Secrets in the Moon (Crescent City Werewolves #1)

Chapter Thirty-Three

"Evening, Nell. Were there any phone calls?" asked Cora, as soon as she squeezed inside the front doorway with all her shopping bags. Any hopeful excitement had seeped from the question weeks ago, and now she asked out of mere stubbornness.

Her maid met her in the living room, already dressed in her hat and coat. "Twelve, miss. How was tea with Mrs. Archer?"

"Very stiff and proper. I'm convinced that woman truly hates me." Cora unwound her hands from the bag handles while glancing over the other girl's neat handwriting on the notepad by the telephone. The first message was from one of her lawyers, but she wasn't surprised. They called constantly these days, anticipating tactics from her father now that he had finally been charged and the trial had been set.

Today's call probably had to do with the discovery that a private detective had been hired by the defense to find every scrap of her past that could be used to question and condemn her character. Even now, all she could manage in response was a sigh over how a detective had come back into her life—but not the right one. She didn't know what was wrong with her. She had always felt so strongly, especially when it came to her father, but now her responses were muted if not outright apathetic. It was really very hard to muster up any indignation that her father would stoop so low.

She glanced through the second message, which was from another lawyer, before noticing Nell was about to leave. It was the other girl's night off, and she seemed more excited than usual. Cora could guess why. "What movie are you seeing?"

Nell's eyes lit up. "Lonny's taking me to the new horror with George DeHart. Night of the Madman. Have you gone to it?"

"No. I've just managed to coax Roland to see a mystery tonight, and even that seemed impossible for a time. He thinks using death in entertainment is gauche."

Cora didn't realize how wistful she sounded until pity flickered in Nell's expression. Before the other girl could respond, she quickly added, "Enjoy your night. You'll have to tell me all about the movie tomorrow."

"All right. Goodnight, miss."

Once alone, Cora put away her new clothes. She had to admit, the shopping hadn't been very satisfying even though these were the first things she'd bought for some time. Truthfully, she had only done it because Mrs. Archer had spent the entire tea making pointed comments about the frivolous spending habits modern girls had. Truthfully, every time that shrew of a woman went on about her son's virtues, Cora felt even more irritated with her—and not because she disagreed. In the two months since she had reached out to Roland and began a tentative relationship, she had come to learn that he was a responsible, trustworthy man and devoted son. No terrible vices or alarming behaviors. Not even a bad habit. No, he was respectable with a capital R. There was nothing wrong with him, and yet he was entirely wrong for her. She could feel it.

She wished she could fool herself into wondering what had attracted her to him before the sigil had burned away her memories, but it was clear enough to her even now. Roland never made her breathless with desire, but he was handsome, gentle in manner, and absolutely steady. His interest in her would never waver because he treated life as a series of pieces to slot together. She satisfied him as one such piece: a pretty, charming girl who loved him and wished to be his wife. It was all he needed, and while he had her, he would never look at anyone else. And that was what irritated her so much—she had once fallen for him because he was willing to keep her. Because he was the first man who wanted her to be in his life. It was frankly desperate, even pitiful on her end, and she hated feeling like either.

But that wasn't Roland's fault.

Just then, the clock chimed, reminding her how it was already evening. She'd have to hurry to be dressed before Roland arrived.