“And what is your verdict?” King asked.
The witch looked at Rory, her pale eyes searing into him. “What choice would ye have made?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “It was an impossible decision.”
“It was, especially considering it meant giving up yer unborn bairn.”
Rory opened his mouth to chastise the witch further, but then her words all but struck him in the chest. He took a step back, and King caught his elbow, holding him upright. “My unborn—”
“Ye didnae ken about the bairn,” the witch said with a nod. “Yer wife only suspects. She doesnae ken for sure.”
Rory shook his head. “But you cannot possibly know—”
“I may not be a powerful witch, but I still have glimmers of the sight. And I ken what I saw. Yer wife will bear ye a child.”
Rory closed his eyes and pictured Genevieve’s face. She smiled at him, sweet and beautiful as he looked down at her. But then her face turned into the pale, waxen visage of Harriet. She looked as she had the night of the carriage accident. He’d gone to the coaching inn where they’d brought her body, and when he pulled back the sheet covering her, she was so pale, her golden hair damp and flecked with mud. She was beautiful even in death, her cruel eyes staring up at him lifelessly. There had been a smaller bundle beside her, wrapped in another sheet. Rory’s hand had hovered over it, shaking so very badly.
He felt as though that hand hung above the body of his son for an eternity before he’d lowered it and turned away. He’d never known his son’s face. Now he never would.
His heart thudded in his chest, so heavy it was as though someone had filled it with lead. His stomach roiled, and he thought he might vomit. Henry moved to his other side, taking his arm and propping him up, so he stood tall between King and Henry. Slowly, he raised his head and peered at the witch with eyes blurred with tears. “Thank you.”
“Nae need tae thank me,” the witch said. “I ken how much ye love the lass, and that proves tae me ye three have been purified of the evil of the curse. And now it’s time we went our separate ways and ended this once and for all. Aye?”
“Aye,” Rory said, King and Henry’s voices joining him.
In the next instant, the wind kicked up and seemed to swirl about them. The clouds covered the sun, shrouding all four of them in shadow, and then the fire went out in a puff of black smoke. The smoke seemed to linger, and for an instant, Rory swore he saw the image of the witch’s sister, the one who had cursed them, in that smoke.
And then it was gone, leaving behind the lingering scent of sage.
When he looked around, the witch’s sister was gone too, and the three men stood alone.
*
Genevieve sat inthe corner of the inn’s public room with her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Before her sat an untouched plate of food and a cold cup of tea. Frances was on the other side of the room, playing a game with Joshua and Georgie. Genevieve thought it might be some version of thimblerig, but she didn’t object. After all, what was the point now? Her time as Frances’s mother would end soon. Would she wake up and find herself in her mother’s home in Devon, or would she suddenly look about the inn and not know why she was here? Any moment, she knew her world would change, and she was terrified and uncertain how to prepare.
Violet paced the room, her skirts swishing as she moved, while Katie drummed her fingernails on the table. The other women had been informed of this morning’s decision as she had, but though they’d exchanged sympathetic smiles, they hadn’t discussed their husbands’ decisions with her. Genevieve thought she knew why—their husbands would choose them, while hers would choose to give her up. Would she completely disappear from their midst? Would they even miss her?
No. Rory had said it would be as though they had never known each other. At least she could be grateful for that. Frances had experienced enough loss. Genevieve couldn’t bear to think of the child sad and heartbroken from another. But then, she wouldn’t be heartbroken. She’d have her mother back, and that was right. The child needed her mother.
Genevieve clenched her hands together more tightly as the minutes ticked on. She had no idea how long the men had been gone. She looked at the clock and then forgot the time immediately. The tension in the room threatened to strangle her. Even the children seemed to feel it. They spoke in hushed tones and played quietly.
Booted footsteps sounded on the stones outside, and the three women exchanged frightened glances. The visitor might be someone unknown to them, a random traveler, but somehow Genevieve knew he was one of theirs.
The door opened, ushering in a blast of chilly air, and King entered, sweeping his hat off his head and smiling. His gaze searched the chamber until he found Violet. Genevieve’s heart ached at the look that passed between the two. Violet was not one to show emotion, but her wobbly smile testified to the depths of her feelings for the former marquess. King crossed the room in three steps, wrapped her in his arms, and swung her around. “It’s done,” he said. “We’re finally free of the curse and, I dare to hope, witches.”
His words were quiet, but Genevieve heard them, and it was impossible not to see the relief course through Violet’s body as she visibly sagged against him. Her brothers looked up from their game, judged the situation to be all that it should be, and went back to playing.
Any moment now Genevieve was certain she would feel differently. She would disappear or this place would fade away. Why hadn’t it happened yet? Was Rory still with the witch? She wanted to ask but didn’t want to interrupt the moment between King and his wife.
And then the door opened again, and the Duke of Carlisle swept inside on a swish of cold air. “I’m back!”
The duchess’s fingers had closed around the edge of the table where she sat across from Genevieve, and now she rose unsteadily. “Is it—” she began.
“It’s over,” he said. “I’m penniless and without property and all yours.”
The duchess laughed. “Perfect!”
He pulled her out of her seat, bent her backward, and kissed her.
