Chapter 110

Genie inhaled sharply and their mother blanched in horror. Both women were struck dumb.

Draven stared down at his hands. He had known what their reaction would be, that did not make witnessing it easier.

Octavia finally broke the silence.

"Do you believe Lucien had something to do with the smuggling when he was alive?" Even saying his name was difficult.

"I don’t know." Draven answered truthfully.

"But you have considered it."

"Yes."

Her gaze remained fixed upon him. "Why else would his former valet be involved?"

"That is what I cannot determine."

Genie leaned toward him slightly. "But Lucien has been dead for five years. Do you think the smuggling has been going on that long?" she asked. "You only discovered it a year ago."

"Discovered it," Draven corrected quietly. "That does not mean it began then."

Genie considered that. The possibility was uncomfortable because it was perfectly reasonable.

Draven had spent the past year uncovering pieces of the operation when it could have been happening right under his nose for much longer.

He had never believed it started recently. But until now, he had no reason to look over the past five years.

"If it was already happening then," Genie murmured, "Lucien could have known."

"He could have." Draven agreed.

"Or perhaps his valet became involved afterward." Octavia chimed in.

Neither possibility gave Draven any comfort.

The rest of the journey went on without any of them revisiting the subject.

Octavia was silent throughout the time it took for them to reach Caldor and it was clear for anyone to see she was troubled by the mere mention of Lucien Harrow. It wasn’t surprising.

It was easier to mourn a dead child than one who was still alive yet lost to her, and she had endured both kinds of grief in her lifetime. One man’s wickedness had robbed her of her daughter forever, and she had never truly recovered from the loss.

The sun was still high in the sky by the time they reached Caldor.

The carriage travelled through the outer streets before turning down a quieter road. Soon the familiar wrought-iron gates of Draven’s private residence came into view.

The guards stationed at the gates were the first to notice their approach. They knew their master’s carriage on sight, and within moments, the gates were swinging open to admit them.

The carriage rolled onto the long drive, its wheels crunching over gravel.

The estate was considerably removed from the crowded heart of the capital, its acres of lawns, gardens and mature trees providing the privacy and luxury he had grown to crave.

The main house rose ahead of them, an imposing stone mansion with large windows and ornate stone carvings.

Servants were already waiting outside in two neat rows to welcome them.

Draven stepped down first and immediately turned to assist his mother.

"Careful," he murmured as Octavia placed her hand in his, knowing her feet and knees would be stiff from the journey. She was hardly the spry youth she was thirty years ago.

"I am perfectly capable of stepping out of a carriage." She said yet she still accepted his assistance gratefully.

"I know." His smile was indulgent.

He still steadied her until both feet were firmly on the ground.

Eugenia emerged next, accepting his hand as well, and the three of them entered the house while footmen began removing their luggage.

Their arrival had clearly been anticipated, and rooms were already prepared for them.

Octavia winced at the stiffness in her legs, gritting her teeth through the discomfort.

"I shall be going out shortly." Draven said to his mother.In case she needed his assistance again, he stayed close beside her as they climbed the stairs to her chambers.

"We just got here. Where are you rushing off to now?" She asked as they mounted the last step.

""Where else would I go, if not to see my future wife?"

He could have waited until tomorrow to see her, but he had never been this impatient to be near anyone before. The longing had become a dull ache beneath his ribs, and he wondered how he had remained sane during the two weeks he had spent away from her.

Before agreeing to her absurd scheme, he had contented himself with admiring her from a distance, like a precious work of art he had no right to possess. His situation was made worse by the fact that, only months ago, she was engaged to another man.

Draven would never claim to be a paragon of virtue and morality. His sins were numerous, and near the very top of the list was coveting another man’s woman.

He could not say exactly when he had fallen for her. Somewhere along the way, he had simply stopped seeing Cassandra as he saw everyone else. He began noticing the smallest details about her, things he had never paid attention to before.

But there was one thing he knew with absolute certainty: a man like John did not deserve a woman like Cassandra.

Draven had been forced to bury his feelings when his thoughts began straying into less respectable territory. It frightened him, what he was willing to do to have her.

Thankfully, he had never acted on any of those half-formed schemes. He was not the sort of man who would deliberately steal another man’s betrothed. More than that, he had resisted because he feared that indulging his feelings would cost him Cassandra’s friendship.

He could not bear the thought of losing that.

But none of it mattered now. She was his now. A troubling thought, considering their arrangement was always meant to be temporary."

"And when do you intend to propose?" She probed.

"Any day now." He wanted to. Badly. It was like an incessant itch under his skin.

Octavia studied him for another moment, then beckoned him toward her.

He followed her into the suite that had been prepared for her.

Several servants were already bringing in her valises, carefully placing each piece of luggage where it could later be unpacked. Octavia moved past them, crossed toward one of the larger cases and knelt beside it.

She opened it and began searching through her belongings, moving aside folded garments and smaller cases until she found the jewellery box she wanted.

Draven watched her curiously.

The servants continued bustling around them, but Octavia seemed scarcely aware of their presence.

She opened the jewellery box. Her fingers moved carefully among the pieces within before finally closing around a small leather-covered case tucked beneath them.

When she turned toward Draven, he saw the case in her hand.

Her smile was wistful. She made her way toward him, and when she was only an arm’s length away, she opened the case.

The ring inside caught the light.

"Your father gave me this ring when he first confessed his love for me." She said softly. "I kept it all these years because I always imagined that one day I would give it to one of my sons when he was ready to take a wife. I had intended to give it to your brother but he is no longer here" Her voice broke on the final words, throat squeezing until she had to force the words out. "Now that you have decided to marry, I believe it is right that I give it to you."