A Witch in Time

and Lady Clearwater?”
“No.” He could only guess that their daughter’s actions had shamed them into staying away from him. At least Joanna had the decency to tell her parents the truth, not some convoluted version where he was the villain.
“You can’t hide forever.” She looked distastefully at the pillow and blanket on the sofa. “Or live in your office for the rest of your life.”
He could not bring himself to sleep in their bed again. Indeed, he hadn’t even entered the bedroom since that night. “If I had a choice, I would divorce her.” His mother didn’t react. “But I can’t, not without bringing scandal to the family name.”
“But you can’t raise a child that’s not your own. Especially not a human child who could never be Alpha.”
And that was the conundrum. Damned Joanna. What was she thinking? If they were human, he could pass off any child as his own. But his family had held the Alpha position longer than they had the dukedom. He would either have to sire another Lycan child with Joanna or pass the Alpha title to another family. The thought of even touching that vile bitch again made him want to retch.
“So, we are at an impasse,” he said glumly. Maybe he’d be lucky, and Eleanor would find a Lycan husband and have a son who could inherit the Alpha title, if not the dukedom.
“Excuse me, my lord,” said the footman, Mercer, who had come to the door. After he had dismissed Joanna’s servants, his parents had sent over some of their own staff for the time being. “You have a visitor. A Mr. Archibald Barrow.”
Reed frowned. “I don’t know anyone by that name.”
“He says it’s an urgent matter, and he must talk to you immediately. I can tell him you’re indisposed and perhaps to call on you another time?”
He shrugged. It wasn’t like he was getting any work done today. “Let him in.”
A few moments later, Mercer escorted an older man with pure white hair carrying a leather letter case into the study. “I’m sorry to disturb you, my lord.” His voice was scratchy and hoarse. “My lady,” he said with a nod to Annabelle.
“My footman said it was an urgent matter. What is it?”
“Er, yes.” He took out a sheaf of papers from his letter case. “My name is Archibald Barrow, and I work as a solicitor for the West Moreland Shipping Company. They’ve tasked me … I mean, they … my job is …”
“Just spit it out, man,” he barked. This man was trying his patience.
Barrow’s spine went stiff as a board. “Your Lordship. I regret to inform you that your wife, Lady Joanna Townsend, Marchioness of Wakefield was aboard the Voyager bound for the Caribbean when it sank a few days ago.”
Annabelle’s gasp was audible. “S-s-sank?”
“Yes, my lady.”
“It’s ‘Your Grace,’” Reed snapped.
“Excuse me?”
“She’s a duchess.” His voice was flat, emotionless. “You are to address her as ‘Your Grace.’”
Barrow’s eyebrows shot up and he looked like he wanted to say something, but restrained himself. “Er, Your Grace. I mean, yes. The ship encountered terrible weather two days after they set sail from England.”
“And you’re certain she was on it?” Annabelle asked, her voice frantic.
“Her name was on the manifest, as was, er, her companion in the first-class cabin where she was staying.”
“Companion?” his mother echoed.
“A Lord Sherrington,” he said. “Before I came here, I spoke with his father, the marquess of Arden, and he confirmed that his son had indeed set sail for the islands.”
“Dear God.” Annabelle cleared her throat. “Mr. Barrow, I trust that all this information is kept confidential?”
“Of course, Your Grace,” he said.
“Even so, my husband, the duke of Huntington, will have his solicitor call on you tomorrow morning.”
“As you wish, Your Grace.”
“You may go now.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.” Barrow bowed low, then turned to leave the room.
She turned to Reed. “A bhobain.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “Say something,” she said, her voice catching in her throat. “Anything.”
Reed stared ahead at the rich, dark paneling that covered the walls of his office. He should have felt grief at the news that his wife was dead. Or, if he were that type of man, expressed relief that there would be no scandal to mar their name. But right now, he felt … nothing.
Turning on his heel, he walked back to his large oak desk and sat down on the leather chair. Then proceeded to tally the figures he had left behind earlier.

Chapter One
“What do you think, darling?”
Elise Henney watched as her mother twirled around in the private dressing room at Bloomingdale’s, the green skirt of her dress swirling around her slim legs. “You look great, Mom,” she replied. “Just perfect.”
“Oh, you should try it on then,” Lara exclaimed. “If it looks good on me, then it’ll look good on you too.” They were, after all, identical in stature—same petite, curvy frame and flaming red hair, though Elise’s electric blue eyes were inherited from her father.
Elise chuckled. “When you told me you wanted to go shopping, did you really mean for me or for you?”
“Why, for me of course, but you can pick up one or two things for yourself, you know. I mean, what are you going to wear tonight?”
Her mother was talking about Lucas Anderson’s ascension ceremony, the reason they were in New York in the first place. Her own father was Alpha of the San Francisco clan and had close ties with the Andersons, but he couldn’t make it due to a scheduling conflict.
So that meant her mother had to go, and she’d insisted on Elise coming to join her for the long weekend. She initially protested because that wasn’t much time, but Lara was insistent. “We’ll take the jet, fly in on Thursday night and leave Sunday morning,” her mother had said. “Besides, we’ll be staying with Daric and Meredith. She was complaining she didn’t get to spend time with you the last time you were there.” It wasn’t like she could protest;