Page 4 of The Spirit of the Wolf

It was a daunting realization.

Yet if she tarried now, she feared the solicitors might be forced to conclude she was dead.

At the thought, Marietta’s stomach twisted uncomfortably. Rosemead, the place which harbored so many memories, might go to someone outside the family, for she had no brothers or sisters.

No, there was nothing else for it. She must hurry. Time seemed to be flying by since the solicitor’s letter had found her; the fact that it had found her was a miracle in itself.

It had come via Captain William Clark, who was acquainted with the party in which Marietta traveled. He had remembered Marietta and had passed the correspondence along to her by way of an Indian runner.

Yet, since receiving the letter, minutes, hours, days were her enemy.

However, attempting to explain this to someone here in the American West was rather like defining complicated mathematics to a child. Alas, in the Western wilderness there was no time clock. Events either happened at an even rate, or at a very slow pace, for to these Westerners, time was something held in great abundance.

If only she could travel on her own, or hasten her guide. But neither action seemed possible. Her escort, Jacques LaCroix, appeared to manage his life in a tempo much akin to sluggishness.

At least Marietta possessed enough gold to buy her passage from the man. Unconsciously, she placed her hand over her purse, which was, for safety, resting on a string around her neck and tucked beneath her chemise.

The coin had come from Princess Sierra, Marietta’s former mistress. Upon learning of Marietta’s inheritance, Princess Sierra, a Spanish aristocrat, had generously bestowed the gold to her friend, giving her more than enough to see Marietta back to England.

A good friend she was too. Was it not Princess Sierra who, so many years ago, had rescued Marietta from obscurity? And at a time when Marietta had no one to turn to?

Still, despite this, it was not in Marietta’s heart to forgive her uncle what he had done. Unwittingly, she thought back to so many years ago…

“Have a seat, Marietta.” The Earl of Welsford, Marietta’s uncle, indicated an empty seat across from his massive desk.

Ten-year-old Marietta hobbled forward to do as he bid, sitting and at once disappearing into the immense chair.

“As you know, there are hard times upon us. Your father and mother did not provide for you as well as they might.”

Marietta frowned. “But Papa always said that if anything ever happened to him, there was money enough to support me.”

“The mere wishes of a dreamer. You must know that your doctor bills alone have forced your aunt and me into debt in order to pay them.”

Marietta remained mute, but she knew her uncle lied. He gambled. If her family’s money were gone, she was certain it was this which had consumed it.

“Your aunt and I simply cannot continue to support you on the meager inheritance your father left us.”

Marietta said nothing, but she became apprehensive.

“But come, don’t look so downtrodden, girl. I have made arrangements for you. An opportunity has presented itself, and I was quick to take advantage of it, being the smart businessman that I am. Starting next week, you will be in service to a princess, a royal princess. The arrangements have all been made.”

“You have sold me into service?” Even at ten years of age, Marietta understood the implications of this.

“Come, girl, there is no need to stare daggers at me. It is not so bad. You will be serving royalty. Only those of gentle birth are allowed such a grand opportunity.”

Marietta kept her tongue, but she was certain that the only one who had received any “opportunity” was her uncle.

However, the earl rose, towering over her. He smiled, though there was more self-indulgence in the expression than good humor. “Marietta, Marietta, don’t look so crestfallen. It’s not the end of the world. The princess is your age. You’ll be tutored along with her as though you yourself were royalty. You’ll be treated well.”

“But I will be a servant.”

“A servant to royalty, Marietta. Others should be so lucky.”

“Then let someone else have the opportunity.”

The earl merely smiled once more. “All must work for their keep, Marietta, even the tiniest ant. It is already done. The arrangements have been made. You will leave in a week’s time. Now, that is all.”

Marietta had never forgotten, nor forgiven.