Turned: A werewolf love story

Chapter 2: The Curse

Bernard resisted the urge to loosen his collar. He and Lady Charlotte sat together on a sofa, a polite distance between them. It was supposedly a courting visit to Halfmoon Manor, but he felt rather as it it were a punishment.

Certainly the Brighton family was rich, and Charlotte had been named the heir after much legal wrangling. Halfmoon Manor was lovely, as well. Far grander than the Preston house, with spacious grounds and a pleasing view of the woods. He would enjoy living here.

But what of the stranger he was marrying? He glanced at his aunt, who pretended to read in a chair across the room. She had reared him since his parents had fallen to a fever when he was six. Now the sole heir to the Preston fortune, his aunt sought to marry him off and see him beget an heir as quickly as possible.

It was a pity this was only the second time he'd laid eyes on Charlotte Brighton.

Charlotte shot him a haughty smile, chin uplifted. "Tell me of yourself, Mr. Preston. What are your pursuits?"

She was taller than he, and her carefully arranged golden curls made her seem like a queen or a goddess, untouchable by mortal men. He scrambled for something to say. "I do enjoy a bit of gardening. And I'm a fair shot with a fowling-piece. But I'm sure a lady has far more refined tastes."

At their first meeting she had talked about herself while he had sat in terrified silence. Certainly it was her favorite topic. "Why yes," she said, smiling in a cold way that reminded him of polished silver knives. "I spend my time among people of society. I recently joined an embroidery group with the Lyedyn Duchesses. It's lovely to work among such accomplished women."

Her tone mocked him.

His collar seemed tighter all the time. "Certainly, my lady. You shall have to educate me in such things. I confess I have kept to myself these last few years." He was babbling. Why did she make him so nervous?

Charlotte arched a perfect eyebrow. "I had heard you spent much time in the company of the Mage Guild. Are you a magic worker?"

Despite her condescension, he sensed real interest behind the question. "Ah, no." He ran a finger along the inside of his collar. "I have been studying alchemy. I grow many of the necessary herbs for basic potions and remedies. But it is a solitary pursuit, sad to say."

"Alchemy," said Charlotte, and her fingers drummed on her lap. "Why dabble in such things if you have no magic?"

"Because its as close as I shall ever get, my lady." He must not grow angry, not on a courting visit. Perhaps it was merely the blasted collar. "I have misgivings about Allard's werewolves, and I am seeking knowledge to combat his arts."

She smiled a white, perfect smile. "The werewolves are preferable to goblins overrunning Grayton. Everyone knows this."

"Yes, my lady. But a curse is a slippery snake that tends to turn on the caster. It makes me nervous, is all." Lovely, a woman schooled in political thought opposite his own. Possibly she applauded the construction of the Grayton Wall, too.

"Excuse me, miss. I must speak to my manservant in the hall." Bernard escaped the sitting room with the speed of a ball fired from a cannon. Once he gained the safety of the hall, he unbuttoned his collar and drew deep breaths.

Dread and gloom settled over him. He was to wed a woman who shared none of his interests and who already despised him. Why must he be forced into this? No fortune was worth the unhappiness that lay before him.

His aunt stepped into the hall and scowled at him. "Bernard, you return to her at once."

"Yes, ma'am," he said. Then he dropped his voice to a whisper. "Of all the women in Grayton, why must you choose her?"

His aunt leaned close, eyes burning. "She is the third richest woman in the country, and she is the only one near your age. Be grateful she is not a dowager!"

"Perhaps I would have had more in common with an older woman," he retorted.

Then he lifted his head, buttoned his collar, and returned to his visit with his future wife.

-

"He was pleasant enough, I suppose," said Charlotte. It was the following day, and she was drinking tea with her mother, Mrs. Brighton. The afternoon sun gilded the curtains with light, highlighting dust motes in the air.

"Did he seem interested in you?" said her mother.

Charlotte considered. "He was quite nervous. I had the impression he has not conversed with many women. He seems to prefer study."

Mrs. Brighton gazed out the window and sipped her tea. "He may not be the most fascinating man, but such a match will provide you with such wealth!"

But not love. Charlotte kept that thought to herself. She could, perhaps, bring herself to love the small, rotund man and his shining pate. But would he ever return her affection? Or would he spend the years oblivious to her presence, buried in his studies?

"Mother, they say that love is possible in arranged marriages, yes?"

Her mother waved a dismissive hand. "Love is not necessary when both parties possess fortunes."

Charlotte bowed her head and gazed into the dark tea. It seemed to foretell her future--dark with loneliness and devoid of sweetness. She added another sugar lump, but it did no good.

"Why must I wed him?" she burst out. "Surely there is someone else!"

"Your father and I have had our eye on Bernard Preston for years," said her mother peaceably. "His aunt is one of my friends. I'm frankly surprised you don't know him better."

Charlotte sighed. How could she know him when he attended an exclusive school, never visited neighbors or attended balls? He was absent from her social circle. She did not doubt his intelligence, but what sort of heart beat within his pudgy frame? Until now, he was the sort of man she habitually snubbed. Had she snubbed him at their meeting? She couldn't recall.

Still, there was the possibility of happiness, even it it consisted only of material things. She had no inclination to learn about alchemy, or werewolves. Such things were beyond her ken. Besides, money could buy a consort, if she went about it quietly.

But she turned from that thought with a sigh. What was the point of marriage if she was already destroying it in her heart? She would try to love Bernard. And only if nothing came of it would she consider alternatives.


-

The wedding was a glorious affair of flowers, silk and feasting. Yet afterward, Charlotte went to her quarters, and Bernard went to his. There was no intimacy that night, or any other night. Charlotte shed many bitter tears over it.

Bernard seemed uncomfortable around her, hardly daring the occasional clasp of her hand. Most of his time was spent in the cottage behind the house, where he worked long hours on alchemical mysteries.

The days became weeks, then months. Charlotte gave up hopes of romance, and focused her energies on managing their estates, and climbing the social ladder.

It was not until shortly after their third anniversary that everything changed.

-
The matter came up one evening at supper. They sat at opposite ends of a vast dining table, amid islands of silver and glimmering candles. Bernard had acquired a loathsome habit of reading while he ate, and was engrossed in a small tome as he sipped his soup.