Bite One
He took her to Bretagne town's inn for an overnight stay. The plan was to reside in the country property for a week so that she could join all his cousins to hunt. They were in Nantes the day before. She was introduced to Philip Lorraine’s parents. The couple had an impending journey to North America for family business. Unsurprisingly, they have merchandise distributor there for wine. Lorraine complained that those were mediocre wines but he would go with them for sure. Lorraine would go and enjoy fly fishing with boys of his age.
“Well, that is not what I heard.” she countered: “They spent big on those.”
“They are Americans, are they?” Lorraine smirked.
It’s plausible. She had to agree.
Later, when she and Lorraine retreated from the drawing-room to the garden, leaving Malfoy and Mr. Lorraine for a business discussion, Mrs. Lorraine excused herself from the youngsters. Naturally, she conversed a little bit about the hunting plan. Obviously, Lorraine offered that maybe next year she could participate in stag stalking with his family during the winter holiday. “We’ll see.” It’s all she could say. Scotland was too close and she was not sure that nordic long nights are her thing.
Talarius and Asilinus greeted them upon arrival. Her parentage certainly was not a shock to them as first pleasantry began with Miss Ginevra.
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It was a blast, that was all she could put after a day out in the wildness. He laughed at her when she asked in the early morning, fully dressed, whether they needed to ride horses.
“Another day,” he promised, knowing that she wanted to ride as much as hunt.
What could be said? Summer in Brittany, sunshine leaked through high bushes. Midday rest by the creek, he collected some botanic plants. The face of a boy flashed back to him as he presented them one by one. She reached out with her bare hands, a contrast to his black leather gloves. The greenery paled her hands. It was a clover. “It cannot be used.”He added, in that it was not picked out of the wizard's teeth. “Do you want to? I could do that?” sounded silly, he tossed them aside as a no. She was led by him out of the field when the sun almost set. He glanced at the watch, it was ten to eight. No wonder she felt hungry. Talarius and Asilinus rejoined them at the crossroad, huntsmen gathered all greyhounds while hunt masters began to count all the prey. She would not say it was a harvest but she did shoot a lot resulting in an aching shoulder. The enjoyment of each recoil was too rewarding to notice the bruises, she decided.
She protested that it would be starvation if they waited for the chef to deal with their prey. A light salad with Breton dressing was served then. A young maid of the household approached her with an exciting smile. The lack of female visitors was explained by Talarius with amusement.
“How many of you?” she asked.
“Three, Miss.”maid, whose name is Lysanna, answered.
“Would you like to go flower picking with me tomorrow? All of you.” she proposed, Liselotte’s arrival would not be due until late night of tomorrow. After that, she would have a lot of classes with her. A new governess, though she felt dreadful, apparently won the candidacy of “spying” on her. She questioned him over this while they were in Cornwall earlier this summer: “No, she does not have a neck of hawks and a body of hound howling every time when you are trespassing.” The teasing made her almost certain that he picked this one. Malfoy the younger likes Italians despite the family’s French roots.
“We would love to! ” Lysabeth, the other one agreed without a blink.
The new governess, an Italian lecturer of poetry and spells quitted her job in Venice, her hometown. She hoped that she was not some kind of scorned woman fleeing polis to mend her broken heart by taking a new post with young “docile” witches. If she was, she would be completely wrong and dumbfounded with new exhaustion (her).
She rolled her eyes when he came to tuck her in bed. She was fully accustomed to him in charge of things. Her eyelids became heavier, diligently selecting places for flower picking.
“Not the gardens. It is tasteless with all the exotic species. Pathetic!” her volume lighter than a feather, groaned within slowed breathing.
“The coast maybe? You haven’t been to the coast! It would be nice.” His left hand playfully fingered her lustrous red hair like newly unwound delicate Dupion silks.
She fell asleep.
He stood up, nodding at the maid Lysara to avoid any creaks on the door for the night shift, and then walked out of the room. The cicada sound echoed lily pond babbling. Lysara with her white coif in hand tiptoed to the french door scrolling down the magically produced silencing tapestry. The whole room sank into slumber.