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Charlotte carried a mug of tea and a sweet roll to the veranda. The landlady kept the boarding house heated to near tropical temperatures. It was far too warm for her.
Miles sat on the front steps. He too had bathed and was dressed in clean clothing. Dark circles hung under his eyes.
“Is the fit acceptable?” he asked when she joined him.
“I take it I have you to thank for these.” After her bath, her ruined garments had been removed, presumably destroyed, and she found a man’s banyan waiting for her. The worn fabric was comforting and the cut generous enough to belt it closed and keep her modesty.
“Luis thought you’d appreciate something clean to wear,” Miles said.
“That was very thoughtful of him. I’ll visit a modiste tomorrow.”
“I sincerely doubt there’s anything of the sort in town.”
“Well, it’s far too cold to go nude, so I’ll make do.” Her words came out harsher than she intended. “Forgive me. I’m not myself.”
They sat in silence, watching the sky darken. The mountains of the horizon drifted from shades of blue to a deep purple, and finally as the last of the light vanished, they blended into the night sky. The boarding house was on the western edge of town and had unobstructed views of the open prairie. The noise of the town seemed distant: horses snuffling in the stables, music and laughter from the saloon, and an argument.
At some point, she started crying again. Everything inside her hurt, ready to break. She leaned against Miles, his arm protectively over her shoulder, until the tears dried.
“Did you really tear apart Draven’s castle searching for me?” Miles eventually asked.
“Of course I did. You’re my friend.” Her voice was rough and her throat raw.
“I’m sorry you had to leave.”
“As am I.” And so much more. She understood Draven’s reasoning. Nothing short of a literal army on the doorstep would have compelled her to leave.
Their comfortable silence returned. He didn’t ask about Draven’s secrets, and she didn’t offer. She was still processing them in her mind, and they weren’t hers to share.
The next day, there was a thunderous explosion that rang across the prairie, followed by a column of dark smoke rising from the mountain.
Two days after that, news arrived that the army had seized the Aerie. Draven was gone. The army would never have been able to take the fortress while he still lived.
They left the next day, the news following them on the journey, appearing on every broadsheet and discussed in every village. Every time she heard his name, it picked at the wound, keeping it fresh and refusing to allow it to scab over. She was grim company, and she didn’t care.
Boxon
Vervain Hall
The days grew warmer. Green buds decorated the trees. Flowers emerged. Spring had arrived, and Charlotte decided that she would be a merry widow. She was done with mourning.
Since her return, she presented a reserved demeanor in public. Town gossip claimed she still grieved her first husband. Her trip, the exact nature of her journey forever a source of speculation, had been an unsuccessful distraction. She never corrected them, and she cared very little what people said about her. Merry widows simply did not have the time. They were far too busy spending their late husband’s fortune, having affairs, and causing scandals.
Charlotte was not interested in an affair, she only felt indifferent to causing a scandal, but she was very keen on squandering Lionel’s money. Hours and hours of thought and research went into it. Did she go the spiteful route and spend it on something he would despise? Shamefully, she did not know him well enough to say what causes would have offended him. Charities for orphans? Should she build schools? Feed the poor?
Every idea sat wrong with her. Giving Lionel’s money away out of spite was still placing Lionel at the center of her life. She was free of him. She wouldn’t let him ruin her merry widow era. Ultimately, Charlotte decided that the best way to feed her grudge would be to ignore Lionel altogether and do as she pleased. She had no doubt what Draven would have done. He’d have poured every cent into crushing his enemies and would have dedicated the next century to making it happen.
That got her thinking, not the crushing of her enemies part. Well, yes, but no. She now knew there was a second colony ship in a mountain valley. Wasting all of Lionel’s money on an expedition solely to vindicate her father had a certain appeal.
She did not have to make a decision right away. First, she worked to remove Lionel’s presence from Vervain. One could not be merry in a haunted house. Regret over her cowardice with Draven haunted her enough. She did not need to contend with Lionel’s ghost as well.
“You can’t. That’s an heirloom!” Lattice Parkell followed Charlotte through the great house, protesting every decision. The current item was a colonial-era pulse rifle. It was useless as a weapon but an interesting piece of history.
“It is not an heirloom. Lionel purchased it…when exactly?” Charlotte asked Solenne, who consulted the ledger.
Solenne made a production of dragging her finger down the page, muttering until she found it. “Here we are. Four years ago. There’s no price listed, so he may have stolen it,” she said, delight in her voice.
Charlotte turned to her former sister-in-law and current thorn in her side. “How interesting. Lionel kept such immaculate records. Shall we contact the previous owners to return the stolen property?”
