“I was doin’ you a favor, le savauge. Women don’t behave like you.”
“Why not? I can shoot and tie a knot better than most men I know. And pants are far more comfortable than skirts.”
“If you keep speakin’ in such a manner, you’ll never find a husband,” Livingston says from behind me.
Turning around before I can take a deep breath, I find myself in the same position I was in not ten minutes ago. Livingston has his back to me as he walks toward his armoire. I’ve already been dismissed. The arrow moves through the air with a sleek precision that leaves me satisfied. Livingston turns right as the tip of the arrow cuts through the back of his sleeve, grazing his bicep, and settling into the solid oak of the armoire.
With his arm essentially pinned, Livingston stares at me. Mouth open, and eyes wide.
Slowly, I lower my bow. I don’t bother to retrieve my arrow. “If you keep turnin’ your back on me, you won’t live to see the end of these sixty days.”
Feeling pleased with my shot, I give him the curtsy that would make queens throughout the decades weep and my past governesses nod with approval. “Have a good day, Mr. Lacroix,” I say sweetly.
CHAPTER FIVE
Rainey
My frustration is a veritable storm, beginning in my stomach and spreading throughout me. Not a single thing will lift my spirits. Well, there is one thing, but I couldn’t even shoot an arrow properly.
Oh, do I want to turn around and stomp back to Livingston’s home. I want to pound on the front door and demand he listen. Truly listen. This isn’t a time for tomfoolery because my future is at stake. When I walked to his house this morning, I was out for revenge, yet I hoped he would realize the severity of the situation with a sober mind. In my haste to seek vengeance, I had shown Livingston my cards. He saw just how much this upset me, and now, he’s maintaining that there’s nothing wrong with this ludicrous dowry.
He’s trying to get underneath my skin, and it’s working. I walk into my home and slam the door behind me. A servant in the foyer jolts at the noise, takes one look at me, and rushes toward the kitchen.
I need to be alone and think of a better strategy to approach Livingston because anger is getting me nowhere. My feet are heavy on the stairs, and my shoulders are slumped. I feel pulled down by the weight of my worries.
“Rainey? Is that you, dear?”
I stop in the middle of the stairs and look over my shoulder. “Momma.” I sigh. “Who else would it be?”
“To clear your head, you were certainly gone for quite a while.”
I take my time walking back down the steps. “That’s because I had a lot on my mind.”
Momma gives me a thorough inspection. She knows I’m being evasive. “Where did you go?”
“If you must know, I went to speak with Livingston.”
My mom’s eyes widen with understanding. “Oh, Raina Leonore. You didn’t.”
“I did.”
Closing her eyes, she shakes her head. “Whatever did you do?”
Like a trophy, I hold my bow above my head before I place it on the foyer table. Immediately, my momma rushes to my side. “Is he dead? Severely injured? My God, Raina, will officers be knockin’ on our door? My poor heart cannot take much more.”
Sighing, I place my hands on my hips. “He’s not injured. And no, officers will not be comin’ around.”
The sad part is my own momma doesn’t seem convinced. “What possessed you to go over there?”
“Because …” I take a deep breath. “He … he dismissed me last night!”
Momma blinks. “He dismissed you,” she repeats.
“I went to speak to him regardin’ Miles’s will, and he kicked me out of his home!”
Momma arches a brow, a gesture that says, “And?”
“Raina, you must apologize,” she says.
My upper lip curls in disgust. I’d rather drink curdled milk. “Why?”
“Because you cannot let your anger get the best of you. To begin with, ladies do—”
“Yes, yes, I know,” I cut in. “It’s not somethin’ a lady would do. But I wanted to reason with him. I wanted him to realize how nonsensical it is for him to oversee a dowry, as if I’m an orphan child with no family.”
“Livingston is a reasonable man. Perhaps he merely wants the best for you.”
My brows scrunch together. “The last two times we’ve discussed him, you’ve described him as responsible and reasonable. Do you have him confused with his twin brother? This is Liv-ing-ston,” I pronounce distinctly.
“I am aware of who he is. If the two of you stopped your bickerin’, you’d see he is a pleasant gentleman. Is pleasant a better word for you, dear?”
“My Lord. I’ve heard it all,” I mutter underneath my breath. Momma wouldn’t be calling him pleasant or a gentleman if she saw what I saw this morning. An image of his body above that woman runs through my mind. I shake my head to rid myself of Livingston’s naked form. I didn’t anticipate seeing him in such a way. That’s why my heart is pounding so fiercely. It’s nothing to concern myself with.
“Why are you so opposed to findin’ a husband?” Momma asks.
“Because to want a husband is one thing. Bein’ told is another. I refuse to let a piece of paper dictate the rest of my life!”
Momma becomes silent for a moment. She stares at her hands before she lifts her head and looks at me solemnly. “You have no other choice.”
With those words, my blood chills. I look at her from the corner of my eye. “What do you mean?”
“If you want to have a chance at marryin’ well, this is it. We have no money.”
The words roll so freely from her tongue. It’s almost as if we’re speaking about the weather. I watch Momma’s face for any sign of emotion, but she stares back at me, nonplussed. As for me, I’m stunned speechless.
I shake my head. “Momma—”
“It’s true,” she cuts in. “And it’s been this way for quite some time.”
“How long is quite some time?”
Momma looks me in the eye. “Since the war started. Your brother was instrumental in keepin’ us floatin’ along, but …” Her words fade as she looks away.
But he’s gone, I think to myself. My outrage over the will and Livingston’s dismissal did one thing: it was a momentary distraction from losing Miles. Grief is incredibly complex. There’s no right or wrong way to navigate your pain. You can only hang on as tightly as possible and remember that each day you wake up you are far braver than you know. Much stronger than you think.
Of course, I’m still in the early stages of Miles death, and his absence still cuts like a knife. There’s an extra silence in the house, a sense of finality that was never there before. Sometimes, I tell myself he’s still at war, but then the truth inevitably sinks in.
Right now, I curl my hands into fists, so my fingernails dig into my flesh. I cannot cry right now. I need to remain focused.
“When were you goin’ to tell me?” I ask, keeping my gaze focused on the floor.