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The truth of the matter was that the estate was a working farm that employed nearly two dozen local people. The village market and craft people relied on what Vervain produced. It would be remarkably inconsiderate for Charlotte to leave without making arrangements. As much as she disliked Lattice, the woman had experience running the estate.
“My solicitor is aware of the situation and understands that the arrangement is only until I return,” Charlotte stressed.
“You need to tell Mother that. I’m surprised she’s not arrived yet.”
“I anticipate her arrival any moment,” she said, her good humor returning.
Jase surveyed the stacks of books. “Are you leaving soon?”
“In six weeks,” she said. “I require time to make arrangements, and Mr. Bartram will need to recover after the equinox.”
Once Charlotte agreed to the vampire’s bargain, she wanted to leave at once. Too many people would try to change her mind, and she was correct. Everyone had an opinion about her decision, and no one approved. However, as much as Charlotte desired to run away from her problems, they could not leave immediately. Miles had been apologetic as he explained that with the coming equinox, he required recovery time. The transition into his beast form was painful and all-consuming. Apparently, with time, it would be easier, but he had only lived with the condition for a year.
What could she do? Force the man from his sick bed to trek across the untamed West Lands? Hardly. Considering that her late husband was most likely the one to have bitten Miles and cursed him to shift into a monster with every solstice and equinox…well, accommodating his wishes was the very least she could do.
Besides, there was much to be done to prepare. As much as Charlotte longed to pack a bag and flee, she could not. She had responsibilities. Arrangements to make. Outfits to select. Luis and Miles informed her that Draven resided high in the mountains, so she would have to pack accordingly.
“Are you certain? A year is quite a commitment,” Jase said.
Charlotte kept her gaze on the bookshelf. She did not need a frown or a scowl to betray her true emotions. She loathed this house and the village full of people who pitied her. Charlotte Wodehouse: professional spinster, unlucky in love, and cursed to be a widow on her wedding day.
She married Lionel Chambers because he made her an offer and honestly she didn’t have a lot of options. She was near thirty, of modest means, and not nearly pretty enough to marry well when she had no dowry. It was a brutal assessment, but it was the truth. An impoverished young woman might marry well if she were beautiful. An equally impoverished woman with plain features, weak eyes, strong opinions, and a plump frame had to adjust her expectations, especially when it came to the limited pool of suitors in the village. Despite the difference in their age, Lionel had been a good match. He had a decorated military career. He had wealth. While his features were weathered and his hair more gray than not, she found him attractive.
Given the information Charlotte had—a retired military man, respected in the community, and wealthy—she made the correct choice.
But Lionel kept secrets, deadly secrets, the kind with teeth and claws.
She couldn’t stay in his house, among his trophies, now that she knew the truth. Since the wedding, she had not set foot in the grand hall, where they held a wedding celebration, and where Lionel lost control of the beast lurking under his skin. He shifted into a monster, attacked their guests, and tried to rip out her throat.
Luis saved her that night, driving a sword through the heart of her monstrous husband. And what did Luis ask for in return? A year? It was nothing. A year away from this haunted place was a gift.
“I’m certain,” Charlotte said.
Chapter Two
Charlotte
Boxon Village
The Woodhouse Home
“Are you certain this is the wisest course of action?” Her father stood amongst the boxes haphazardly piled into his library.
Charlotte plastered a fake smile on her face and slowly counted to five.
Yes, she was sure.
Yes, she was absolutely positive that she was sick of being questioned.
Yes, she knew what people would say.
No, she didn’t give a fig what people said.
And no, she wouldn’t change her mind.
There. Five.
She unclenched her hand. “I’ve decided, Papa. I won’t change my mind.” No matter how many times she was questioned. “Besides, this is too valuable a research opportunity to pass by. Draven is nearly two hundred years old.”
