Restlessly she stepped to the windows, the dark hued red velvet of the blanket she held wrapped about her traced the smooth golden wood of the floor, falling softly just a notch beneath the pale curve of her shoulder.
Beyond the tall glass panes, the vast and artfully maintained Lionsbane gardens stretched magnificently. She remembered running among them as a wild haired kid. Hooting and laughing, brandishing a sword made out of brambles.
Nine more days… and that wild girl is to become the lady of this fine house.
Her finger traced down the window’s pane. She felt trapped, impatient, uncertain… why, she is going to be so awful at this… even now the household grumbles after her, Steven, the head butler can barely look at her for the length of one minute without his mouth curling in distaste. Lady Lionsbane indeed. Why did she ever agree to such an arrangement?
Her worn travelling journal was stashed beneath the window seat. Snappishly, the young woman pried it out and produced the pen from the cover’s spine. Brow creasing in a vivid exhibit of her irritation, she started flipping back the pages, busily scratching out some of the particularly emotional lovey-dovey exclamations that marked her latest entries…
Gods, she did want him.
And yet, she felt so uncertain.