by Meara Platt
Free of the Draloch Prophecy.
So why did she feel so miserable? She stood silent, too stunned to cry, though she expected the tears would fall in buckets as she lay alone in her bed tonight. “Cadeyrn, please come back.” I love you.
Melody wasn’t certain how long she had been standing there when her mother’s voice startled her back to her senses. “Child, there you are. I’ve been looking all over for you. Why didn’t you answer when I called?”
She said nothing as her mother approached, knowing she couldn’t have responded even if she’d wanted to, for there was a cruel lump in her throat that stubbornly refused to budge.
“Dearest, did you hear me? What are you staring at?” She followed Melody’s gaze to the mound of grass.
“It’s gone,” Melody finally managed in a whisper, pointing to the spot where a glorious spray of bluebells had existed only moments earlier, the spot where she’d first met Cadeyrn.
“What’s gone?”
“The flowers that used to be here.”
Her mother shook her head and sighed. “Do stop dawdling. Have you chosen a gown to wear for this evening?”
“Not yet. I don’t think they’ll ever come back, do you?”
This time, her mother made a brusque tsking sound. “What are you going on about? There were never any flowers here.”
“There were. You must have seen them.”
“No, child. It isn’t important. We’ll plant some there if you like, but not just now.” She put a gentle arm about Melody’s shoulders. “Come along, there’s much to do in preparation for Lord Babcock’s visit. First order of business is your gown. Try as I might, I can’t do anything with that horrid blue silk. We’ll just have to choose something else for you.”
Reluctantly, Melody turned from the spot where the bluebell garden had once flourished and followed her mother into the vicarage. She paid little attention to her chatter as they entered through the kitchen and climbed the stairs to Melody’s bedchamber.
Her mother headed straight to her wardrobe and opened its doors. “Now, let’s see. No, not this. Not this,” she muttered, searching through the paltry contents and picking through several gowns before drawing out a delicate, tea rose silk that Melody had never seen before. “Goodness! It’s quite splendid! How did we overlook this one earlier?”
Melody hadn’t the chance to answer before her mother hurried to the window and held it up to the morning sun. The effect of the sun’s rays striking the pale pink fabric was magical. Even though Melody thought she knew how it got into her wardrobe, she gasped, for the stitching was exquisite and the shimmering fabric obviously expensive. Much finer than anything she could ever afford. Had Cadeyrn left it for her? A gift in remembrance of their lovemaking?
“Look how it glistens in the sunlight! Child, wherever did you get it?”
Melody drew open the window and peered out to look for Cadeyrn, not caring if he was in his natural Fae form grinning up at her from the garden or perched on a tree branch in his raven form. She just wanted to see him again.
But why?
To ease the ache in her heart? It wasn’t reason enough. To change his mind about seeking a truce? His plan was dangerous, but had merit. The only other plan was to have her die a cruel and painful death by fire. She shuddered. “Not doing that.”
Perhaps it was for the best that she saw no bird in the tree or faerie on the vicarage grounds.
“Not doing what? Not telling me how you acquired the gown? Melody, don’t be ridiculous. Where did you get it? And don’t spout any nonsense about forgetting where it came from. No one could ever forget such a gown.”
She considered telling her mother the truth, that Cadeyrn, the Fae king who had introduced her to the pleasures of his bed and at least for a while wished her to die that fiery death to save his subjects … no, she’d have to come up with a better story, something that skirted the truth but was not a lie.
But what?
The bedchamber suddenly felt unbearably warm. Melody took a deep breath, disappointed when she inhaled only the aroma of pure forest pine. She took another, deeper breath. Still no scent of honeysuckle. She ought to be glad, not heartbroken. Cadeyrn was purposely sparing her life.
Her mother drew her aside and closed the window. “Child, it was from your father’s Portsmouth family, wasn’t it? They’ve always been generous, much more generous toward you than Vicar Axwell has ever been. You needn’t deny it or protect me from the truth. I’m not blind to his faults. I’ll not say another word about it. The gown is beautiful and will be perfect for this evening.”
“Mother, I—”
“No, not another word about it,” she insisted, holding up her hand. “Now, I need only worry about myself and tonight’s meal. Oh, and remind me to decant the wine. The table’s already set. Another worry to cross off the list. I wore the yellow silk last time, so it must be the blue silk for me this evening. Will you help me fashion my hair?”
“Of course.” Melody’s gaze once more drifted to the window as the clatter of wagon wheels caught her attention. “Who’s that coming up the path? I don’t recognize these villagers.”
“Dear me! I’ve been so scatterbrained lately. I forgot that the new servants Vicar Axwell retained for our celebration were due to arrive now. They’re on loan from your friendly neighbor, but if I have my way, a few will stay on permanently. Goodness me! Will wonders never cease? Vicar Axwell is ushering them into the kitchen. I had better go down and see that their tasks are properly assigned.”
“I can—”
“Nonsense, your duty is to look beautiful when Lord Babcock arrives. I know this evening will be a great success for you. I’m more than capable of setting the cook and scullery maid to work in the kitchen and the others—”
“How many others? And you say Vicar Axwell obtained them from a friendly neighbor?”
“Yes, the gentleman who helped you out the first time Lord Babcock paid us a visit.”
Melody wondered whether Cadeyrn had sent them. If they were Fae, then her mother would not have been able to see them … unless these were ordinary men and woman who were aiding the Fae. Still, it seemed odd that Cadeyrn had not told her about them.
“Perhaps I’m mistaken and Vicar Axwell was referring to another neighbor. No matter, they seem a hardy bunch,” she said, studying them from her vantage point above the servant’s entrance. “I’m grateful they’re here to help.” She turned to gaze at Melody. “Child, what’s wrong? It’s only for the evening. Does it matter which neighbor sent them?”
“It isn’t that.”
“Ah, you think I’ve left you out of the preparations, but I haven’t. The menu is the one you set out. You’re more than welcome to supervise the cooking. I thought to give you time to rest, but if you’d rather not, then go down and supervise their work yourself. Do tell Cook not to add too much salt to the soup.”
Even as Melody entered the kitchen a short while later, she berated herself for allowing her concerns to get the better of her. She had fought dragons and demons. A small confusion about servants was nothing. Obviously, Vicar Axwell had taken it upon himself to engage not only a cook and footman but an entire staff. She couldn’t fault him for it. After all, her mother had made mention of those servants yesterday, but she’d been too distracted to pay much attention. Her mother had boasted about boxing the vicar’s ears. She’d called him a miser and insisted he do what’s right. Melody was glad that the vicar cared enough about her mother to surrender to her demands.
Where was Cadeyrn? He ought to have warned her about this slight change in plans before running off to the Dragon Lords’ lair to propose a truce. Not that preparing a meal was as important as saving a kingdom, but … oh, what was wrong with her? Cadeyrn had given her back her freedom, returned her to a normal world with a beautiful new gown, and the vicar had managed the task of acquiring servants. So why was she complaining?
Melody squared her shoulders and entered the kitchen. “Go
od day. I’m Miss Hargreaves.”
The cook, a plump, gray-haired woman wearing a well-used white apron and holding a gleaming cleaver in her hand, hastily bowed. “Nell’s m’name, Miss.” Melody was surprised to see that she’d already taken command of the kitchen and was about to start carving a mutton into chunks. The scent of raw meat and the sight of blood dripping along the seams of the butchering table sent Melody’s senses reeling for a moment. She recovered quickly and turned her attention to the young scullery maid. The girl had already dirtied her apron, while cleaning out the hearth grate, Melody surmised, for the grate was now clean but her apron was not. There were sooty black splotches all over it.
“Miss,” she said with a watery-eyed sniffle, brushing back slender strands of hair that were falling onto her brow as she managed an awkward curtsy. Her name was Prudence. She had thin, blonde hair that must have been pinned back at one time, but the pins had little to hold on to and were slipping out of her hair. Melody noticed the half-peeled onion in the girl’s hand, which explained her watery eyes.
“Please, do go on with your work. I see you’ve found what you need.”
“Aye, Miss,” the cook said. “You needn’t fret. Larder’s well stocked and we know our business.”
Melody smiled at the amiable woman. “I see that you do, Nell. However, about the salt…”
“I’ll be spare with that,” she assured. “No need to use much since the meat is fresh and we wouldn’t want to be wastin’ it anyway. Don’t like ’em Frenchies, but they know their food. Meant to be savored, not choked down as though we were barbarians. Meant to be cooked in its own juices over a roaring fire and served hot and sizzlin’.”
Nell then cast her a surprisingly gentle smile. “Lord Woodlands sends his warmest regards and hopes ye liked the gift he left in yer wardrobe. He said to tell ye that the shimmering rose silk reminded him of yer smile.”
Melody’s heart lurched. “Where is he now?”
“I couldn’t say, Miss. He sent us to help ye, then went off with his council. Though he doesn’t like Lord Babcock, he obviously thinks quite highly of ye. He told me to let you know that he wishes ye every happiness.”
Melody couldn’t respond for the lump in her throat. Her heart was still reeling and she couldn’t help but think she’d made a terrible mistake. No, Cadeyrn had left her. Could a man in love abandon the woman he loves? Yet, he hadn’t quite abandoned her. She was the one who had insisted on drawing away. “How did you come to know … Lord Woodlands?”
Nell glanced around and then spoke in lowered voice. “We ain’t Fae, if that’s what yer askin’. But his kind saved us from a terrible fate. We’ve been beholden to ’im ever since. He’s never asked anythin’ of us until now. Still not askin’ much, in my opinion. Just wishes ye to have a splendid supper. That’s an easy request. I’ve been cookin’ all me life.”
After a little more conversation, Melody left the kitchen to supervise the rest of the staff, but quickly realized that all knew their roles and were busy preparing the house for their guest. Melody had nothing to do but take a nap and then wash and dress, and even for that she had a personal maid to assist her.
It seemed odd to have so little to do, for her days until this moment had been busy. She suddenly realized that her days at Lord Babcock’s estate would be much like this, supervising a well-trained staff that needed little supervision, which meant she’d have most of her days free to write letters, or read, or entertain the local gentry.
She sighed, realizing her life would be utterly boring.
Still, it would be a life, unlike her other choice—to go up in smoke under a dragon’s flames.
By the time Lord Babcock arrived, the vicarage was duly freshened and gleaming. As Melody stood in the entry hall with her mother and the vicar, the delicate aroma of mutton stewing in plum juices and the scent of warm bread and freshly baked lemon cake tickled her nostrils.
“I’m famished,” her mother laughingly admitted. “I must thank Cook for a job well done.”
“Let’s not be too hasty,” the vicar intoned. “We haven’t tasted it yet.”
“Nonsense, I’m sure it’s perfect.”
“Mrs. Axwell, save your compliments for after she’s paid or the woman will hold us up for more. I’ve already spent a small fortune on this evening.”
Melody forced herself to overlook the vicar’s griping. He had obviously gone to some effort to elevate the household for this evening, acquiring not only a cook and scullery maid but also footmen and a personal maid to attend to her and her mother. He’d made her mother very happy; however, Melody knew that appearances were deceiving. Cadeyrn had arranged for these servants, making them available to the vicar on the cheap, no doubt.
Vicar Axwell was a small-minded man who mainly thought of himself. He had not changed his mind about this posting. He detested Borrowdale and made no secret of his hope that her marriage to Lord Babcock would quicken his way to a more prominent position.
“I know the vicar does go on,” her mother whispered as he stepped forward to greet Lord Babcock, “but he means well. I only wish to see you happily settled. If it aids his cause and lands him a prominent assignment, all the better. I’ll insist on one close to Lord Babcock’s estate so that I may see you as often as possible.”
Melody sighed. “Please, don’t make too much of his visit. This is all so odd.”
“Not at all. I look at you every day and wonder how a simple pair like your father and I could have made such a beautiful daughter. Child, who wouldn’t want you? Who wouldn’t love you?”
Cadeyrn, for one.
He’d kissed her and told her that she was branded into his heart, but he couldn’t have meant it. Had he truly felt that way, he couldn’t have let her go. Could he? Or did love make one that utterly foolish? Would he truly sacrifice himself to save her? Or sacrifice the millions of Fae who lived within his realm?
No, he would never betray them.
As for loving her … he’d never actually said so … other than in a roundabout way, the same way he might have spoken about his subjects, and in any event, Fae didn’t feel.
Melody quickly dismissed all thought of him as Lord Babcock approached. The handsome lord looked quite dashing, his hair lightly mussed by the wind and his black wool cloak casually tossed over one shoulder and held fast by a shining gold braid. “Miss Hargreaves,” he murmured, bowing over her hand, “it seems an eternity since we last met.”
“It’s been less than a fortnight,” she reminded him with a chuckle.
“Is that so?” He straightened and cast her an eager smile. His eyes were bright and avid, though she would not call them warm so much as assessing.
His gaze lingered on her for a long moment, but neither her mother nor the vicar seemed to mind that he was ogling her. Melody supposed she didn’t either. It felt nice to be in the presence of a normal being, one who wouldn’t swoop her through Fae portals into a world of fire-breathing dragons, monoliths, and demons.
She felt quite safe.
Quite dull.
Perfect.
The evening proceeded smoothly, and Melody surprised herself by actually enjoying the meal and Lord Babcock’s friendly conversation. Though he and the vicar seemed to have much to say between themselves and little to say to her or her mother, he was adequately attentive and did make an effort to engage her in their discussions.
Melody found herself having a nice time.
Take that, Cadeyrn!
No, she didn’t mean it. Cadeyrn had made this perfect evening possible by providing her a beautiful gown and excellent servants. Had he truly loved her, he would have flown into a rage and done all he could to disrupt and interfere … but he hadn’t. Was he truly letting her go or planning something more sinister? She didn’t know and didn’t wish to think about it. He had released her and she was going to run as fast as her mortal legs would allow.
As the evening drew to a close, Lord Babcock asked permission for a moment
alone with her. “Of course, my lord,” the vicar replied, extending his arm to Melody’s mother. “Come, Mrs. Axwell. Let’s leave the young ones alone.” The pair made their escape with stunning speed, carrying themselves off faster than Melody had ever seen either of them move.
Flames of embarrassment shot into her cheeks. Couldn’t the vicar and her mother have shown a little more delicacy, casually walking out instead of sprinting off like young deer in springtime?
Lord Babcock cleared his throat. “I suppose you know the reason for my request to speak to you alone.”
She nodded lamely.
“Then I don’t suppose I need to give you the flowery speech I had prepared. My heart’s in my throat and my head is pounding. I doubt I’d remember the words, anyway,” he said with a grimace. “Miss Hargreaves, I think you and I will suit quite well. Will you marry me?”
Melody had expected it, had known his little speech was coming. Still, she was unprepared for the offer. In truth, it sounded little different from Cadeyrn’s offer, though there was no caveat at the end regarding a fiery death shortly thereafter.
She drew back her chair and rose from the table, intending to walk to his side. Odd that he’d tossed the question from across the table, as though he’d needed the distance. Shouldn’t he have been kneeling in front of her? Holding her hand?
Perhaps he was timid around women, which explained why he hadn’t yet married.
“Are you certain, my lord? I don’t wish you to feel obligated—”
He rose with a chuckle and took her hand when she reached his side, squeezing it a little too tightly for comfort. “You must think me a great fool. I’ve never done this sort of thing before. Deuced if I know how any man screws up the courage. I may have said it awkwardly, but I do wish you to be my wife.”
“But why do you wish it?” Were all males so dense that three simple words—I love you—that a woman needed to hear were impossible to say? I love you. What was so hard about telling her so? Unless he didn’t feel it. In truth, love was rarely a consideration in such proposals, but if he didn’t love her, then why did he wish to marry her? She had nothing else to recommend her.