What was that?”
“Well, you have only this one thick cloak and your shawl. I’ll need a new one for myself.”
“Helena, it’s too dangerous to go traipsing off by yourself.” She lifted her wool shawl where it lay over the end of the bed and wrapped it around her shoulders.
“But I could bring Caden.”
“No,” said Brenna firmly. “It’s not safe. Let me speak with the duke. If his guard can escort you then you may go. But we simply can’t take any chances right now.”
Helena looked as if she’d protest then she nodded obediently, staring at the floor.
“Come along.” She crooked her arm through Helena’s. “Let us find the others. I’m surprised Beatrice isn’t with you.”
“She sought out Olog right after a hearty and elegant breakfast was brought to our rooms. She’ll be down in the kitchens for the duration of our stay, I imagine.”
Brenna smiled as they came out onto the main floor near the servants’ corridor. “And where is this studio you spoke of?”
“I’m not sure.”
Raucous laughter echoed from down the servants’ hall. A familiar battle cry of “yah, yah” erupted.
Brenna and Helena smiled at each other and followed the sounds through a long, winding hallway and out into a yard on the side of the castle. There, she found her boys, except for Denny, with a few of the duke’s guard surrounding Emmett in a fierce battle, who engaged the guardsman Dmitri. He was a tall lean vampire—as they all were—with short-cropped brown hair except for a lock that fell in his eyes as he dodged and parried Emmett’s sword swing, a twinkle in his pale eyes.
Sylvia’s man, Grant, leaned against a post, arms crossed and watching with a lopsided smile. Brenna knew he was Friedrich’s valet, but he was truly far more than that, as he was so comfortably hanging in the yard in casual clothes that seemed more appropriate for one of the guardsmen than a valet. Come to think of it, he never seemed appropriately attired like a gentleman’s valet should be.
She scanned the group, but there was no sign of Friedrich or his captain.
Caden turned as they approached, beaming from ear to ear. “Mimi, come and watch! The duke’s guard is teaching us proper arms for battle.”
“I’m not sure that’s wise,” she replied, though merriment leaked into her tone. These three brothers were highly active and always in need of exercise to release their boyish energy.
“Oh, it’s absolutely brilliant,” said Caden excitedly.
The duke’s personal guard must’ve numbered near forty with about half encircling the swordplay now. Brenna found it strange that while they were all fierce and grave in appearance, none of them made her afraid as the vampires she’d encountered in the city of Korinth. Perhaps because these vampires didn’t proposition her to be their bleeder as so many did back in Korinth. Even as a married woman, perhaps especially so, she was frequently propositioned by the Legionnaires and mercenary soldiers who flooded the city. That was another reason she decided to pack up and leave. With her father dead and Elliott gone, there was no reason to stay. Catching sight of the advertisement that the northern village of Terrington was in need of a new schoolteacher was the blessing she needed. Her passage to a new world and a new life.
She glanced around the yard, still seeing no sign of Friedrich, wondering if he could still be with Izzy and Denny.
“Miss Snow, may I be of service?”
She started. Grant had made his way silently around the circle to her side.
“Oh, um, no. That is…”
“The duke set out this morning with Captain Mikhail and other guardsmen. But he should be returning soon.”
“Thank you, Mister, um, what is your name?”
“No titles are necessary,” he said kindly, though bitterness seemed to tighten the lines of his face. “You may call me Grant.” He gestured toward the gray stone stables that extended toward the gardens. The hedges were dusted in snow. “Would you like me to show you to the studio where Izzy and Denny are?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
She and Grant walked on while Helena stayed behind, watching the boys with her arms crossed. No doubt disapproving of the vampire guard giving them encouragement in the sport of swords and battle.
Pulling the ends of the shawl tight around her, she ventured to question the pensive man at her side. “Sir, from what I understand, you knew all along that I was trying to pry information about the duke’s dealings with the Black Lily these past months.”
His reserved countenance cracked a smile. “I’m afraid so.”
She shook her head. “I feel so foolish now.”
“Don’t think of it. The duke is a very intelligent and perceptive man.” He lowered his voice a notch. “Though I was the one who spotted you nosing about first.”
She laughed. “He’s lucky to have a servant who keeps his secrets as you do.”
He said nothing at that, but gave a polite nod.
“May I ask how long you’ve known the duke?”
He tucked his hands deeper into his coat pockets. “My mother served his parents. I was born and raised here.”
“And so you and the duke became friends as children?”
He laughed and slid a tilted smile in her direction. “Do you know how old the duke is?”
She realized then that she didn’t and shook her head.
“He’s seventy-eight.”
“Oh.” She bit back more surprise and watched a stableman pass leading a gray horse on a bridle. “I should’ve known. But I always forget they age differently than us.”
It wasn’t that she’d actually forgotten. Only that Friedrich’s appearance suggested he was perhaps ten or fifteen years her senior. Not fifty-three. She’d never known a vampire so…intimately. The idea of their age difference suddenly made her uncomfortable, even though a vampire in his seventies was considered an age where he was entering his prime.
“It’s easy to forget sometimes,” said Grant. “So you see, we were not childhood friends.”
“And yet”—she challenged—“you appear to be close friends now.”
Again, he lapsed into silence as they approached a door on the farthest wing of the stables.
“Pardon me, Grant. But you are close friends, aren’t you?” She wasn’t sure why his answer was important. The man was obviously devoted to Friedrich, yet there was a hint of pain hidden behind his dark eyes.
He paused at the door and settled his penetrating gaze on her. “I would die for him.”
Her pulse tripped faster. He opened the door, but she remained frozen for a moment, contemplating this unusual servant. He didn’t speak like the others from Terrington. Even if he was born in the castle, he wouldn’t have been privy to an education for him to speak so well. Brenna took note of such things, for she herself was considered low-born. But her father loved literature and education, and so instilled that love in his only child. Brenna could always pick out those among her class who had a similar affinity. Their speech was always more correct than the peasants who worked with their hands.
Brenna never looked down on anyone, of course. But she was pleased to find kinship with the learned among the working class. Grant, dressed like a field hand but who spoke like a gentleman, was a puzzle she couldn’t quite figure out.
She followed him into a large square room, which had a stall door on the far side. With a quick glance around, she realized it was apparently at least two stalls wide but had been enclosed with proper walls except for the door leading into the inner corridor of the stables. The room was clean and white-washed with shelving lining one wall filled entirely with paints, brushes, sponges, and dust cloths. The sounds and smells of horses and hay wafted through the door open to the interior. Izzy and Denny sat on stools in one corner facing a large, unframed painting of Winter Hill propped on a shallow shelf lining the wall. Both of their heads were bent close to their easels, sketch pencils on their canvas until the door clicked closed.
“Mimi! Come and see what we’re dwawing.”
“Drawing?” She swept closer to stand behind them. “I thought you’d be painting.”
“Not yet. Fwiedwich says we need to sketch first before we paint.”
“Does he?” She glanced back at Grant, smiling at her familiar use of his first name. “I wasn’t aware the duke was so artistically inclined.”
Grant smirked. “He is actually quite talented.” He pointed to the oil painting on the shelf, which Izzy and Denny were using as inspiration. “He painted that one there. And many others in the castle.”
“Did he?”
Brenna took a step closer, surprised to find yet another talent the beautiful man possessed. The painting was of Winter Hill in high summer, when the snows had finally melted away. A fountain stood in the right foreground, water spraying around the swan sculpture at its center, sparkling in the sunlight. Beyond were verdant green shrubs and manicured hedges encapsulating a pretty gazebo at the center of the painting. A domed ceiling of stone sheltered the gazebo, nymphs and fairies etched along the cornice. Thick, fluted columns encapsulated the pretty round structure, the interior open to the summer breeze, which Brenna imagined she could feel, even in the dead of winter as they were now. Beyond the gazebo, the magnificent castle of Winter Hill loomed, the stone shining brilliant white in the sunlight hovering in the right corner of the painting.
The lines and colors weren’t simply beautiful. They were poetic—hard to emphasize the strength of the structures, soft to harmonize with the loveliness of the garden. She’d never been to Winter Hill in the summer. In her three years living in Terrington, the castle was a distant object of beauty to be admired. She’d never thought of even stepping foot on the grounds. Not until a few months ago when he condescended to visit the schoolhouse one day. The day he saw Izzy painting a black lily, arousing his suspicion. That was the beginning of her spying on the duke, in fear for the safety of her children and herself.
“You both are doing a wonderful job.” She squeezed Denny’s shoulders.
He cast a tender look up at her, then sighed and set his sketching utensil down. He stood and aimed a thumb over his shoulder toward the door with a tilt of his head and a questioning look.
“Yes, of course you may go,” said Brenna.
Grant studied the boy, his expression unreadable, his voice softer than the normal rough timbre when he spoke to him. “Would you like to go to the sparring yard? The guards are teaching your brothers new skills.”
Brenna thought Denny would shy away as he tended to do with strangers. Instead, he smiled openly with a mute nod of his head. Grant ruffled his mop of dark hair. “Come on, then.”
“I wanna go, too!” yelled Izzy, popping up and knocking her stool over in such a hurry to chase after them.
Grant grinned. “By all means, ladies should learn how to use a sword as well.”
“Weally?” she asked, taking his hand.
He looked down at their hands, perhaps surprised at her open affection. Izzy often did that to a person. Then he curled his large one around hers. “Indeed,” he whispered. “Sometimes, I find girls learn to fight even better than boys.”
Izzy giggled as she scurried off with them. Brenna followed slowly, closing the studio door behind her. She had a myriad questions floating through her mind for Friedrich as she sidled up to the sparring yard where young Jack was now at the center, wielding a wooden sword half his size. The guard offering him instruction had a kind face. For a vampire. Especially for one who was larger and broader than the others with pitch-black hair and dark-blue eyes. She wondered at how all vampires had blue eyes, but the myriad shades were as varied as the hues of a sunset from mid-sky to horizon.
“Reposition his elbows, Gregorovich,” said Dmitri from the side.
The black-haired guard leaned over Jack carefully, murmuring instruction as he squared his shoulders and pressed his elbows closer to his body. Jack nodded eagerly, staring up at his teacher with obvious admiration.
She glanced around the group, seeing that Helena must’ve gone back into the castle, when the pounding of horses’ hooves sounded behind them. Coming up the snowy hill sloping away toward Terrington was Friedrich on his magnificent black stallion along with his captain and fellow guardsmen. His dark figure galloping up the snowy embankment sucked the breath from her lungs.
She kept wondering if his ardor and intensity would diminish. But the potent expression he wore as he trotted up to the sparring yard where she stood, his otherworldly blue eyes flaring bright, charged the air more powerfully than ever before.
A sinking sensation overwhelmed her as if she were standing in quicksand, knowing there would be no escape. Still, she smiled and welcomed her fate looming large and dark and formidable, leaping from his horse and tossing the reins to a stable boy, coming straight for her.