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“I had to step up and take responsibility for this House when father died. I alone had to ensure our continued survival,” he growled, his face darkening with anger. “Unlike you, who got to run around in your silk dresses, playing Lady of the Manor and not having to bear an ounce of responsibility for anything.”
Castor was apoplectic and looked like he wanted to throw her off the balcony himself. But Ivy did not fear him. She knew he could not do anything to her. Not if he hoped to claim the prize her marriage to Baron Weedler would bring. The mere thought of it continued to turn her stomach violently.
She knew of Baron Weedler by reputation, though she had never met the man herself. However, she had heard the stories about him, and if even half of them were true, she did not wish to be within two thousand leagues of him. Not only was he cold and cruel, harsh and violent, but he was also close to three times her age and had already been married twice. He was a man well past his prime but one who apparently still retained the vigor of his youth. As well as his love of beating people senseless - including his wife.
A cold sensation of numbness spread through her body as the inevitable seemed to be closing in on her. The thing she feared the most seemed to be something that would be coming to pass sooner rather than later. It felt like a team of runaway horses was bearing down on her, and there was nothing she could do to stop them from trampling her.
“When?” she asked, wincing at the sound of defeat she heard in her voice.
“Soon,” Castor replied. “I need to raise the profile of our House before Baron Weedler will consent to a betrothal.”
Ivy cocked her head at him. “Raise the profile of our House? And how are you going to do that?”
“Not that it is your concern, but I am busy making - alliances,” he replied. “I have been making plans to raise the esteem of our House a hundredfold. And when I do, Baron Weedler will accept the match.”
For the first time since he’d stepped out onto the balcony, Ivy felt a spark of hope. Raising the profile of their house would not be easy - or simple. They had been a minor house for so long, it wasn’t a simple matter of Castor going to Court in London and demanding a seat at the table. He would need something substantive to provide to those at Court to prove that Elix was a formidable House worthy of their esteem.
And if that was what Baron Weedler required for him to accept a betrothal to her, Ivy felt a sense of hope. Of elation. She had never considered Castor politically adept, nor did she count him among the age’s greatest thinkers. She thought that perhaps, he had set himself a task that was too big for him.
“But how are you going to accomplish this feat?” she asked.
“As I said, that is no more your concern than your thoughts are mine,” he retorted.
They stood in silence for several long moments, and Ivy continued to turn everything Castor had said over in her mind again and again. But then it was something Fin had asked on the first day they had met out in Therline that came to her. Something she had completely forgotten about until that moment. She looked at Castor closely, trying to subtly gauge his reaction.
“Where is your Irish friend?” she asked. “Whatever happened to him? I’ve not seen him around in some time.”
Castor looked at her, his confusion over the sudden change in the direction of their conversation evident upon his face. She had caught him completely off guard and flat-footed, and now he was trying to recover. Ivy saw something flash through his eyes, but it was gone almost as quickly as it had appeared, darting down under the murky depths of his eyes.
“My Irish friend?” he asked. “I do not know who you are referring to.”
“Yes, you do. I know you do,” she said, “but he seems to have disappeared. I just wondered where he had gotten off to.”
Castor made a show of screwing up his face and pretending to think about it. A moment later, he snapped his fingers as if the answer had suddenly just come to him.
“Oh yes, Michael,” he said. “Michael Flaherty. He returned home to Ireland to see to his sick mother. Why do you ask?”
“I was just wondering since he was such a fixture here for so long, and now he’s just gone,” she replied.
“Yes, well, you have your answer now, do you not?”
Castor was snapping at her, venom lacing his every word. Ivy thought he sounded incredibly defensive for somebody who was not hiding anything.
“I suppose so,” she said.
Castor glared at her. “I will be more than glad the day I can put you on the road to Northwalk.”
And with that, Castor turned on his heel and left her standing alone on the balcony. Left her to absorb his words and handle the chaotic aftermath in her own mind. But the only thing she could seem to focus on was the fact that he had lied to her. He had flat out lied to her about the Irishman. She knew him well enough to know when he was lying. Michael Flaherty was not back home in Ireland. She had seen it in his eyes.
And if Ivy had to guess, she would say that Michael Flaherty was in sitting in a cell back in York.
