Slumping, Margaret crossed the grassy bank to stand by the sheltered waterfall. It fell with cheerful burbling sounds down all the rocky layers of its bumpy incline to splash into the stream and travel purposefully onwards. Margaret wished she could so easily leave behind all her own regrets and second thoughts.
Thiswas why it wasn’t worth socializing with anyone but her own husband! Conversation was the one subject at which she could never excel—nor even pass with mediocre marks, no matter how she tried.
Even this morning’s fieldwork had been a disappointment—because if Leonie had run in the direction of the inn, Margaret now knew exactly where she was standing on the map. As she looked down into thebusily rippling water of the stream, she found every inch deeply shadowed by overhanging branches and transparent enough to note every tiny fish that darted above the plain grey rocks that lined its bed, along with multiple fallen pinecones.
Sighing, she mentally crossed off the first location on her prepared list of possibilities. Regardless of nuances in translation, no one would ever refer to this particular body of water asReflection’s Heart...so she would not be discovering the legendary source of all the Black Forest’s magic this morning after all.
As she finally stepped out fromthe trees an hour later, tired and out of breath from so much unaccustomed exercise, Margaret’s gaze traveled immediately to the doorstep where that giant raven’s feather had fallen. She had left it unstudied, earlier, in case its owner should wish to retrieve it once she was safely out of sight. However, if ithadactually been abandoned there for good...
Oh.The black feather was missing, but something else lay on the doorstep in its place: a small, square, cream-colored envelope with elegantly gilded corners that glinted in the sunlight.
“Oh,no,” she breathed. Her steps slowed to a trudge as she warily approached the doorstep, feeling true dread for the first time since arriving at this inn.
There was, of course, no rationalreason to give in to fear quite yet; this envelope might well be addressed to someone else. There were, after all, seven permanent residents at the inn.
Even when she saw the two names written in beautifully curving script—Lord and Lady Riven—she told herself, with pathetic desperation, that there might still be hope. There was no written address on this envelope. Clearly, no ordinary postal service had carried it.
For all she knew, it could simply be a brusque eviction notice from the inn’s host, left here for her to find on her return. She wouldn’t be pleased by such a message, but it certainly wouldn’t beunendurable.
So, she forced herself to be brave and tear the envelope open...only for her worst nightmare to fall out onto the palm of her left hand.
It was a small, stiff card with the horrifying message:
You are cordially invited to attend tonight’s intimate soiree at the country residence of Baroness von Mühlsäcker, rightful owner of...
The rest of the words blurred in Margaret’s vision. Weary from so many hours spent awake, aching from all her hours of walking, and disheartened by the multiple failures of the morning, she gave in to shameful cowardice and ripped the card and its envelope into a dozen pieces.
When she fell into bed beside her husband ten minutes later, it felt less like a delightful treat thanusual and more like a dishonorable retreat from the battlefield.
Even the scentof good tea some hours later couldn’t make wakefulness appealing. Grumbling, she reached blindly to pull the covers over her face.
A warm, familiar hand closed around her arm to stop her. “My poor, sleepy wife.” Lord Riven’s deep voice was rich with amusement. “Did you stay up far too late with your studying again?”
Margaret squeezed her eyes tightly shut against the glow of the nearby gaslight but managed to summon up her voice from deep within the recesses of her being. It came out scratchy from the exertion of that journey as she rasped, “Not studying.Fieldwork.”
“Ah.” There was a quiet huff of laughter. “Well, that explains the pine needles I found on my nightshirt when I awoke. You must have shed them on me as we slept.”
“Ugh.” There really was no chance of falling back into sleep now, was there? Groaning, Margaret shifted upwards in the bed, her eyes still closed. “Where’s that tea?”
“Here.” Warm china met her grasping hand, and her husband closed her fingers carefully around the cup’s handle. “This should do the trick.”
By the end of her first cup, she feltready to open her eyes. By the end of her second, she was ready to face the consequences of her own actions.
“Very well.” She straightened her shoulders to brace herself as she sat against the headboard. “You can tell me what they’ve all been saying about me this time.”
“I beg your pardon?” Lord Riven’s fair eyebrows rose as he passed her today’s breakfast plate. “I thought you’d spent your morning exploring outside the inn.”
“I did, but...” Margaret winced away from the mortification of that memory. “Well, surely, Fräulein Leonie must have unburdened herself of a whole new litany of complaints by now.”
...This time, with far more justification. Had Margaretreallytold the girl to be grateful for what had happened to her?
If breakfast hadn’t been so precariously balanced upon her lap, Margaret would have made another yank for the covers to hide her face behind them. “It all seemed a good idea at the time,” she mumbled miserably, “but whatever Leonie’s said, I’m sure?—”
“As far as I know, she hasn’t said anything.” Lord Riven’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “But am I to understand that she chose to follow you on your expedition this morning? Waited and caught you alone, away from the inn and?—”
“No.” Ugh, this was a disaster! “She thought I’d followedher, which of course I had not. But then I tried to offer her comfort for her unhappiness and—oh, it all went terribly wrong.” Margaret’s cheeks were burning; she couldn’t bear to see his expression, so she turned her gaze sightlessly to the plate on her lap, her own vision filled with the memory of Leonie’s furious, stricken face.
‘Are you completely heartless?’
