Her exiled Gamma

Who left him in the hedge ?

*Kiona*

Sitting in the front parlor, the escritoire on my lap, almost forgotten, I curse

Castors Softpaw for the hundredth time. His words have put salacious thoughts in my head that I can not seem to be rid of. Hands gliding over my bare shoulders and lower, to places they ought not. Blast him !

Then, to insinuate that I had been lying when I had claimed not to have ever had improper musings ... the bastard. Of course, I have, but it had been bad form on his part to insist I confessed it. A she-wolf of genteel breeding should not harbor lurid reflections and most certainly should not admit to it, especially when they often involves my dearest friend's obnoxious brother doing terribly wicked things to me, running a finger over my décolletage where silk met flesh or kissing the inside of my wrist where I always put a dab of perfume just in case. I curse him again.

To make matters worse, he had used that awful moniker he had bestowed upon me when I had met him at the age of twelve, Freckles. Ghastly name, that. The brown spots had always been the bane of my existence. Wearing bonnets that I loathe and rubbing all sorts of magical creams on my face has caused the spots to fade, but the barest of shadows remains, which gives me a rather blotchy appearance when I blush. Which for some reason Castor Softpaw causes to happen with regular frequency whenever he is near.

Since I am presently staying with my dearest friend, Isadora, crossing paths with

Cass ... as his sister calls him and I secretly do as well ... has become a regular part of my day ... and sometimes my night.

I fight not to give in to guilt because I am the one responsible for his having awakened near the hedgerows. Having difficulty sleeping last evening, I had been on

my way to the library to fetch a book and had just reached the foyer, when I spotted the front door opening. Then he had stumbled in, only a fraction, enough to press himself against the jamb without releasing his hold on the latch. His disheveled state had been appalling. His tie was unknotted and his hat missing. His hair stood at odd angles as though a dozen women had run their fingers through it, which they no doubt had. When his gaze landed on me, one corner of his mouth had hitched up. “Hello, Freckles”.

I hated seeing him in such disarray, behaving like my uncle George ... my father's

brother. The man drank too much, played rather than worked, and constantly came to my father because he was in need of funds to support his gambling habits. He argued that he was owed because my father had inherited the titles and estates while he had been left with nothing.

Although, eventually he will inherit because my father has no son with whom to leave

everything. It hadn't helped my opinion regarding uncle George when his own mother was so disappointed in him. "Never marry a second son”. My grandmother had advised me numerous times when he had shown up at a family function three sheets to the wind. He cared about only himself, no one else. Not his wife or his own son, who had taken after him in every regard, even going so far as to hold out his hand to my father. “It will all be mine eventually. Might as well give me a bit now”.

And it seems Castor Softpaw is cut of the same cloth. I shouldn't care, but I do, damn him. Although for the life of me, I can’t figure out why. But I just want him to be better than he is. Therefore, last night when the opportunity had presented itself, I had decided to bring him some misery and had hurried over to him.

“I hear your father coming. He mustn't see you in this state. Go round to the back. I'll let you in there”. His father hadn't been coming. The alpha wasn’t even at home. He spends more nights away from the residence than he spends in it. It is a well-known secret that he has a mistress and prefers her company to that of his Luna.

But Castor, in his inebriated state, hadn't the presence of mind to question my lie, had

steadfastly believed me, and had made haste to exit through the door he had just entered. I had pocketed his key from where he had left it in the keyhole, shut the door, and locked it. After scurrying to the servants' entrance, I made certain that door was locked as well. In delight, I stood there listening as the daft man knocked and knocked and knocked.

Then he called for me. “Freckles ! Come on, Freckles, open the door. Be a good girl”.

Only I hadn't wanted to be a good girl. I had wanted him to stop calling me that ridiculous name, and had wanted him to be different from the two men who are causing such heartache for my family.

Finally, all had gone quiet. After I had gathered enough courage to open the door and peer out, he was nowhere to be seen. A momentary panic struck me until I heard him singing some naughty song about a woman with bowlegs. I had watched his silhouette weaving through the garden until he finally disappeared behind the hedgerows. All had gone silent for a couple of minutes before I had heard the snores and decided he deserved the uncomfortable bed.

Although now, I feel badly about it because I had determined that afternoon to ask a

favor of him. But finding any time alone with him in order to broach the subject of my request had proven impossible, which is part of the reason I have sought solitude in the front parlor while Isadora and her mother have adjourned to the Luna's favorite drawing room for a bit of tea following dinner.

I have eaten numerous times with the family, but only tonight had I noticed that the Alpha, sitting at the head of the table, only addressed his elder son, Dimos, who sat to his right.

Never the younger who sat to his left.

Although I had been on the other side of Castor, as only six of us were at the table .. the Luna at its foot and Isadora across from me, I had hardly been able to carry on a quiet conversation with him.

To look at him, no one would have guessed how he had begun his morning. He smelled decadent, a combination of bay rum and a fragrance that is uniquely him, like the earthy scent of autumn when leaves turn.

His hair was perfectly styled, not a single finger had gone through it yet. As though he is accustomed to being ignored, his focus seemed to center on one of two things: either his plate or his wineglass.

A couple of times the Alpha asked questions of Isadora. Once he asked me if I had heard from my parents since they had started their journey. I had answered that I had and that they were well. The Alpha had then regaled us with an account of his last trip to the first city my parents were visiting. He seemed to prefer speaking to listening.

My parents will arrive at their city residence tomorrow evening, and I will return to them the following morning. Not that I will find dinners any more comfortable.

My parents are striving to rekindle their affection for each other, almost to the exclusion of anyone else. Hence the trip. Neither of them had ever been good at expressing their emotions.

But I have received all the love I craved from my grandmother. My best memories

comes from the days I have spent with the dear woman at her cottage by the sea.

I wonder if Castor has someplace that has brought him comfort, not that I am particularly happy about empathizing with him, but I feel a tad guilty about my desire to use him, but one must do what one must to gain what one wants.

I am rather certain he will be leaving again tonight, because he has every night since my arrival. Hence I am in the front parlor with my escritoire in my lap as I make a list of my best qualities. Or try to. So far I have written only ‘skilled at whist’. Jade has the right of it. It seems rather pompous to brag about oneself, although I have no doubt my friend will rise to the challenge of listing her own good qualities, suspected she has taken up sheaves and sheaves of foolscap, laying them all out. I have never possessed Jade’s confidence, finding it most irritating on occasion, which is part of the reason I have always felt closer to Isadora.

But it is imperative that I catch the Alpha’s favor. I have a rather substantial dowry, and it includes the cottage in which my grandmother had lived out her later years and died. It would be placed in a trust so it would remain in my care to be used as my dowager house, while the remainder of my dowry would transfer to my husband. But I don’t care about the remainder of my dowry. I care only about the beloved cottage.

However, in order to gain it, I must marry an Alpha. Because my wastrel uncle will inherit, and later my cousin, my grandmother had wanted to ensure I am well cared for, as she hadn't believed she could rely on the future Alpha to see to the needs of her beloved granddaughter. My grandmother had believed only a man with the right title could offer me the life I deserve. However, with each passing year since my first season, the prospect of meeting that marker and obtaining the one thing I treasure most has dimmed.

Alpha Brinsley is perfect. I have met him once. I could do without his pompousness, but then, most Alpha’s possess that trait. They are Alphas, after all. I would be a dutiful wife, provide him with an heir and a spare, and when he tires of me, I would find my solace in the cottage. With it and the memories of the love my grandmother had showered on me, I could weather anything.