Chapter 58
Rowena Howard winced as the awkward collision of bodies around him only deepened his headache. He had hoped for a quiet moment to speak with Alistair Edwards, yet that chance seemed to have evaporated.
He cast a sideways glance at his sister, Seraphina Howard, perched beside him, utterly engrossed in the performance before her–she was a carefree spirit, seemingly oblivious to the tension hanging in the air. Rowena, an old fox in the political arena, was acutely aware that since Elowen Howard had entered the scene, Alistair’s smile had grown cool, like the shifting weather before a storm.
It wasn’t hard to understand. After all, no man took kindly to seeing his wife in the spotlight, especially one like Elowen, whose shenanigans were as frequent as they were
notorious.
Rowena was at a loss. Elowen had been spoiled rotten by their parents; every whim was indulged, and no matter how outrageous, Isabella Hawthorne would bend over backward to fulfill her daughter’s desires.
Elowen was stunning, her striking red eyes glistening like freshly spilled wine. When she cried, the sight was
talent for manipulatinough to make anyone’s heart ache–a rare beauty with a
those around her into submission.
Day after day, year after year, Elowen had been pampered and coddled, leaving her untamed and uncontrollable.
In the Kingdom of Barrowland, there had once been a revered Empress, their cultural climate a far cry from the days of yore, where women were now afforded liberties unknown to their predecessors. Daughters of the nobility in Kingston were especially vexing.
Rowena took a sip of his drink, mulling over how he preferred women who were gentle, and tender, not the fierce type that could match his sister’s fiery spirit. He suspected that Alistair, too, favored women who were agreeable, perhaps even fragile, like a delicate flower in need of protection.
Elowen hardly spared Alistair more than a glance–she was all but bored with him at home and had come out for the evening to see the performers, not for a tête–à–tête with
Difficult to Escape a Doting Wife
With her chin resting in her hand, she roved her eyes over the dancers on stage, entranced. Fiona Kingsley, who had invited her out for a drink, showed no hesitation in pouring them both a glass in front of their husbands.
“Try this–this place’s house red is fantastic,” Fiona urged with a smile.
Elowen had never tasted anything so strong; it tasted like fire going down. She quickly poured herself another glass, tilting her head back to swallow but felt a hand tighten around her wrist. Alistair’s cool grip restrained her, and without a second thought, he snatched the glass away.
“Easy there; you shouldn’t drink so much,” he said firmly, concern lacing his tone.
Especially seeing as she was often frail, and too much liquor was the last thing she
needed.
Even Tristan Edwards’s wife had noticed Elowen’s recent pallor, so it was no surprise Alistair had picked up on it too. He wasn’t going to voice it; he worried that Elowen might panic. But in recent days, he had quietly suggested to the kitchen that healing broths and restorative dishes be prepared for her. He was uncertain of the reasons behind her weak health–whether it was lingering illness or something more sinister.
Rowena had invited him out for drinks, but he had seized the moment to probe into Elowen’s well–being–hoping to catch a glimpse of any symptoms of distress that might point to a more serious problem.
Alistair, who had previously been indifferent to her state, now found himself preoccupied with even the most trivial details of her life.
Rowena knew more than he realized. Elowen’s heart had always been a fragile thing; thankfully, it wasn’t dire. After all, Isabella had given birth to Elowen prematurely and had suffered for it. Elowen herself had been weak at birth, taking time to recover, which only fueled Isabella’s undue devotion. Premium herbs and tonics were constantly finding their way into Elowen’s meals.
Elowen understood her limits and had no desire to drink excessively. “Alright, I’ll skip it,” she said, setting aside the glass.
Difficult to Escape a Doting Wife
it,” she said, setting aside the glass.
Fiona looked on, intrigued, glancing between Elowen and Alistair. It struck her how obedient Elowen seemed in front of him–like a paper tiger, fully compliant.
Rowena shared Fiona’s sentiment; this felt unusual. Elowen’s nature was nothing if not defiant, yet tonight she had succumbed to an unprecedented meekness that he hardly recognized.
But perhaps this was for the best. Her reputation had sunk to abysmal depths, and he had feared the prospect of her remaining unwed. After all, finding a suitable match would be a gamble.
Alistair held his own potentials; he might not have been King Leopold’s favorite, but as Lord Aldric’s guest of honor, he was a man to be respected.
They couldn’t afford to underestimate him.
The four of them drawing together for conversation felt like a chore, and after a half an hour, Rowena excused himself. Alistair seemed to have been waiting for this moment, turning to Elowen with a resolute expression. “Let’s head home too.”
Elowen pouted, reluctance washing over her; she had only just gotten out and was itching to explore.
She shot a look at Fiona, her eyes pleading for an out.
Fiona opened her mouth, ready to counsel against it, but Alistair’s piercing gaze silenced her, chilling her to the bone. Seizing the moment, he smiled softly at her. “It’s been too long since I’ve seen your brother. I’m sure he’ll be expecting my greetings tomorrow.”
Fiona instantly recognized this for what it was–a sharp warning. Her brother was notoriously strict; she had snuck out tonight, careful not to alert him, certainly not wanting to get caught drinking with Elowen. If he found out, she would pay the price.
She shivered at the thought.
