Harmonisk union

Chapter One

As night fell, the cold moon hung high in the sky. The bright moonlight fell on the ancient castle on the edge of the city, casting a mysterious silver veil around it. Emily stood on the balcony, looking at the forest in the distance, and felt a chill rising from the bottom of her heart. Since moving to this castle, her life has become bizarre and mysterious.
The cold wind in October swept across her bare shoulders, bringing a shudder. Emily subconsciously wrapped her woolen shawl tightly around her, but she couldn't feel any warmth. This castle seems to be always cold, just like its mysterious owner Lucas Black, exuding an inaccessible atmosphere.
"Miss Emily," suddenly, a low voice sounded behind her, "You'll catch a cold if you're still outside so late."
She turned around and saw Lucas standing at the balcony door. The moonlight outlined his tall figure. He was wearing a dark silk shirt, and the collar vaguely revealed his strong chest. The amber eyes flickered strangely in the darkness, as if they could see through her soul.
"Mr. Black," Emily whispered, trying to hide the trembling in her voice, "I'm just admiring the moonlight."
Lucas took a step forward, but suddenly stopped. Emily noticed that his body stiffened instantly, and his nostrils fluttered slightly, as if he was sniffing something. His expression became solemn, and a glimmer of wildness flashed in his eyes, but was quickly suppressed.
"Please go in," his voice was hoarser than usual, "It's not safe here."
Just then, a cold night breeze swept across the balcony, bringing a faint smell of rust. Emily saw that Lucas's fingers were almost pinched into the stone railing, and his knuckles were white. She couldn't help but take a step back, her heartbeat accelerated.
"I thought this castle was the safest place," she whispered, "after all, you are here."
Lucas let out an almost inaudible growl, "Some danger, Miss Emily, is much closer than you think." His eyes looked unusually sharp in the moonlight, "especially on a full moon night."
Suddenly, a wolf howl came from the distant forest, shrill and long. Emily was surprised to find that Lucas' pupils shrank in an instant and turned into vertical pupils like a beast, but the fleeting change made her wonder if it was just an illusion caused by the moonlight.
Just then, a cold breath passed by her from behind, accompanied by a chuckle. Emily turned around and saw only a dark shadow flashing in the corner of the balcony. When she looked back again, Lucas had come to her side, with a hand gently on her shoulder.
"I'll take you back to your room," he said, with an unquestionable commanding tone in his voice. Emily noticed that his palms were surprisingly hot, in sharp contrast to the chill of the castle.
Walking in the dark corridor of the castle, Emily could feel Lucas' presence, he walked behind her like a silent guardian. Moonlight poured in through the Gothic stained glass windows, casting mottled shadows on the floor.
"Good night, Miss Emily," Lucas whispered in front of her door, "Remember, no matter what sound you hear, don't leave the room tonight."
"Why?" Emily asked subconsciously.
Lucas was silent for a moment, his eyes looked deep and dangerous in the moonlight, "Because the moonlight tonight is too beautiful, it will always wake up something that shouldn't wake up."
When the door closed behind her, Emily leaned against the door, her heartbeat still alarmingly fast. She could hear Lucas's footsteps gradually fading away, but she seemed to hear the sound of wings flapping outside the window. She walked to the window and looked out through the glass.
In the moonlit courtyard, she saw a figure standing by the fountain. The man looked up at her window, and the moonlight illuminated his pale marble face - it was Draco, with a mysterious smile on his lips and a dangerous light in his eyes. When Emily blinked, his figure had disappeared, as if he had never appeared. Emily lay trembling on the bed, listening to the wolf howling outside the window. She knew that she had fallen into a world full of dangers, and this was just the beginning. On this moonlit night, her fate was closely linked to two mysterious and dangerous beings, and there was no turning back.

Chapter Two

In the dead of night, Emily lay in bed, the faces of Lucas and Draco appeared in her mind. She could not resist the deep attraction, but she also knew that she was caught in a dangerous vortex. She knew that the confrontation between the two men was a life-and-death hostility, and she was just a pawn in their war. A corner of her heart reminded her to escape, but the deeper desire pulled her to stay in this mysterious castle, looking forward to the unknown encounter.

        Just as she was about to fall asleep, a slight knock on the window interrupted the silence. Emily opened her eyes, and the moonlight poured into the room through the curtains, making the corners of the room particularly dark. She sat up subconsciously, trembling slightly and walked to the window. When she opened the curtains, a figure was standing in front of her, cold and elegant.

        It was Draco.

        "Sorry, I scared you, Emily." His low voice was frivolous and indifferent, as if every word revealed his unfathomable darkness. His eyes were like two flames in the abyss, locking onto her with an irresistible force.

        "How... are you here?" Emily's heartbeat quickened, and her hands unconsciously clenched a corner of the curtain. She knew she should be scared at this moment, but Draco's unique charm made it hard for her to resist.

        Draco did not answer her question, but slowly approached, lowered his head and whispered in her ear: "You know why I'm here, Emily. You've never really been afraid of me, right?"

        The moment he approached, she smelled the cold breath on him, as if it came from the night a thousand years ago. Her breathing gradually became rapid, but she did not retreat, but was locked by his eyes, as if her soul was also attracted to him.

        "Draco... we can't do this." Her voice was weak, but she did not retreat at all, as if even she herself was struggling with contradictions.

        "You don't belong here at all, Emily. Staying here will only put you in deeper danger." Draco gently lifted her chin, with a smile on the corner of his cold mouth, that smile was both gentle and dangerous, "But if you want to know the real darkness, then come. I will take you to see everything."

        At this moment, the door was pushed open, and Lucas' figure appeared at the door like a shadow. His face was gloomy, and his eyes were burning with anger. It was his possessiveness and anger that he could not hide. He walked towards Draco step by step, his hands clenched, his muscles tensed, as if he was going to pounce on and tear the enemy in front of him in the next second.

        "Draco, let her go." Lucas' voice was low and threatening, like an enraged beast. It was the first time Emily saw him so out of control, his eyes were like a ball of unextinguishable fire, revealing uncontrollable anger and possessiveness.

        Draco smiled slightly, released Emily's chin, and looked at Lucas provocatively. "Don't you understand yet? She doesn't belong to you. The savagery of the wolf tribe is nothing but a bondage to her, and I can give her true freedom."

        "The 'freedom' you mentioned will only make her fall into darkness. You don't understand what true protection is." Lucas sneered, his eyes as sharp as an eagle. He slowly stepped forward, blocked Emily, and protected her behind him. That was his attitude as the wolf king, firm and unshakable.

        Emily was sandwiched between the two, feeling her heartbeat speed up, as if breathing became difficult. These two completely different forces intertwined and collided in front of her, making it impossible for her to decide which side to choose.

        Draco raised the corners of his mouth and slowly took a step back, his eyes still on Emily. "Emily, one day you will find that he can't satisfy the desire in your heart. And I am your true home."

        As soon as the voice fell, Draco's figure disappeared into the night, as if he had never appeared.

        Lucas looked at the empty room, his fists gradually loosened, but the anger and worry in his eyes remained. He turned around and looked at Emily softly, but his eyes still flashed with contradictions and forbearance.

        "Are you okay?" He asked in a low voice, with a trace of undisguised concern in his voice.

        Emily nodded, but her heart was in turmoil and it was difficult to calm down. She knew that she had fallen too deep. She could not let go of these two men easily, nor could she easily resist them. A complex emotion surged in her heart, which was a dangerous and fatal attraction.

        "Lucas, I..." She wanted to say something, but lost her words when she met his eyes.

        "Don't get close to him." Lucas' voice was low, with a hint of pleading and warning, "I know you feel confused, but Draco is not what you think. He will only drag you into the darkness, and I won't let him hurt you."

        Emily just looked at him silently, and a touch of uncertainty gradually rose in her heart. She knew that this was not just a war, but a contest of feelings and desires. In this dangerous triangle relationship, she has gone too far and can never turn back.

Chapter Three

Emily stayed awake all night. The wind outside the window blew through the woods, making a low moan, as if the whole castle was whispering in her ear. She curled up in bed, recalling Draco's cold smile and Lucas's deep eyes. Two completely different attractions stirred in her heart, making her lost on the edge of danger and desire.

        When the sky was slightly bright, she made a decision. She had to figure out what she wanted, the wildness and protection of the wolf tribe, or the mystery and temptation of the vampire. She got up and walked out of the room, walked through the deserted corridor, and came to the door of Lucas's study.

        The door of the study was slightly open, and a whisper came from inside. Emily stood outside the door and pricked up her ears to listen.

        "She is innocent, Lucas." A low and gentle female voice came from Lucas's sister, Leila. Emily had heard rumors about her. Leila was the wisest prophet in the wolf tribe and could always see fragments of the future.

        "I know, Leila." Lucas' voice was hoarse, as if he had struggled all night, "but I can't control myself, I can't suppress my desire for her. I'm afraid that if she stays with me, she will only be swallowed by my darkness."

        Emily's heart trembled, and she raised her hand to push open the door.

        "Lucas." Her voice was abrupt and firm in the silent room.

        The two turned around and saw her standing at the door with a hint of determination in her eyes. She walked slowly towards Lucas, looked up at him, with a hint of determination and inquiry in her eyes.

        "I know you protect me, but I'm not a fragile child." Her voice was calm and firm, "I need to know the truth. Why are you always so hesitant? And why is Draco so persistent in approaching me?"

        Lucas' expression froze for a moment, his eyes wandering on her face, as if he was weighing whether to tell her everything. Finally, he took a deep breath, as if he had made up his mind.

        "Emily, the fate of our werewolves is usually determined at birth. The wolf tribe has a unique ability to perceive its partner. When we find that person, we will feel an attraction that cannot be ignored... and you are my destined partner." Lucas spoke in a low voice, with pain and desire flashing in his eyes.

        Emily's heartbeat accelerated, and thousands of emotions surged in her mind, both shocked and confused. She never thought that she would become his destined partner, and his possessiveness and protectiveness of her turned out to come from this ancient bond.

        She asked softly: "What about Draco? Why is he so obsessed with me?"

        Lucas's eyes became more gloomy, and there was a hint of anger in his eyes. "Draco's tribe never believed in fate. They prefer to dominate their own future. And he believes that as long as he possesses you, he can destroy me and the traditional beliefs of the wolf tribe. So, he is not sincere to you, but to weaken my power."

        Emily's heart suddenly tightened, and a hint of anger and loss surged in her eyes. However, she also felt a little unwilling, as if she was just a tool in this struggle, being fought over and torn by the two, and she had no right to control herself.

        "So, Lucas, are you sincere? Is it just fate for me?" There was a hint of disappointment in her voice, and her eyes became cold.

        Lucas was stunned, as if he was hurt by her question. He was silent for a moment before speaking: "Emily, I can't deny the existence of fate, but I can't ignore my feelings for you." He gently held her hand, his eyes full of affection and desire, "Whether it is fate or something else, I am willing to give up everything for you."

        Just then, a slight sound came from outside the window. Emily turned back suddenly and saw a pair of dark red eyes flashing outside the window, like a flame in the dark, and the familiar cold breath startled her heart.

        It was Draco.

        He stood outside the window, sneering at them, as if everything was under his control. He knocked on the window lightly, his voice cold and full of provocation: "I don't think it's possible to talk about 'betraying' everything here, Lucas. You can't protect her because she will eventually come to me."

        Lucas' eyes immediately became cold and dangerous. He stood in front of Emily, glared at Draco outside the window, and growled in a low voice: "Stay away from her, Draco. You can't force her to choose darkness."

        Draco smiled slightly, his eyes full of evil confidence. He raised his eyebrows at Emily, as if everything was under his control. "Dear Emily, you will find that the bright world cannot satisfy your desire. And darkness - is your destination." After he finished speaking, his figure instantly disappeared into the night.

        The room returned to silence, but the air was filled with tension and uneasiness. Emily looked at the empty darkness outside the window, feeling both fear and desire in her heart. She could no longer deny Draco's attraction to her, and the danger and mystery made her heart beat faster.

        Lucas noticed her hesitation, and a trace of pain and uneasiness flashed in his eyes. He gently held her hand and whispered, "Emily, don't get close to him. His darkness will devour you and make you lost in the endless night."

        She didn't respond, but just looked at him silently, her heart full of complicated emotions. She knew that she could no longer simply withdraw from the two of them. Her fate had been drawn into an uncontrollable vortex, and the only thing she could do was to follow her heart and touch the unknown darkness.

Chapter Four

As autumn deepened, the forest surrounding the castle donned a cloak of gold and crimson. Yet Emily felt none of the season's warmth. Since that night's revelation, her mind had been in constant turmoil, with Lucas's truth and Draco's temptation intertwining like two serpents in her thoughts, leaving her breathless.

        That evening, Emily found herself alone in the castle's library, searching through ancient tomes for any mention of werewolves and vampires. As she focused on a yellowed manuscript, the air suddenly turned cold. Looking up, she found Draco standing across from her, his appearance as silent as shadow.

        "Seeking truth, my dear Emily?" Draco leaned elegantly against the bookshelf, wearing a deep purple silk shirt that made his skin appear even paler. "But you know, written accounts are often one-sided."

        Emily instinctively stepped back. "Why do you always appear like this? It's unsettling."

        Draco chuckled softly, moving toward her with fluid grace. "Because I enjoy seeing you startled. It makes you even more enticing." His fingers traced her cheek, the cold touch making her shiver. "Lucas told you I'm merely using you, but did he mention that his fate is actually a chain binding him?"

        Emily froze. "What do you mean?"

        "The werewolves' so-called destined mates are nothing but constraints in their bloodline," Draco's voice carried a hypnotic power. "They're forced to love someone, forced to protect them. Isn't that tragic? While I..." his gaze deepened, "I choose you because I'm truly drawn to you."

        A low growl suddenly echoed from the doorway. Lucas stood there, his eyes now golden, filled with rage. "Step away from her, Draco!" His voice carried an unmistakable threat.

        Instead of retreating, Draco pulled Emily closer. "Why so angry, Lucas? Is it because I spoke the truth, or because you fear she might choose me?"

        The tension in the air grew thick enough to cut. Emily could feel the energy between the two men threatening to tear the room apart. Lucas's body trembled as he fought to control the beast within.

        "Enough!" Emily suddenly shouted, "What am I to both of you? Some trophy to be won?" Her voice carried both anger and hurt.

        Both men froze. Pain flashed across Lucas's eyes, while Draco's expression turned contemplative.

        Emily pushed away from Draco and walked toward the door, but paused beside Lucas. "You say I'm your destiny, but have you considered my feelings?" Her voice was soft but accusatory. "And you, Draco, if you truly cared for me, you wouldn't use me as a weapon against him."

        She hurried from the library, and only when she reached the corridor did her tears finally fall. She didn't know whom to trust - Lucas, chosen by fate, or Draco, who chose her himself? More importantly, she began to question whether she truly understood her own heart.

        As night fell, Emily stood on her balcony. Wolves howled in the distant forest, while somewhere in the castle, she thought she heard the flutter of bat wings. Everything reminded her that she stood at the crossroads between two worlds, and she had to make a choice.

        Then she noticed items on the balcony railing: a rose as black as night with a blood-red sheen - Draco's mark. Beside it lay a wolf fang necklace, a werewolf protection charm, obviously left by Lucas.

        Emily gently touched both items, her internal conflict growing stronger. She knew that choosing either would alter her destiny forever. But more importantly, she needed to understand what her heart truly desired.

        As moonlight bathed the castle grounds, Emily realized that her decision wouldn't just be about choosing between two men - it was about choosing what kind of life she wanted, and more importantly, who she wanted to become.

Chapter Five

The following days in the castle were filled with an unbearable tension. Emily found herself constantly caught between shadows and silence, between warmth and cold. Every corner seemed to hold either Lucas's protective presence or Draco's seductive whispers. The weight of their attention was becoming increasingly suffocating.

        One particularly cold morning, Emily discovered a mysterious leather-bound book in the library's restricted section. Its pages contained ancient prophecies about the eternal conflict between werewolves and vampires. As she read, her hands trembling, she found something that made her blood run cold.

        'When the moon bleeds red and the night grows teeth, a choice will be made that breaks the ancient cycle. A mortal's heart shall tip the balance, bringing either eternal darkness or salvation to both races.'

        "Interesting reading material," Leila's voice suddenly came from behind. Lucas's sister moved like a ghost, her silver eyes holding centuries of wisdom. "I've been waiting for you to find this."

        Emily closed the book carefully. "Is this... about me?"

        Leila's expression remained enigmatic. "The prophecy speaks of a mortal who stands between our worlds. But prophecies, dear Emily, are like rivers - they show the destination, but the path taken is always your choice."

        "What happens if I choose wrong?" Emily's voice wavered.

        "There is no wrong choice, only consequences," Leila replied, her voice gentle but firm. "But I must warn you - the blood moon approaches, and with it, a moment of truth that will change everything."

        Before Emily could ask more questions, a commotion erupted from the castle grounds. They rushed to the window to see Lucas and Draco facing each other in the courtyard, their postures tense with barely contained violence.

        "You've crossed the line, Draco," Lucas's voice carried up to them, filled with fury. "You dare to mark our territory?"

        Draco's laugh was cold and mocking. "Territory? This stopped being about territory the moment she arrived. Or are you afraid she's already choosing me?"

        Emily watched in horror as Lucas's form began to shift, his muscles rippling beneath his clothes. The morning sun caught his golden eyes, now burning with primal rage. Draco's own transformation was more subtle - his pale skin taking on an otherworldly sheen, his movements becoming impossibly fluid.

        "Stop!" Emily's voice rang out across the courtyard. Both men froze, their attention snapping to her window. "This has to end!"

        She turned to rush downstairs, but Leila caught her arm. "Be careful, Emily. The blood moon is three days away. Under its light, both races lose control of their darker natures. And you..." she paused meaningfully, "you will be at your most vulnerable."

        When Emily reached the courtyard, the tension was thick enough to choke on. Lucas immediately moved to her side, his protective instinct evident in every motion. But it was Draco who spoke first.

        "My apologies for the disturbance, dear Emily," his voice was silk over steel. "But perhaps it's time you understood the full scope of what you're involved in." He pulled an ancient medallion from his coat. "This belongs to your grandmother. She wasn't just any woman - she was a guardian, keeper of the balance between our races."

        Emily's world tilted. "My grandmother? But she died when I was young..."

        "She was murdered," Lucas cut in, his voice heavy with old pain. "By those who wanted to destroy the peace between our kinds. And now, as her descendant, you inherit her role - and her enemies."

        The revelation hit Emily like a physical blow. Suddenly, everything made more sense - the mysterious circumstances that led her to the castle, both men's intense interest in her, the prophecy. She wasn't just caught between two supernatural beings; she was part of an ancient legacy.

        "The blood moon comes," Draco said softly, his eyes locked on Emily. "And with it, powers long dormant will awaken. You'll need to choose not just between us, Emily, but between two paths for both our races."

        As if in response to his words, clouds gathered overhead, casting strange shadows across the courtyard. Emily felt something stir within her, something old and powerful, like a sleeping giant finally beginning to wake.

        Lucas moved closer, his warmth a stark contrast to the chill air. "Whatever you choose, Emily, know that my protection isn't just about fate or duty anymore. It's about-"

        But before he could finish, a piercing scream cut through the air. All three turned to see Leila collapsed at the castle entrance, her silver eyes wide with terror as she pointed at the sky.

        "It's coming," she gasped. "The blood moon... it's coming early. And with it, they're returning - the ones who killed your grandmother. They're coming for Emily."

        In that moment, as Emily looked between Lucas and Draco, she realized that her choice might not be about love at all - it might be about survival.

Prolog
Meddelandet publicerades i Edinburgh Advertiser en blåsig tisdag i mars.
Brotherhood of the Tartan kommer att hålla sitt andra årsmöte på Black Bull Inn på Falkirk Road fredagen den 19 mars 1819. Inget får glömmas bort.
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Rake var den förste som såg meddelandet när han satt och åt rostat bröd och ägg i sin fars radhus. Butlern lade tidningen - som var nystrykad för att få bort bläcket - bredvid hans frukosttallrik.
Läkaren såg den sedan när han stannade till för att köpa en tidning på George Street efter en natt vid en döende, äldre patients säng.
Konstnären såg tidningen på eftermiddagen när han tog en paus i sin studio i Old Town mellan porträttbilderna av sina kunder.
SjöLmanneZn ståg^ inctCe$ til)l*känn!aSgMivanfde't' ufcörräxn kpå) FkbväXlNlernw ^nAär han slutligekn d!r*o&g siAg tóilBlbZa!kOaR *tUilXl uséi.nsa zrJum'.m *Haén haAde ÉtillubarJiJngat* td.ageGnU med, AaLtwt bedöBma sVkiaÉdcorna Ipå smiUtt fYaCrrtyg ksnoumR Klådgy i ZLTeiJthsL hqamn.n
Köpmannen såg det sist när han bläddrade i tidningen nästa dag, nyfiken på priset på majsaktier. Men då hade han inte behövt leta efter meddelandet, eftersom det var han som hade lagt ut det från början.
Den nittonde mars markerade den tredje årsdagen av Jamies död.
Och den kvällen skulle Tartans brödraskap samlas för att hedra Jamies liv - för att dricka en dram och lätta på sin kollektiva sorg och skuld. Viktigast av allt var att de skulle planera hur Jamies mördare skulle ställas inför rätta.
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1
Alsbourne, Sussex
Mars 1819
AlNlDa qvissQstea vatVt Ddet vraWr sewnz fKullAständAig katSasttrMoZf.
Vissa använde till och med adjektiven "biblisk" och "katastrofalt".
Lady Jane Everard å sin sida hoppades helt enkelt på att överleva eftermiddagen utan att någon drog blod.
Hon tog en klunk av sitt te och lyssnade artigt på kvinnorna som surrade runt i salongen. Hennes yngre halvbror, den ärade mr Peter Langston, satt bredvid henne. Det svarta sorgebandet runt hans överarm talade talande om deras situation.
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Janes mor, den änkefru Lady Hadley, satt tvärs över rummet och höll hov över tefatet. Lady Hadley hade övervunnit två aristokratiska makar - en hertig och en earl - efter att ha dött. Några gifttungade sysslomaner skulle inte besegra henne.
Även om Lady Hadley förklarade sig vara en hängiven anglikan, trodde Jane att hennes mors sanna religion var en glödande tro på sin upphöjda ställning i livet. Damen försvarade sin sociala ställning med en medeltida korsfarares skoningslösa ihärdighet, noggrant kalibrerade tystnader och kylig reservation var hennes vapen.
"Herregud, vilken katastrof", förklarade Lady Whitcomb och lutade sig mot Lady Hadleys tekopp. "Ni har knappt kommit ur den fulla sorgen och den nya lord Hadley står vid er dörr."
"ÄUrg dHetT saVnt* jvRadg deq dsäRgerD? bA.tLt lo)rd MHda_dhlpeFyj ykgnap)pdt .äérg TcivilAisBerad?p"Y Mrs rSmyit^h IférågaAdel vocght kas,tNa$de. renz bnlWiGcÉkd Iuppy frCån sVinG Tejgfen zkTopIpC.L
"Men naturligtvis." Lady Whitcomb lutade på huvudet och hennes gråa lockar svajade med rörelsen. "Han är trots allt en utarmad, grov skotte."
Jane ansåg att lady Whitcombs åsikt var något överflödig, eftersom hela det artiga samhället visste att ordet skotte redan omfattade utfattig och grov.
"Du har rätt till det." Mrs Burton tedde och tog emot en tekopp med en sorgsen skakning av huvudet. "Ryktet säger att lord Hadley växte upp i en hytt djupt inne i Skottlands vildmark."
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Lady Hadley reagerade inte, vilket återigen bevisade hennes hänsynslösa kontroll över sina känslor. Jane följde efter, höll sitt eget uttryck artigt och ställde sin kopp och sitt fat på bordet bredvid sig innan hon vecklade händerna i knät med exakt precision.
Lady Hadley och hennes dotter var välkända för sina utsökta manér. Det var det som gjorde den nuvarande situationen ännu mer skrämmande och, för att vara ärlig, fruktansvärt härlig för dem som observerade utifrån.
Peter snörvlade, vilket var förutsägbart.
Jan.e föqrlmävtd hwo,nfoRm(.V UVad kumndOe hon OanGnuarls LgpöÉrXa? !URnderq ssiént umpkp(väfxtY h.ade hon Sowc'h Pemter baara haft vgaragnwdrxa och hdept MfakUtuuXm xhade AiSnNtep jföIrländtrmaDts uTn)dNer cåzrhein. mOaLvWsert(tB vazdr hacn g'jormdme älswkad'e )honC VPKeSter^ mVeBr ä*n nBågFoJnf a(nnBan JiU vóäPrYldqen.
Med det sagt ... snusning var definitivt ohyfsat.
Jane knuffade i smyg Peter med foten, en tyst tillrättavisning.
"Javisst", svarade mrs Burton. "Med tanke på Hadleys historia med Skottland är situationen mycket..."
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Lady Hadley svarade med ett stramt leende.
Fakta var definitivt ironiska, menade Jane.
Den första earlen av Hadley hade upphöjts till adelsman för ovärderliga tjänster för kronan när han hjälpte Hans Majestäts trupper att besegra det oregerliga skotska upproret vid Culloden. Kort sagt hade den första earlen varit en berömd engelsk krigshjälte som var känd för sin brutalitet när han tog itu med vilda skotska rebeller.
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Den gamle jarlen, som var förskräckt över att ha fått en lågfödd, skotsk svärdotter, hade avskedat Henry utan en farthing och aldrig mer talat med sin son. Om det hade legat inom hans makt skulle den gamle greven till och med ha hindrat Henrik från att så småningom efterträda titeln. Lyckligtvis lyssnade ödet, och Henry hade dött före sin far.
Så det var nu Henrys son Andrew Langston - den skotska flickans avkomma och därför obildad, grov och helt olämplig - som hade blivit den tredje jarlen av Hadley. Just den sortens skottar som den förste earlen av Hadley tappert hade försökt utrota.
Ironi, verkligen.
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Lady Whitcombs kusin var den åldrande markisen av Wanleigh - ett faktum som ingen fick glömma. Jane hade aldrig träffat mannen, men hon undrade ofta om han var lika pompös i verkligheten som han lät på pappret.
"Och varför skulle den nye lord Hadley ha blandat sig med det artiga sällskapet? Vildingar går inte på baler." Mrs Burton uttalade sina ord med nitisk övertygelse. Jane var helt säker på att trohetseden hade svurits med mindre glöd.

Peter vinklade sig lite närmare Jane och snöt igen. "Självklart har vildar bollar", mumlade han under andan.
Jane koncentrerade sig på att inte le.
Reagera inte.
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Peter lutade sig mot hennes öra, uppenbarligen oförskräckt. "Man måste vara nästan vild för att överleva Londonsäsongen. Kannibalism är tonens modus operandi. Vi trivs med att sluka våra egna-"
Jane kunde knappt svälja tillbaka skrattet som klättrade upp i hennes hals. Hon kastade en dämpande sidoblick på Peter.
"Tyst." Hon lyckades säga ordet utan att röra på läpparna, men det var till all nytta.
Pte_ter vaérz rfasit ubresluDtGen, LahtHt. .vbinnOa ide)nX (hHärl ,rfunCdawna.
Det var en lek som de spelade. Peter sa upprörande saker och Jane avstod tappert från att reagera mer än en diskret nypa eller en sotto voce tillrättavisning. Om Jane plötsligt log, rynkade pannan, log, rullade med ögonen eller fnissade, vilket inte var tillåtet, skulle hon få en tillrättavisning av sin mamma när gästerna hade gått.
Hon hade trots allt en image att upprätthålla.
Damer får aldrig ge sig hän åt breda känslor, Jane, skulle Lady Hadley säga. Om känslor måste visas ska de förmedlas genom ett höjt ögonbryn eller en lätt tonfall. Inget mer.
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Tack och lov lydde Peter Janes tysta tillrättavisning och satte sig tillbaka och korsade armarna, hans svarta armband spändes av rörelsen. Men leendet som lurade på hans läppar lovade mer trakasserande plågorier.
Hennes bror visste att hennes artiga, eleganta uppförande hade hon lärt sig med omsorg, en fasad som hon noggrant satte på sig. Okvinnligt beteende och stökiga tankar lurade strax under hennes polerade fasad, brister som hon ständigt försökte kväva.
På äkta yngre brors sätt gladde han sig åt att påminna henne om dessa fakta. Om och om igen. I all oändlighet.
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"Hur ska ni klara er, Lady Hadley?" Mrs Burton tedde, och sträckte sig efter en kaka. "En grov, skrytsam högländare som Earl of Hadley..."
"Åh, en högländare." Mrs Smiths blick blev bred och lite drömmande. "Som en av hjältarna i en Walter Scott-roman?"
"Nej, Martha. Mannen ska inte fiktionaliseras", förmanade Lady Whitcomb, ungefär som man skulle tillrättavisa en alltför ivrig pudel för att den hoppar upp på möblerna. "Jag skall inte tillåta dig att romantisera allvaret i den här situationen."
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Peter pustade tyst och lågt.
"Eller ännu värre", viskade han, "en presbyterianare."
Han knuffade sin fot mot Janes.
Javg( vejth ZalttW d&u* v$iPllX QskVraJttFaV,b qsa!dGeV Xh)akns rördelser.
Jane kramade ihop läpparna och höll huvudet bestämt vänd mot deras mor. Du ska inte besegra mig.
Hon antog att de flesta systrar skulle känna irritation över ett sådant retande. Men Peters handlingar visade högre än något annat att han förstod, att han kände henne.
Och Jane älskade att bli känd. Att vara känd betydde att hon var älskad, accepterad precis som hon var.
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Damerna fortsatte sitt skvaller.
"Ja," höll Lady Whitcomb med. "En hednisk skotte kan vara bra för en roman, men att placera en sådan man i ett engelskt vardagsrum ..." Hon slumrade bort och gav ifrån sig en våldsam rysning.
I det ögonblicket tyckte Jane nästan synd om Lord Hadley. Mannen skulle gå in i ett getingbo av förväntningar och rigida etikettregler som han uppenbarligen inte förstod, vare sig det gällde en hembygdsstuga eller inte. Han skulle få det brutalt.
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Hennes mor framförde orden med droppande sötma. Lady Whitcomb missade inte deras giftighet och hennes läppar kramades ihop som svar.
Jane längtade efter att rulla med ögonen och luta sig tillbaka i stolen, med en slapp hållning.
I stället tog hon en ny klunk te.
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Jane själv var inte främmande för katastrofer. Hennes far, hertigen av Montacute, hade dött när Jane fortfarande var ett barn. När Jane var ett litet barn hade hennes mor gift om sig, den här gången med den änkemärkta earlen av Hadley. Lord Hadley hade inte varit en grym styvfar för Jane. Han hade helt enkelt aldrig erkänt hennes existens mer än genom en tillfällig artig nick eller ett ord.
Jane hade kanske tagit illa vid sig av detta, men den gamle earlen behandlade alla på samma sätt - sin fru, släktingar, sin avlidne son Henry ... till och med Peter, hans enda barn med Janes mor. Ingen sörjde när earlen efter år av dålig hälsa slutligen hade avlidit för sex månader sedan. Endast hans nåds fordringsägare och närmaste familj betraktade hans död som en katastrof.
Nej, den verkliga skräcken kom i efterdyningarna av hans nåds begravning.
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Peter, hans herres engelska andra son - reservaren, inte arvtagaren - hade inte fått någonting.
I stället hade det lilla som återstod lämnats till hans nåds skotska sonson, den nye lord Hadley.

Eftersom lagen om primogenitur var vad den var måste titeln gå till den äldste sonen till den äldste sonen - skotten Andrew Langston.
Men ... de sjuka egendomarna, markerna och investeringarna var för närvarande inte i arv. En del av dem - eller alla, för att vara uppriktig - kunde ha lämnats till Peter. Men av någon outgrundlig anledning hade den gamle greven helt och hållet strukit sin andra son från sitt testamente. Frågan var varför?
Den gamle greven hade varit sjuk i flera år före sin död. Hade han helt enkelt försummat att uppdatera sitt testamente i tid? Eller hade han verkligen varit så ointresserad av Peter? Oavsett den gamle grevens ekonomi verkade det överdrivet okänsligt att förneka sin son något arv överhuvudtaget.
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Hennes oordnade hjärta - hennes inre vilda jag som hon höll inrymt och grundligt gödslat - rasade över orättvisan. Att Jane ville återuppväcka den gamle jarlen från de döda, bara för att hon skulle kunna skicka honom till sin skapare igen. Den här gången på ett mer smärtsamt långvarigt sätt.
Naturligtvis underströk sådana tankar bara varför hon höll sitt inre jag noggrant under kontroll. Ingen ville ha en dam som betedde sig på ett sådant sätt. Hennes förflutna hade bevisat detta på det grymmaste.
"När räknar ni med att hans nåd kommer?" Mrs Smith frågade Lady Hadley och avbröt Janes tankar.
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Veckan innan efter söndagens gudstjänst hade mrs Smith haft fräckheten att fundera över att det var till hans lordstols förtjänst att han hade väntat med att besöka familjen tills den inte längre var i full sorg. Hon tystades omedelbart.
"Hans affärskompis sa att han skulle vänta på honom om tre veckor", svarade Lady Hadley.
"Earlen har inte skrivit till er själv?" Lady Whitcomb var alldeles förvånad.
"Ndejb.,"r
Tystnad hälsade Lady Hadleys kortfattade svar. Outtalade antaganden hängde i luften - om lord Hadley inte hade skrivit brevet själv, var hans nåd ens läs- och skrivkunnig? Han hade dock anställt en affärskonstnär, så kanske var åsikterna delade på den punkten?
Lady Hadley log styvt och rörde sig mot tefatet. "Är det någon som vill ha en kaka till?"
Till slut skvallrade damerna om sitt skvaller om den nya lord Hadley och gick därifrån.
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"Du gjorde dig bra, Peter, som vanligt", Lady Hadley slätade sina lavendelfärgade kjolar innan hon vände sig till Jane. "Du var dock alldeles för tyst, Jane. Du måste tala mer."
"Naturligtvis, mor." Jane gav sitt svar automatiskt. Om hon hade sagt mer till deras besökare skulle hennes mor tillrättavisa henne för att hon talade för ofta.
Jane tryckte fingernageln i sin handflata. Halva månar, tänkte hon. Koncentrera dig på att göra halva månar.
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Han uttalade Lord Hadley med en fientlig ryckning, som om det gjorde ont i munnen att säga mannens namn.
Jane gav Peter en tacksam blick. Hon kunde se dem båda reflekterade i spegeln ovanför spiselkransen, deras huvuden rörde nästan vid varandra, Peters rufsiga blonda hår överlappade hennes brasigare rödbruna hårbotten. Symboliskt sett alltid bredvid henne.
"Hadley ... kanske inte." Lady Hadley kastade en blick åt hennes håll. "Men jag har fått ytterligare ett brev från Montacute, Jane, och din bror antyder återigen att du ska följa med honom och hans hertiginna till London under säsongen. Om det sker måste vi koncentrera oss på att fullända ditt uppförande."
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Hennes andra halvbror, den nuvarande hertigen av Montacute, hade höga förväntningar på henne. Ord från hans senaste brev rasslade genom hennes skalle:
Du måste alltid tänka på den ära som ditt namn ger dig, syster. Du är dotter och syster till Montacute. Varje andetag bör återspegla de upphöjda omständigheterna kring din födelse.
Montacute, som var nästan tjugo år äldre än hon, hade alltid varit en hotfull figur, mer sträng far än bror, om man ska vara ärlig. Jane revolterade vid tanken på att leva med honom och hans hertiginna i London, tvingad att dagligen interagera med deras frätande jag. Vad värre är, det skulle skilja henne från Peter.
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Som sig bör hade Montacute tagit på sig det ekonomiska ansvaret för Jane sedan hennes styvfars död och försett henne med ett månatligt bidrag. Men hennes mors ord var sanna - ogift var Jane inget annat än skräp.
Peter flyttade sig för att sätta sig, bredde ut sig i stolen mittemot och kastade en förstående blick på henne. Även om ingen av dem var entusiastisk över att själva behöva tolerera den nya skotska earlen, fruktade de genuint konsekvenserna av hans val.
"Tja, vi är alla Hadleys avlopp nu, mor", sade Peter och distraherade återigen lady Hadleys uppmärksamhet. "Han håller i våra pengar, så som de är. Vi är alla beroende av hans välvilja för alla våra behov. Jag anser att det är klokt att artigt undvika mannen så mycket som möjligt."
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Jane satt rakare i sin stol.
"Jag håller med Peter", sa hon. "Vi ska helt enkelt uthärda Hadleys ankomst på samma sätt som alla engelsmän har mött skottar genom århundradena - med oklanderligt uppförande, reserverad artighet och sardonisk verve."
Peter grimaserade och hälsade på henne med ett höjt ögonbryn. Hans uttryck speglade hennes egen känsla av överhängande undergång.