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The lady apothecary left her shed and set off toward the deepest part of the park, where the wolves and the stags and the boar often went to Change. Had she no sense of self-preservation? Lowell Hall may appear beyond breaching, but he knew what the wide world was like, how quickly a situation could turn, how evil moved about disguised as innocence.
Nowhere was safe. Not even the grounds belonging to an Alpha wolf who commanded a growing pack that was likely the greatest in all these islands and the Continent.
He grumbled as he shadowed her into the heart of the park. It fell to him to keep her in sight.
Two
Tabitha adored the dawn. It would forever remind her of that first day in France after she and Timothy executed their plan and made their escape. She had woken, in a run-down guesthouse in Calais, to sunlight creeping over the windowsill, luminous and sharp, so unlike the light in middle England, landlocked in their homeplace of Worcester.
In that morning light, she had determined she too would rise and be unlike the self she had been, be luminous and sharp and new.
She had slipped out of doors to be greeted by the scent of the sea and of strange French food cooking, the sound of hooves on the cobbled road, made foreign simply because it was a French horse on French stone. The flowers were not unlike the ones she’d known all her life, the architecture not entirely exotic, the people scurrying about their early morning business not all that strange to look upon… Yet it had all been unfamiliar enough to be thrilling, the very air redolent of freedom and hope.
It was not as though she and Timothy had embarked upon a conventional Grand Tour; they were light in their pockets but rich in skill and determination, with no intention to remain idle. They had the gift of time for Timothy’s broken heart to heal, and distractions aplenty as their journey unfolded. There were any number of folks, who were not of the typically educated classes, who wished to learn English; Timothy was more than happy to take them in hand. Every day, she watched him come back to himself and, even better, live without fear due to whom he wished to love. She had her apothecary knowledge and the willingness to learn more, and she had reveled in their liberation, if not the circumstances that brought them there.
That was in the past. As was her Continental adventure.
Bundled up to her ears, she set off into the morning chill. The park at Lowell Hall was a wild cataclysm of plants and trees, of paths and switchbacks, of rolling hills and verdant dales. She doubted anyone cultivated it but for the birds who dropped seeds as they traveled over the south of England; she’d hardly scratched the surface of the variety of greenery surrounding her.
As she had hardly scratched the surface of the task she faced.
Tabitha gamely trudged up an incline. How she adored life in the country. It was easier to be poor in the country, for the outdoors contained bounty for those who knew what to look for. The fresh air, the long walks, the flora—and here, of all places, a previously unknown species that defied human logic.
Oh, but being in a city…the culture, the salons, everything one could need at one’s fingertips. London was not so far away after all, but where would she stay, with whom would she go about? Did the duke and duchess keep to theton’s calendar? Society was not Tabitha’s favorite thing—nor she, its. One as firmly on the shelf as she had no place there.
Would she make a place here? Explaining her skills to the populace of Lowell Close had been met with polite smiles and assurance she would be the first to know when her aid was required. If the strength and longevity ofversipelleswas as she suspected, her knowledge would largely be wasted. There were a few humans—no,homo plenum—who were spouses of Shapeshifters, so it was for them she would keep her stores fresh.
Felicity had been incredibly helpful in instructing her inversipelliancharacteristics. Tabitha’s unexpected audience with the prince had alerted her to their swings of emotion, and her friend had told her it was down to their dual natures, of having to negotiate their heightened senses even in their human forms, which alerted them to things those with duller capacities could not fathom. Even the smallest of them was stronger than any human, and the eldest was older than anyhomo plenuswould ever be. The Lowell Pack was woven together by thesentio, a heart-based connection that allowed the duke, their Alpha, to ensure their well-being. They followed the holidays of the lupine species, and some of the larger groups within the pack—the mice, the bees, the cats—held their own deities and ceremonies dear.
Verispellescould see in the dark, hear a pin drop from miles away, and were ever true to the natures of their animal selves. Creature aspects? Tabitha did not like to call themanimals, it seemed uncouth, andcreatureeven more so. For they were as civilized as any human she met, perhaps more so: to keep themselves safe, to keep their secret secure, they had to behave above reproach in every instance.
Tabitha was honored more than she could say and respected their law that forbade inquiring after an individual’s species; in any case, their second nature was very obvious once one knew what to look for.
For example: no one would mistake the Duke of Llewellyn for anything but a predator and, with that head of hair, nothing but a lion.
A predator who even now tracked her as she went about her morning. The feeling of eyes upon her was tangible, an instinct that had not proven her wrong in Arcadia, the Humphries’ home manor, when the prince regent set her upon this path…
***
Years of keeping her composure when faced with either her choleric father or fractious clients stood her in good stead when she was called into the presence of His Highness. Rumor had it George IV was mercurial at best, splenetic at worst; despite having provided palliatives for more than one Continental potentate, Tabitha was intimidated by an audience with her native sovereign.
Not that she would allow it to show.
A chance meeting on the way to Lowell Hall saw Tabitha joining Felicity on her journey to Arcadia, the seat of the Duke of Osborn, ahead of a ceremonial event and on the heels of a dangerous situation involving a missing child. As ever, Tabitha was happy to provide aid as best she could. Timothy continued on with their belongings; he would be happy enough to unpack for both of them, delighted at having a secure place at last, at home, in England.
Tabitha had been curious about life at the Lowell ducal seat and all who lived there. Felicity had become secretive upon her marriage, speaking in a roundabout way about the traditions and protocols found in her new home. Tabitha and Timothy had seen more than one strange thing in their travels, and a part of her was hoping for more than usually met the eye in a traditional English village.
When they arrived at Arcadia, the forecourt was as bustling as the port of Liverpool. His Highness had already arrived and was currently repairing his appearance. She and Felicity forded their way to the door through waves of footmen scurrying about on royal business; immediately upon entering, Felicity began discussing accommodation for Arcadia’s newest guests with the housekeeper and was swiftly swept away behind the green baize door. Tabitha found herself alone in a room that contained a single footstool and nothing else.
Thanks to the lack of a door, a footman clearing his throat on the threshold was all that prepared her for the royal presence.
“Miss Barrington.” The prince’s toilette was a roaring success, his abundance of curls and luxuriant sideburns groomed to perfection; his person exuded a clean, woodsy scent. His pantaloons, embroidered with a riot of sweet cicely, would send Timothy into ecstasies. The royal coat was a sober bottle green until it caught the light and one noticed its iridescence, and his cravat a waterfall of dazzling white lace. The waistcoat alone, its field of delicate anise flowers the perfect complement to the cicely, deserved the deep curtsy she proffered.
“Your Highness.” Good Lord, she was not as fit as she had been when they lived in Greece. Beatrice, the Duchess of Osborn, cultivated a signature curtsy that brought her so close to the floor, her eyelashes nearly swept it. Tabitha did not know how her friend managed: even with all the walking and foraging she did, she was struggling to keep her balance. She hoped the prince would release her from her obeisance, or else she didn’t think she could return to standing with dignity.
“Rise,” he commanded.
She rose. The attending footman stood in the doorway and turned his back to the room.
