Sold to the coldhearted beast

Going to his home

*Everly*

Late the following afternoon, freed from my lovely prison, I can’t recall a single time where I have ridden in a carriage with Orley. It is odd to have him sitting across from me, staring out the window at the darkening skies. It will no doubt be raining by nightfall. The air feels heavy and damp, as though it is simply waiting to unburden itself.

I don’t even know where we are going, although I recognize the area as we have not yet traveled far from our home.

When he had come to my room and commanded me to get ready for a carriage ride, I had almost told him to go to the devil. He had left me to worry all night, wondering if any of the alphas had hinted about an interest in me. But I had been too desperate to leave the house to risk upsetting him by revealing that I am angry with him for his behavior and lack of regard for my feelings.

So I had simply donned a black walking dress, matching pelisse, and hat. I hate appearing so docile as it gives the impression that I am someone who he can wipe his muddy boots on as he pleases, but the truth is I have so few options.

I have no money to speak of. I supposed I could sell the jewelry my father had given me, but I didn’t know its value or how far it might take me. I am beginning to realize that my father, bless his soul, had done me a disservice in not preparing me adequately for his departure, in making me dependent upon Orley’s kindness … of which he appears to possess so very little.

Wondering how to properly bring up the subject of last night, I quietly clear my throat before taking a stab at it. “Were your friends adequately amused last night?”

Orley’s jaw tightens, his gray eyes narrow, and I suspect he looks frightening to anyone who catches sight of his face as the carriage rolls along. “Yes.”

Yes? That is it? I want to reach out, pinch his nose, and order him to expand on his answer. I squeeze my hands together. “Did anyone in particular express any sort of interest in me?”

“Tristan Rafe. We’re off to his residence now.” He says in a flipped tone.

So Rafe is his last name, is it? Not that it means anything to me. Why had he been so mysterious about it? “Oh?”

Orley looks at me suddenly. Do I actually see regret in his eyes?

“Is he a good friend then?” I ask.

“He’s not a friend at all. He owns a gambling establishment. I am in his debt.” He looks out the window, avoiding my eyes.

“I see.” Only I do not, at all. Marrying a gambling den owner would be far worse than marrying an omega. As a matter of fact, it would be quite scandalous. I am surprised he is allowed entry into polite circles. “He mentioned that he isn’t titled.”

My brother looks at me shortly. “He’s the third son of a very influential Alpha, although he rarely acknowledges it.”

“So he is of Alpha blood,” I murmur. I suppose that explained his presence the night before.

“He doesn’t fancy being addressed as such. You should probably simply call him ‘Mr. Rafe.’ At least until he informs you differently.” Orley says.

It still makes no sense. If the man had been resting in a casket, he couldn’t have expressed less interest in me than he did last night. So why would he wish to spend more time with me? “It’s a bit early to be dining. Will we be going for a walk about the park? Will this be the start of him officially wooing me?”

Orley squints, blinks, squints again as though his mind are stuttering along, unable to process the words I have just spoken. He returns his gaze to the window. “I doubt he has plans to woo you.”

“Then I don’t understand why we’re going to visit him.” I say with confusion.

“You’ll … see after things for him.” My brother mumbles.

What a strange turn in the conversation. And then it dawns on me …

“You mean I have been employed to manage his household?” I ask.

“I am not certain exactly what your duties will entail, but you will see to his needs.” He mysteriously says.

Why doesn’t he look at me? Why does he refuse to meet my gaze? Why is he being so blasted mysterious regarding my purpose? Is he embarrassed that he has found me a job rather than a husband … that his own place in wolf society has not allowed him to do more for me? I do not wish him to feel as though he has failed in his promise to our father, but still this is all rather odd.

The carriage turns onto a cobblestone drive. In spite of my best intentions, I lean over and peer out the window. A grand residence, larger than ours … Orley’s, looms before us. I can’t help but be impressed. “He must be incredibly wealthy to live in a place such as this.”

“Embarrassingly so.” Orley admits.

I hear the resentment then, the anger. Orley had said he owed him money. Am I going to work for Tristan Rafe as a way to pay off my brother’s debts? Surely this arrangement will be only temporary, until the debt is paid or someone asks for my hand. “How long will I work here?”

“As long as he wants you.” Another mumbled response.

The carriage rattles to a stop. A footman opens the door. Orley leaps out as though his seat has suddenly caught fire. The servant hands me down.

“Orley, I’m not quite sure I understand.” I say, looking at him.

“It’ll all be explained. Come along.” He hurries up the wide sweeping steps.

I contemplate climbing back into the carriage, but if I am being paid for my services, I might have the means to see after myself until I can find a proper husband. I suppose the least I can do is listen to the terms of the arrangement. Lifting my skirts, I walk up the stairs. At the beginning and end of them sits the most hideous stone gargoyles. They seem to fit with their owner. Based upon my limited interaction with him, I can’t imagine him suffering through cherubs dancing around.

As soon as I reach the top, where Orley waits, a butler opens the door and I glide through, aware of Orley following in my wake. The inside is even more impressive, with frescoed ceilings, exquisite artwork, and statues standing about. But I see nothing personal. No portraits. All the paintings are landscapes: stormy seas and dark forests. Everything is arranged perfectly, too perfectly, as though it is all for show.

“Miss Everly to see Mr. Tristan Rafe,” Orley says. “She is expected.”

“Yes, my alpha, as I am well aware, but regretfully the master is not yet home. However, I have been instructed to see to Miss Everly’s comforts until he arrives. Miss, if you’ll follow me to the parlor?” The butler says kindly.

I have taken a mere half-dozen steps when I realized that Orley is not accompanying me. Turning to face him, I ask, “Orley, are you not coming?”

“No.” He simply says.

“You’re leaving me here?” I start to feel worried again.

He nods. “Yes.”

“But you’ll be returning for me?” A clammy hand grips me.

“Rafe will explain everything.” With that, he places his hat on his head, spins on his heel, and walks out the front door.

When I take a step forward to follow and question his odd behavior further, the butler gently touches my arm. “It’ll be alright, miss.”

He is not terribly old, somewhere in his thirties, I suspect … Young for a butler. He has dark hair and kind brown eyes. His clothing, like everything that surrounds them, is immaculate.

“I fear Orley has told me very little. I understand that I’m managing the household.” I say.

“I have no doubt that all the servants will do,as you ask.” He says with a small smile.

I smile back at him. “What is your name?”

“I am known as Laurence.” He bows slightly and extend his hand. “Please allow me to escort you to the parlor.”

I give a brisk nod and follow a half step behind him. “How many servants are there?”

“Twenty-five.” He answers.

We walk into a room of burgundy and dark paneling. It seems Tristan Rafe is not one for cheery colors. A large globe rests on a pedestal in a far corner. A low fire burns in the hearth. Suddenly chilled, I walk over to it and extend my gloved palms toward the small dancing flames.

“May I take your cloak?” Laurence asks.

I rub my warmed hands up and down my arms. “No, not yet, thank you.”

“I shall have tea and biscuits brought in for you.” He says.

“Thank you.” I turn, wishing I didn’t feel so unsettled. “When will Mr. Rafe return home?”

He gives me an apologetic smile.“I’m sorry, miss, but that I cannot say.”

My brother has truly left me then, and for reasons I can’t explain, I wish I was still locked in my bedchamber at home. It suddenly seems a far safer and more comforting alternative.