AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The curricle that pulled up was freshly painted but not new, the horses were hired and illused, one had an untended cut on its leg. A young man drove the rig, a large-ish beta by his size, while his companion was a diminutive woman with guinea gold curls under a fashionable straw hat.
“Oh! Lord Paxton! By Jove, but this is a lucky chance.” The young man jumped down without another glance at his companion or the horses. I snarled at the lack of respect he showed them. If he couldn’t be bothered to look after his horses, he would have been a poor alpha to look after an omega, especially—no, on closer observation, her scent revealed she was a beta. What did it matter, omega or beta, he should have been taking care of his charge rather than rushing up the stairs to greet a stranger. “Ah!, you don’t know me… Stimpson. Claude Stimpson.”
I nearly voiced my astonishment—on closer inspection Stimpson wasn’t a beta but an alpha.
“Ah… See. Y’know if Mrs Markham is here? I’ve got Hero with me.”
I blinked, waiting for him to explain who Hero was rather than run his mouth at me
“Hero… Miss Markham. With Hero.” The way he said her name was… worshipful. And yet I was watching the poor girl sitting in the hot sun unable to get down, since the footman who’d appeared on the sound of the carriage was struggling with the sweating horses. Though why he should be so lovestruck for a beta girl just out of the schoolroom made no sense. In fact, overdone was the word that came to mind. “Well, you know how it is.”
“I don’t.” I pushed past him and offered the young woman my hand. “Miss Markham, allow me.”
She hand in mine was light as a feather and trembled like a bird. A bird that clearly was not only worn out by the journey but near fainting from the heat for she stumbled as she stepped down.
“Thank you,” she whispered. I tilted her face towards me and saw that despite her hot cheeks, the skin around her mouth was white. “I do not travel well. And the heat…”
I didn’t bother asking permission—the girl was dead on her feet—but scooped her up to carry her indoors. The pathetic Stimpson trotting behind like a spaniel. A waiting footman directed me to the library where I found everyone but Jack. Viola was writing, and Orley watched his wife, looking smug. Mrs Hartwell sat reading. Beatrice, meanwhile, sat on the floor, a sketch book propped against her legs while she watched her sister and brother-in-law. Mrs Markham was the first to see us and jumped up with an exclamation that caught the attention of the others.
“Oh!” Viola cried out when she saw us. “Hero! What’s happened?”
“She’s…” I looked down. “Overheated.”
Little Hero whimpered and clutched at my neck.
Mrs Markham rushed over, her motherly and omega sides coming to the fore. And I was most relieved to hand my bundle off to Mrs Hartwell, an alpha more used to caring for crying schoolgirls.
“Bea, let us arrange her on the sofa,” she said with a brisk efficiency as she purred for the distressed beta.
My Vixen was already arranging the cushions. I watched her economy of movement. At times she was so unlike the creature I’d met a year ago. Then she’d been on the cusp of her heat, flushed and smelling of slick, but still awake enough to her potential danger that she’d shot me through the shoulder. I longed to show her the ugly scar that marred my mate stain; to see how wide her eyes became when she saw exactly where that bullet had cut across the muscle and the port coloured mark all alphas possessed. Today her self possession demonstrated a maturity that was oddly more attractive. Her transition to mistress of my household would be seamless.
So I spent the remainder of my day in restful contemplation of my future mate. Her head bent over the sketch book. Her care towards Hero, and the teasing way she glared at me when she caught me watching her.
Pax
The next morning,the only ones in the dining room for breakfast were the alphas and little Hero, the doll-like beta with an inheritance to make you blink in shock. Her mother lived the life of a moderately well off omega widow, taking a small house in a not so fashionable part of town. Certainly nothing like the estate she’d lived on with her husband before his death. Old Markham had been a Cit with his interests firmly in trade. He’d made a pretty fortune off it, perhaps an understatement, but never displayed any interest in society. They’d lived quietly, though now the widow had begun to enjoy society again. What to make of her daughter was another question entirely—unsurprising, I’d just met her and the girl had only just left some school or other. Stimpson had been her escort. The young alpha had explained all this with the subservience that grated like a dry shave. Stimpson! He’d spoken for the girl while she sipped tea.
“How old are you, dear?” Mrs Hartwell asked.
“Eighteen,” came the soft reply.
“Just out,” Stimpson smiled at her. “Out of school. Not out in society.”
Mrs Hartwell continued as if the other man hadn’t spoken. “Ah. As your Godmother, I suppose I should know that.”
That was the sum of the conversation over breakfast until Beatrice pushed through the door dressed, as ever, in mens garb.
“There you are!” she smiled at the room. “Hero, I need you.”
I wondered if Jack was the same and felt his heart clench at the sight of her. Not my knot but the organ beating inside my chest. I wanted that smile. I glanced at Jack, he’d never responded to an omega before, but had admitted to wanting Beatrice. However, he’d loved his mate, could he love Beatrice? Was he jealous of that smile?
“Eat something before you leave,” her mother said without any bark.
Her mother would fail, I’d no doubt of that.
So I stood to pull a chair back. “Sit, Miss Hartwell.”
Beatrice took a visible breath, and it was easy to see the shift in her posture. She would comply because manners required it. “Very well. Thank you, Lord Paxton.”
