Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 129951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
I started laughing. “Druids?”
“It’s supposedly a mystical place,” Prudence said.
“I know that, my lovely,” I replied. “But Druids?”
“They’re still a thing,” Prudence shared.
“They’re essentially hippies who wear white robes,” Temperance put in. “Or is it witches who wear white robes? Don’t answer. I don’t care to know the distinction.”
“Maybe Ravenna will want to come with us to Glastonbury,” Prudence suggested while I took a sip of soup.
At this proposal, I nearly choked, and for some insane reason my gaze flew to Battle.
He was scowling at me.
How I knew what his scowl was saying, I couldn’t tell you.
But I did.
And he punctuated it by nudging my foot with his, a move that caused Bartholomew, who had miraculously followed us in without me noticing and settled between Battle’s and my seats, also without me noticing, to groan.
I bugged my eyes out at Battle.
He subtly jerked his head toward Prudence.
I mouthed an exaggerated, I know, but what do you want me to do about it?
He did the subtle head jerk again.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” Temperance complained. “I’ll say the quiet part out loud.”
Battle’s brow lowered dangerously as his attention shafted to his sister.
“Tempie,” he growled warningly.
Temperance ignored him. “We all think Ravenna is full of shit.”
I sat back in my seat, rethinking if I liked Temperance.
“She is not,” Prudence said defensively.
Chastity emitted a whisper-peep.
Prudence’s voice was rising. “You too?” she asked Chastity.
“And Battie, also Vivienne,” Temperance took it upon herself to confirm.
Now my brow was lowered dangerously and aimed at Temperance.
I smoothed my features when I felt Prudence look at me.
I caught the et tu? look in her eyes and explained, “I’m one hundred percent all about tarot. You can use the cards as a means of digging deeper into what’s happening in your life, things you might not be seeing, things you might be avoiding, feelings you might not fully understand, but should. I guess you can say that about pretty much every”—I put my spoon down to do air quotation marks—“‘fortune telling’ thing. Like tasseography, astrology, crystallomancy or palmistry.”
“What’s tasseography?” Chastity whisper-cut in.
“Reading tea leaves,” I told her, and turned back to Prudence. “But honey, curses and actual fortunes and some of the stuff you told me Ravenna said to you…” I trailed off and shook my head.
“Though, I will say the woman knows fortunes, since she charges you one every bloody time you see her,” Temperance added.
“Enough,” Battle said low.
Temperance pressed her lips together.
I grabbed a dejected Prudence’s wrist. “But I do want to meet her. I didn’t lie about that.” I shrugged and gave her a smile. “I might be wrong. Though, how about we take another day to do that and do Glastonbury on our own?”
“With Chassie,” Temperance unpressed her lips to declare.
“Of course,” I said, then looked to Chastity, and instantly, my scalp started tingling.
She appeared downright panicked.
“Glastonbury isn’t my thing,” she whisper-asserted.
“Nonsense,” Temperance said. “You loved the ruins of the abbey when you were a kid.”
“I have—” Chastity whisper-began.
Temperance talked over her. “Sorted. You three girls head to the mystical mecca and peruse crystals and buy flower crowns and be sure to bring back some of those Viennese biscuits dipped in chocolate from Burns the Bread.”
Chastity cast rattled eyes at her big brother.
He ignored her while he calmly sipped soup.
I read the room (I hoped) and announced, “Agreed. We have a plan. Girls trip. And I’ll drive.”
It was then His Grace, Battle Talyn aimed an indulgent smile at me.
I had no idea what was happening or what I was getting into.
But whatever it was, I knew one thing from that smile.
It was worth it.
CHAPTER 6
THE TOUR
I swam out of sleep the next morning to what appeared to be another dreary day in England and the understanding my slumbering self was the entertainment of a green-eyed Persian.
Snowball was sitting beside me, regarding me condescendingly.
“You’re a bed hog,” I accused.
And she was.
No matter where I turned last night, there she was, sprawled out and purring so that eventually I had the edge of the king-size bed, and she had the rest of it.
As response to my accusation, she licked her paw and cleaned her ear with it.
“Ugh,” I groaned, falling to my back then turning my head to see the smart screen told me it was seven fifteen.
Last night, Prudence showed me where breakfast was served (another dining room in the north wing, this one smaller, less formal, with a gleaming round table and a sideboard set up with fancy silver chafing dishes).
She’d also told me I could order a tray to be brought up to my room or come down whenever I wanted. The staff kept the chafing dishes full from seven to nine thirty, but I could order anytime.
I had plenty of time to make breakfast downstairs, but I wasn’t going to take it.
I was getting the tour, including discovering what the aristocracy considered junk, and I was finally going to be able to lay my eyes on all the documents Prudence had been able to unearth for me.