"Has it ever bothered you?" Violet asked their grandmother half an hour after they had settled in the guest room. "What Margaret did," she added to further elaborate.
"You mean agreeing with Thomas' plan?" their grandmother asked.
"No," Violet said, "Getting rid of Aurora is more like it. I never took her for someone who could do such a thing."
"I agree," Valerie said with a nod. "She was a Leaguer. She could have done something."
Their grandmother smiled wanly. "What she did, my dears, she did to protect us all."
"But you know what happened to Aurora and her child. Things could have ended differently if Margaret kept her as she did you and Faye."
Their grandmother sighed. "Many things happened that I never wrote in the books, my dears. Many terrible things that was not suitable for the fairy tales I penned."
"But she did what Aurora did to her sister. She went behind their back. They would have done something different if they knew the truth. I simply cannot accept that Margaret would do that."
Fiona Trilby smiled. "Mayhap, when you are older and have children of you own, then you will understand why Aurora and Margaret chose the things they did. And I believe that Lady Alice would have done the same should she have known. Motherhood can push one to do the vilest of things for the love of her child." When the twins just stared at her with confusion, she added, "There are things the Everards could not handle, my dears, and they are not perfect. They were rich, yes. They ruled Wickhurst in a way, but they did not rule the entire Town. Aurora and her child were just a small piece of a big story brewing in the background and Margaret was aware of that. As a Leaguer, she saw the amount of damage it would cause should she have helped them. She had to make the sacrifice or risk the family's safety. Was it bad? Perhaps even evil. But was it a good decision? Considering how the Everards ended their story, I have to say yes."
"Except for Aurora and the child, yes, it did end well. I still think Margaret should have helped Aurora."
"But like Aurora, Margaret valued her family more that she was willing to do the bad thing her family would not have done. Aurora knew that. Margaret had made certain she understood it."
Valerie scoffed. "Then I am sorry to say that Aurora was right—that the Everards would not have lifted a finger for her. Margaret's actions simply proved that and it sucks!"
Violet was silent, just staring at their grandmother with a meaningful look in her eyes. "But they did still have to face Osegod. And he did terrible things."
"As I have said, my dears," their grandmother patiently said, "things could have turned worse. They merely got a piece of Osegod's wrath, see?"
Valerie sighed. "I assume everything else—your story with gramp will reveal more of this? You said so yourself that there are other things you did not write in the books. It is about the future of the Town, isn't it? What truly happened after the final book? How you ended to be here?"
Their mother chuckled. They heard the front door open. "Your grandfather is here." She stood and faced the twins. "Have I ever told you about the Trilbys?"
The twins frowned.
Their grandmother turned to walk away. "They are quite interesting, I tell you," she said over her shoulder.
The twins gaped at Fiona Trilby. "Oh my God, gram! You cannot be such a cliffhanger!" Violet violently said.
"In time, my dears. In time."
"Vee? Val?" they heard their grandfather's voice ask from the hall.
"Gramp!" the twins jumped in unison to meet their grandfather.
Perhaps they could push their grandmother to spill more about the Town later.
Or would their grandfather be willing to tell a tale?
Well, it would not hurt to try, would it?
*****
Ysabella opened one eye with a frown. She was awakened by the heavy weight on her midriff.
But it merely took her a moment to realize it was her husband's arm wrapped around her waist. She stretched and quietly yawned.
Wakefield groaned against her neck and she smiled at the tingling sensation it sent down to her fingertips and toes.
"It is too early to rise, little one," her husband murmured against her skin. His hand unwound around her, his palm caressing her naked hip under the covers.
Ysabella suddenly felt the warmth of his touch spread out and she turned to snuggle closer, wrapping one leg over his. "Should we do something else then?" she croaked, lightly biting his shoulder.
"Hmm," he said, mouth traveling to her jaw.
His hand rested between her legs and Ysabella's hips hitched. "Now?" she wickedly suggested but groaned in frustration when he removed his hand. It travelled back up to the underside of her breast. "William," she started to protest but gasped in surprise when her husband swiftly pushed her to lie on her back and he was suddenly on top of her, his erection pressing into her.
"Did I not tell you it would be wonderful?" he asked as he slowly moved, slowly burying himself in her warmth.
Ysabella could not help but groan and roll her eyes. "Do you have to say it every single time?" she snapped, her cheeks flushed, her thoughts slowly drifting away as their bodies moved.
Her husband's hungry mouth devoured her, her question forgotten.
Having him in bed was utterly wonderful. It was heavenly.
But to be with him outside the privacy of their chambers was equally rewarding as well.
Never did she have to suffer a moment of boredom.
Most often than not, he would feed her childish fantasies of fairy tales. And when the moments came that he rejected to do so, he would drag her somewhere and prove they could be far better.
Nearly a few hours later, or forever if Ysabella would allow her mind to do the counting, Wakefield rang for breakfast and helped her dress, delaying the process by stealing kisses.
"Emma will be calling for tea this afternoon," she told him after breakfast.
"And I assume Mrs Beagle is still missing?"
"Oh, she came back two days ago. Did I not tell you?"
Her husband scoffed. "I would have remembered if I could remember how many times your cat has ran away and returned, darling."
"But do admit that you nearly dragged me around the dangerous alleys in Haram when you thought you saw a black cat."
"I did, did I not?"
"By the by," Ysabella said, "would you join us later?"
"Will your sister promise not to talk more about Mr. Jones and her theories?"
Ysabella chuckled. "No, of course not, dear husband. But I do love hearing her theories. They are quite convincing, see?"
Wakefield turned to face her. "I will join you later."
"You will love Mr. Jones," she promised. "Simply have an open mind."
"I do not believe that a myth about a man who supposedly came from aboveground would interest me greatly. I do like where I am now," he said, walking up to her. He cupped her cheeks with both hands. "I would not ask for another place than here."
Ysabella's heart swelled as Wakefield's lips descended down toward her.
*****
While her husband was having a social meeting with one of his correspondence, Ysabella chose to stay inside the study.
She loved reading while he worked behind his desk. They would not spend the entire time talking while he worked. They would both be lost in their own worlds—him in his papers and she in her books—but the thought of each other being near offered a sense of comfort and security.
The door opened and she looked up to see Morris step into the study. She frowned when the man looked over his shoulder as if he was afraid he'd be seen.
"What is it, Morris?"
Morris walked toward her and smiled. He stared at the book in her hand. "I have long concluded that you love reading, my lady," he said.
"Yes," she admitted. "I found this precious book at Haram yesterday with William."
The butler's smile widened. "Then perhaps you would be interested reading a few of his lordship's books?"
Ysabella made a face. "I do not believe I would love his books. I have looked into some of them, but I was never interested."
The butler jumped to his feet. "Ah, but you might be interested to some of them, my lady! Trust me..." he turned to walk over to a shelf, scanned through it with deliberate fingers until he found what he was looking for. He pulled it out of the shelf and carried it toward her. "This shall make you immensely happy, my lady."
She frowned at the leather-bound book. "Crops and Where to Find Them," she read.
She looked up at Morris and apologetically uttered, "I believe you are yet to learn of my taste, Morris. Fret not, you have years to do that."
"But it might surprise how you would find what is inside, my lady," Morris said, pressing the book in her hand.
Ysabella sighed, giving Morris a darting look as she opened the book.
The butler seemed oddly excited and she wondered why a book about crops could—
Her thoughts halted when she finally bent her head and saw what lay between the cover and the first page.
At that very moment, Wakefield walked in and stopped in his tracks when he saw Morris and Ysabella. "What seems to be so horrifyingly amusing?" he inquired, making Morris jump away in panic.
"Darling," she said, picking up the dried flower, "what is the meaning of this?"
Her husband shot Morris a murderous, frustrated glare. "I really ought to consider throwing you out, Morris, you bastard."
Morris merely cleared his throat, a knowing smile on his lips.
"Well?" Ysabella asked, brows arched high.
Her husband stared at the flower and he sighed. He walked to sit behind his desk and from there Ysabella saw the tender look in his eyes as he said, "Mayhap you would like to guess?"
Ysabella sent him a wicked, knowing grin. Instead of playing along with her husband's game, she turned to look at Morris. "How many of these do you figure I would find in these books, Morris?"
The butler smiled. "Hundreds, my lady."
She heard Wakefield growl from across the room.
"Then should we collect them?" she asked the butler.
"And frame them, my lady," Morris suggested, ignoring Wakefield's darting look.
"The flowers are to stay where they are," her husband finally said, reaching for one of the papers on his desk.
"But—"
Wakefield looked up to gently say, "I rather like the surprise it gives me every time I open a random book, darling."
She scoffed. "But—"
"Put the flower back where you found it, Ysa," he ordered, eyes glinting with harmless warning. "They are mine."
She cocked a brow. "Truly?"
"Yes. And they are as precious as the one who delivered them. Do not touch them."
Ysabella carefully tucked the flower back in the book. She handed it to Morris who immediately took it back from where he pulled it out.
Picking up her own book, she continued reading.
Morris walked out, tightly closing the door, leaving her alone with her husband.
She peered over the book and found her Wakefield staring at her. She smiled and gave him a wink.
Wakefield chuckled, slowly shook his head and continued working.
Ysabella read, wondering how she would reward her husband later.
*****
The woman stared at herself in the mirror.
Pale grey eyes stared back at her, daring her to do what she planned to do.
Drawing a deep breath, the woman in the mirror gathered her long, black mane over one shoulder. She positioned the scissors, narrowed her eyes and snapped the blades close.
The sharp snap was followed by a lingering silence.
Staring down at the long strands in her hand, she gulped.
Bloody hell, she did it.
Dropping the thick strands on the floor, she finished her task, although it was proving to be a difficult task.
Once she thought she had done enough damage, she stared at herself in the mirror.
Same pale grey eyes, same thick eyebrows, and same square jaw. But all in all, the look was entirely different.
A smiled crept on her lips. It would have to do, she thought, ruffling her now short hair which hovered just above her shoulders.
Straightening her back, she tucked her shirt under her breeches and turned away from the short-haired man she had created.
She grabbed her bag from under her bed and prepared to leave.
Clad in her breeches and boots, her bag over one shoulder, she went to her table and read the note once again.
Dearest Samuel,
I have decided to follow a friend's advice—LIVE.
Do not find me for I will find my way back. I am not certain when, but I shall return.
I have longed to do this and now I found the courage to do so.
Please allow me this chance.
I have to find her.
For now, fret not. Tell father and Lady Theobald that I shall take care of myself and it is not anyone's fault.
I love you all.
Yours,
Maxine