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Chapter no 10

Belladonna (Belladonna, 1)

IT WAS HOURS BEFOREย SIGNA MADE HER WAY OUTSIDE,ย STRETCHING

her aching back as the wind lashed at her. The air was crisp, but it was nothing her scarf and a belly full of warm tea couldnโ€™t fend off. Her body welcomed the chill after spending so long at her lessons.

In only a day, sheโ€™d nearly forgotten the stark contrast between the estateโ€™s interior and exterior. Here, surrounded by endless moors of yellowing grass, wildflowers pocking the earth, and the golden blanket of leaves scattered along the ground, was a place of fantasy. The afternoon was peaceful; no bodies danced in or out of the house. No strangers in their finery. Though Signa knew not what the cooks were baking, something sweet and doughy warmed the air around her, and her stomach roared despite Marjorie having fed her more scones than sheโ€™d been able to eat.

But there would be time for sweets later, when her

hands werenโ€™t muddied with dirt and worms and earth not truly there.

Come to my garden and save her.

Signaย wouldย go to that garden, but she needed to find it first.

Behind the estate were steep, endless moors. Before it, manicured hedges and a grove of maple trees. And far beyond Thorn Grove was a line of trees that marked the

start of the woods. Not one garden in sight.

Signa might have believed she was being toyed with if not for her conversation with Sylas two days priorโ€”heโ€™d told her heโ€™d once worked in the garden with Lillian. Though Signa despised the idea of asking him for help, he was the safest option. With the class difference between them as stark as it was, surely he wouldnโ€™t dare report her for sticking her nose where it didnโ€™t belong.

And so Signa hiked up her hideous yellow dress and made her way across the trimmed lawn to the stables, her grip on her skirts tightening as she approached snorting beasts and stomping hooves. The horses of Thorn Grove were massive creatures, all with glossy coats in a spectrum of colorsโ€”solid black, pure white, a rich chestnut brown. They seemed comfortable in their roomy stalls, but Signa had little trust in the wooden barriers confining them. If these beasts wanted out, they were clever enough to free themselves.

Signa peeked into stalls as she tiptoed through the stables, surrounded by horses that stretched their necks toward her in an attempt to win her attention. One of them went as far as to nip at her shoulder, and Signa reeled back to bop it firmly on the nose. โ€œThere will be none of that!โ€ she admonished, smoothing out the shoulder of her dress. โ€œBeing handsy with a woman is no way to get her attention.โ€

The horse snorted, indignant. He was smaller than the others, though appeared no younger. Where the othersโ€™ coats gleamed, his was a dull brown, the color of burnt caramel. Compared with the others, this one was lanky and odd. โ€œWell now,โ€ she said, hands on her hips as she watched it, โ€œarenโ€™t you a silly thing?โ€

In response, the horse stretched its neck to nip at her shoulder once more. She was mid-step, stumbling back to tear the fabric from the horseโ€™s mouth, when someone laughed. It was a rich sound, one that sent tiny shivers up

Signaโ€™s spine. She recognized it instantly.

Signa whirled around, not having heard Sylas approach. He was as alarmingly tall as ever, and his dark hair was slicked back now, showcasing the beautiful contours of his face. Despite the cool autumn air, Sylas wore only trousers and a long-sleeved cotton tunic. It was open at the collar, sleeves rolled up over strong arms as though heโ€™d been working, though his boots and dark gloves had hardly a speck of dirt on them. They were of so fine a leatherโ€”and so well maintained for a stable boy.

Sylas leaned his forearms against a stack of hay bales. At his side, a large gray hound sat alert, ears erect and head tilted.

โ€œI didnโ€™t know the Hawthornes had a dog,โ€ Signa said for lack of anything else, hating that her tongue felt hopeless and numb around this young man. Rude as he could be, the lack of any available male company in her age rangeโ€ฆ everโ€ฆ made Signa more tongue-tied than she cared to admit.

โ€œOh yes,โ€ Sylas said. โ€œHeโ€™s a beastly thing, too. Trained to kill anyone who trespasses onto the estate.โ€

Signa drew a nervous step back. But the moment she did, the houndโ€™s tongue lolled out, and the dog flipped happily onto its back. Signa glanced at Sylas.

โ€œI said heโ€™d been trained,โ€ Sylas said. โ€œNot that he listened. And he belongs to me, not the Hawthornes. His nameโ€™s Gundry.โ€

Signa stooped, scratching Gundryโ€™s offered belly. She laughed as the hound panted and twisted to lick her hand. Signa had always wanted a petโ€”any creature would do, really. Sheโ€™d dreamed of having a cat, or a hound. Even a rat would have sufficed, so long as it kept her company. But considering how often she moved, sheโ€™d been too afraid to ask for one for fear that something might happen to itโ€”or that one of her guardians would refuse to let her take a pet with her to a new home. Sheโ€™d never given much

consideration to a horse given the animalโ€™s sheer size, though she supposed one would be an equally wonderful companion.

โ€œDo you ride, Miss Farrow?โ€ Sylasโ€™s voice was cool as the breeze around them, teasing her as she swatted the pesky horse away from her hair. โ€œYou seem like a natural.โ€

โ€œAh yes, Iโ€™d nearly forgotten how astounding your manners are.โ€ Signa smoothed a hand over her hair to ensure it was secure in its fastenings. โ€œItโ€™s been a long while since Iโ€™ve been around horses. My late uncle had a few, but they were sold when he passed, and he was never keen on me riding them. Though his werenโ€™t quite so large.โ€

โ€œRiding was a passion the two masters shared.โ€ Sylas crossed to the horse toying with Signa and pressed a flat hand upon its snout. It settled at once, exhaling a contented breath. โ€œMaster Hawthorne rarely comes to see them now, but he is the one responsible for these horses. Heโ€™s always loved beautiful things.โ€

Signa took one look at the pesky, smallest horse, and Sylas laughed. โ€œThat creature is Balwin, beautiful in his own right. Itโ€™s said he charmed Lillian back in the dayโ€” they bought him from an inn they visited during a summer holiday. Heโ€™s an entertaining enough horse but flighty. Has a mind of his own.โ€

Sylas Thorly, the man whoโ€™d terrorized her for a full day with his oddities, was fond of a strange horse and a large gray hound that looked to be part wolf. She never would have guessed it.

โ€œIโ€™ve come to ride,โ€ Signa said, determined. โ€œI want to see Lillianโ€™s garden.โ€

A flash of surprise crossed Sylasโ€™s face before he nodded. โ€œPick a horse, then. Not Balwinโ€”heโ€™s due for a ride, but he likes to test his riders.โ€

โ€œWhat about that one?โ€ Signa pointed to a gorgeous black stallion whose coat was so shiny it gleamed as if wet.

โ€œWhat do you say we try one of the older mares? Like the white one there, on the right?โ€ Sylas gestured to a solid white horse, but Signaโ€™s eyes wandered instead to the magnificent golden mare beside it. This horse was a little taller, and her eyes far livelier. She snorted and stomped a hoof in a pleasant greeting, as if inviting Signa to step over and greet her.

โ€œWhat about her?โ€ she asked, obliging the horse by offering her palm for it to smell and lip at.

Sylas dipped his chin. โ€œSheโ€™sโ€ฆ a friendly horse, but she hasnโ€™t been out in a while. Maybe pick anotherโ€”Miss Farrow, what are you doing?โ€

โ€œI want this one.โ€ Signa was already undoing the locks on the stall and stepping inside to claim her horse, pulled to the golden mare in a way none of the others inspired. The mare blinked her chocolate eyes at Signa and huffed, dipping her head as if in an offering. Signa took the offer and ran her fingers over the horseโ€™s velvety neck, scratching her behind the ears.

โ€œIs there somethingย wrongย with this one?โ€ Signa asked,

and the mare looked to Sylas, as if demanding a polite answer.

โ€œOf course not.โ€ Sylas sighed and grabbed equipment from the side of the stall before following Signa into it to get the horse saddled up. โ€œItโ€™s just that Mitra was Lillianโ€™s horse. Though itโ€™s about time you got a solid ride, isnโ€™t it, girl?โ€ He stroked the mareโ€™s neck more gently than Signa expected. She found herself staring, the lightness in his tone warming her skin.

โ€œWait outside.โ€ Sylasโ€™s voice held none of that same gentleness when he spoke to Signa, who flinched. โ€œIโ€™ll get her ready.โ€

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