Curse of the Wolf King - Tessonja Odette Page 0,67
must say, Mr. Rochester, I had no idea such a lovely manor existed way out here in the woods. However, I’ve heard the most unsettling stories about wolves in the area. Have you seen any?”
Elliot’s eyes meet mine for a moment, the ghost of a grin tugging the corners of his lips before he composes a blank face. “Yes, Mrs. Aston. I have seen wolves.”
I suppress my smile. It’s a good answer for one who can’t lie.
Mrs. Aston gasps. “Have any attacked? Or…or are they,” she lowers her voice, “your kind?”
He opens his mouth, but a look of alarm sparks in his eyes as they flash again toward me.
Saints, I doubt he can find a way to truthfully evade that question.
“The wolves around here are nothing to worry about,” I say. “They rarely show up and have yet to hurt anyone.”
Imogen burns me with a glare. “How would you know, Miss Bellefleur? It’s not like you’re an expert on Vernon. You only arrived mere days before my family did.”
Mrs. Aston nods gravely. “That’s true, Miss Bellefleur. None of us really know what they’re capable of.”
Mr. Davidson faces Elliot. “Have you considered hiring trappers to take care of the wolf problem? It’s a shame your property should be overrun by them.”
Elliot’s façade falters, his irritation evident in the pulsing at the corners of his jaw. “No, I have not and will not consider such a thing, nor do I recall stating the wolves were a problem to begin with.”
Mr. Davidson blanches at the venom in Elliot’s tone, exchanging a glance with his wife before turning his attention to his plate.
“My employer has a soft spot for wolves,” I say. “As you can imagine, the fae differ from humans in their feelings about nature.”
“Oh, that’s right,” Mrs. Aston says with a chuckle. “It’s so hard to remember these things, Mr. Rochester. When I’m not looking at those ears of yours, you appear nothing but a gentleman.”
He grunts a reply, regaining a handle on his composure.
Mrs. Coleman leans toward him. “It hasn’t slipped my mind once,” she says, then addresses the rest of the table. “It’s easy for me to recognize the fae and understand their ways. My first husband was fae, after all. And a king at that.”
From her seat next to me, Ember snorts a quiet laugh.
Mrs. Aston puts a hand to her chest. “Is that so? Which king?”
Mrs. Coleman’s proud smile falters. With a flutter of her hand, she says, “Oh, it was long ago, well before the unification. He died in the second war.”
Mrs. Aston and Mrs. Davidson offer sounds of condolence.
Maddie Coleman turns back to Elliot. “I know many fae of great importance. Queen Evelyn and I are practically family. I was childhood friends with her and her sister, the renowned seamstress and fashion designer, Amelie Fairfield.”
I’m surprised by her mention of Amelie. I can’t imagine the two ever being acquainted. “You must have spoken to her since she’s been in town, then?”
Mrs. Coleman’s face whips toward me. “Pardon? Who do you mean?”
“Miss Amelie,” I say. “She’s currently in Vernon.”
She pales, then wordlessly sips her wine as if I hadn’t spoken.
Ember lets out a quiet giggle. “I guarantee they are not dear friends,” she whispers to me.
Mrs. Coleman turns back to Elliot. “Speaking of important fae, my daughter says you are of noble fae blood. Might you oblige us with insight into your lineage?”
Imogen burns her mother with a scowl, but the older woman pays her no heed and simply grins at Elliot over her dinner plate.
Elliot is silent for a few moments, eyes unfocused before he calmly states, “No, I will not share that information.”
Not getting the hint, Mrs. Coleman places a hand on Elliot’s forearm. “Oh, come, Mr. Rochester. I hope you can trust us to keep whatever secrets you may carry. Remember, I am much acquainted with the ways of fae.”
Elliot snatches his arm from her touch, eyes going steely.
Saints, this is what I was afraid of. “Mr. Rochester is here on private matters and intends to keep them that way.”
Imogen swivels toward me, eyes narrowed to slits. “Why is it you keep answering for him, Miss Bellefleur?”
“As his steward, I have his best interests at heart.”
“At heart, you say?” Lifting her wine glass to her lips, she takes a dainty sip. “If you aren’t careful, one might get the impression you know him better than you ought.”
I open my mouth, but Elliot speaks first. “And how ought she know me?”