Christina laughed at Emily’s description of Draven. “Forgive me.” She returned to her sewing. “Orrick is good to me. Very good, in fact, and I have no reason to complain.”
“But you’re not entirely happy. I can see it in your eyes.”
Christina gave a reluctant nod. “It’s just hard going to bed every night with a man older than my father. In truth, my stepson is a year older than I am.”
Emily sympathized. She’d known numerous women who had the same complaint. “At least you have a husband. And soon a babe.”
Christina looked up at her. “I know how much you want a child. And maybe Lord Draven isn’t so bad. As you say, and knowing your father as I do, you’ll like as not have another chance to find a husband.”
Her chest drew tight at the words. Emily didn’t want to think about living her life alone. What would she do if she returned to her father’s?
And should he perish, would she be confined to a nunnery?
That was her biggest fear. Having absolutely no control over her life whatsoever. It was nightmare thought.
“I have to make this work,” Emily whispered. “I have to.”
For the next two days Emily saw no sight of Lord Draven as he scoured Lord Orrick’s accounts. Countless times she and Simon walked past the closed doors, listening for a sound from within.
Nothing. Not a snore, not a curse. Nothing.
Lord Orrick sent food inside and back it came untouched. Never had she seen such.
On the third day, she and Simon were partaking of the midday meal with Christina and her husband.
“Does the man never sleep?” Orrick asked as he cracked his boiled egg with the side of his knife.
Simon snorted. “You’d be amazed how long a body can go without rest.”
Orrick let out a fierce impatient growl. “Obviously. I’ve never seen someone apply himself so diligently.”
Nor had she.
Well, then again she, herself, could be pretty single-minded when the occasion warranted it. But going over accounts and taxes?
Quite honestly she’d rather be tied to a stake by her hair, and drowned in pickle juice.
Seeking to dispel the moroseness of the diners, Emily turned to Simon. “Since Lord Draven seems content to live out his visit in the council room, is there any chance we might visit the fair today?”
Simon glared at the closed council room door across the foyer as if he despised it every bit as much as she did, then sighed. “I don’t see why?—”
“Father!”
Emily jumped at the drunken shout that came from the doorway as the door was thrown back against the wall with a resounding thud.
All activity in the hall stopped as all heads and gazes turned to the foyer.
A man about four years her senior stumbled into the room with the help of two very large, very frightening men.
At first glance the two mountains appeared twins, until one looked closer. The man on the right had brown hair, brown eyes and a scar that ran the length of his face. The other man’s hair wasn’t so much brown as it was an unwashed dark blond. Each one well-muscled, they had stern, angry faces that promised a sound thrashing to anyone dumb enough to approach them.
The man in the middle she deduced as Orrick’s son. He was as handsome as Christina had told her. He wore his dark auburn hair clipped short and neat, but his clothes were wrinkled and stained.
The two scary men brought him to stand before his father’s dais. Orrick’s son propped his left arm up on the table and gave a loud belch.
“Reinhold!” his father snapped. “What are you?—”
“Not now, old man,” Reinhold said disrespectfully as he rolled his head up to look at his father. “Let me introduce you to Fric.” He clapped the man to his right on the shoulder. “And Frac,” he slurred, pointing to the man on his opposite side.
