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“I promised myself I would never wed at all.”
“Only see how well that has gone for both of us.”
They shared the tiniest huff of a laugh. How strange, to share a laugh with a wife. Arthur tilted his nose toward her cheek. “Have you changed your soap yet again?”
“I have not.”
The peace of a house headed toward slumber settled around them. A log popped in the hearth, and a candle guttered. He sighed and rose, replacing the candle on the hearth, its blaze of light dancing over her golden hair as Madam joined him.
They stood before the hearth, the bed beside them. Neither moved.
“Until tomorrow, then,” she said.
He bowed, a mere excuse to sniff at her hair once more before he turned for the door. “‘Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow,’” he quoted.
“An inauspicious choice of play, Osborn.” Did she enjoy the theatre as he did? He opened his mouth to counter, but she cut him off. “Do not paraphrase Horatio in its stead, I beg you.”
He laughed. “Then I shall simply wish you the sweetest of dreams,” he said. “Madam.”
Under cover of the night and the wood, he Changed, with even less effort than before. His bear shook himself from nose to tail, his spirit humming with glee.
What’s got you in such a humor?
His creature leapt with grace and descended into peals of laughter.You’ll sniff it out soon enough.
Sixteen
Beatrice suffered a fractious night’s sleep, and she lay her disrupted rest fully at Osborn’s door. Which was not their door. After last night…after having spoken so frankly and shared their histories, she would prefer it was their door.
And why not?she thought as she finished pinning up her hair in a looser fashion than usual. Why not make the best of a bad situation? Neither of them had wished to wed, and yet there they were, and if it would help her fertility if they were better acquainted, then what of it?
It was not as if she was losing a battle against anything but her former powerlessness.
She was not without power now.
Beatrice asked for what she wanted, and he gave it. It seemed she was able to say what she meant and only good resulted.
It was a state of affairs she wished to investigate further.
So deep in her thoughts was she, she nearly neglected to dab on her oil.
When she reached for it, the vial was empty.
A wash of fear flooded her. What were the consequences of not using it? Even if it never worked in the past?
If that was not a reason to set the ritual aside, she did not know what was, and yet… She tucked the empty glass into her workbag to show Charlotte later or, better yet, Ben.
Beatrice smoothed down her skirts. It was time for breakfast.
It was time to greet the new day.
She passed by the open window as was her habit and looked out into the wood before closing the curtains.
***
In the wood, the bear stirred and sniffed the air.
***
