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“I am going to go play. Do you want to come?” she asked.
I shook my head. “I am a grown-up now, and I must figure out my complications.”
“Good luck!” She ran off, not at all caring. Then again, that was what made her fun—not having to care. It was a simple matter of forgiving.
Forgiving.
I did not wish to marry Tristian.
But I also knew I would not be happy marrying Evander, not when there was so much I did not know or understand. He wanted forgiveness—he said so in a letter—but he had to earn it.
The words of Epictetus echoed within my mind. The greater the difficulty, the more glory in surmounting it. Skillful pilots gain their reputation from storms and tempests.
If that was the case, then this would be a storm, and I sought to pilot. I walked to the desk, where I lifted a paper and took the pen from the well.
Dear…I paused as I did not know the correct way to address him, so I remained proper, taking out a new piece of paper.
To His Grace, the Duke of Everely,
I write to inform you I received your letter but could notgrant your wish, as you were otherwise engaged and arrived far too late. It has come to my attention that I shall be given an offer of marriage in three days’ time, to which my answer shall be very clear—unless another offer were to come, along with further explanations on events as they transpired in the past. Should such an offer not be made by then, let it never be made in the future.
Sincerely,
A
I looked over the letter. If Evander was serious, he had toprove it to me. If he wished for my forgiveness, he had to showme.
I grabbed the bell pull in the room and rang it.
The door opened soon after. “Yes, my lady?”
“Make sure this reaches the Duke of Everely’s home directly,” I said, handing it to her. “You may take the day off, but it must go there now. I shall inform my mother.”
“Yes, my lady.” She reached for it, and when she did, I leaned closer.
“Eleanor, make no stops and do not speak to anyone else till you reach his household.”
“I understand, my lady.”
“Good.” I gave her the letter and exhaled.
Verity
“You are not welcome here,” I said to the horrid woman who stood before me.
Her eyes were a pitch of darkness, hate, and cruelty. “Verity, in times of crisis, ladies must stand as one,” she replied and stepped closer to me. “It has come to my attention your brother is ill.”
“How strange, for I live here with him and have seen no such illness,” I lied with a smile. “I thank you for your concern, Datura, but you may go.”
“I will not!” She huffed, lifting her head as if she were born a queen and not a butcher’s daughter. “If there is an issue with your brother, it is vital that I know, as it affects the family and of course—”
“And, of course, who is the duke?” I questioned, arms crossed. “Are you still praying for my brother to die so Gabrien may inherit the title?”
“You speak of the silliest things, girl.” She giggled, though her eyes were clearly peering over my shoulder. “Whether the two of you like it or not, I am still your stepmother, and as such, part of this family, deserving of the truth.”
The truth was that she deserved whatever spot in hell she had earned.
“And I am providing such truth. My brother is well, merely resting, and you are disturbing his rest.”
