AUDEAMUS
Chapter 13
In a quiet corner of the Masen drawing room, Jasper Hale sat and silently regarded as the rest of his extended family kept bickering about last night's occurrences. Edward Cullen, or at least the man who had dressed like him, had waltzed into the garrison simply to humiliate Captain Forster in the absence of Major Collins.
And some gentlemen on their way home from Lucy's tavern had seen it all. The humiliating swordfight which Forster had lost, the escaping horses: everything. Their tongues wagged before their brains caught on. They could not come to think how bad of an idea it was to divulge that Captain Forster had been bested. But they could not keep such delicious news down.
Jasper, ever intrigued by everything which had to do with Cullen, listened as his sister in law kept on blabbering about what she had heard from Jessica Stanley—someone who had heard gossip from her mother who apparently was friends with a mother of one of the young gentlemen. It was not a direct source, but it would have to do.
"I tell you he is a gentleman!" Emmett chuckled with a satisfied smirk.
"Riley Talbot says he looked like the devil come to life. What gentleman would go about in the night dressed in such a way?" Rosalie questioned.
"I think it's romantic!" Alice intervened.
Emmett turned to Rosalie as Alice kept blabbering about riding in the moonlight to her brother Edward and her husband. "He bested Captain Forster with the blade. And the blade is a gentleman's weapon."
He drew the attention from Carlisle. "Is Forster any good?" Carlisle asked, leaning forward in the chair as he played around with a small silver spoon which had been left over from tea.
"Indeed, Lord Masen. He may not be the best in Safeira or even Wessport. But Collins trains his soldiers hard. Captain Forster is at least distinguished enough to hold up his own with the blade. That he was bested so easily, leads me to think that this Cullen has had some training."
"But could not anyone acquire such training these days?" Jasper asked. He received direct attention from his brother in law.
"Tell me where a swordsmaster would give out his secrets for free. Not in Angloa," Emmett answered. He spoke with such assuredness that anything they said blew completely past him.
"Maybe not in Angloa, Spain, Italy or England. But they need swift blades in France now more than ever. Who is to say that a swordsmaster has not turned his back on his old patrons and gone the new way?" Rosalie wondered.
"Don't say that this fiend is a revolutionary!" Edward intervened. He pronounced the last word with something akin to disgust. "Dear heaven, we do not need a rebellion in Hayes!"
Emmett looked pensive for a while. "Maybe…it is a possibility. But I would need to see that man fight for myself before anything else is decided."
They all kept pondering why that masked man had entered the garrison. Carlisle would have paid a thousand crowns to see Forster ridiculed. And he was certain there were more in Hayes who would do the same.
Jasper had scarcely spoken when he and Alice took a stroll in the gardens. "That look," Alice commenced as she saw his jaw square and his eyes wandering without really focusing on anything in particular as she kept on musing about Miss Swan and her distaste for Jessica Stanley. "You always get that look when puzzling the pieces together in your brain."
Jasper turned to her. "There is something very wrong in this town, Alice." He turned to face her. They stood amidst rosebushes and lilies on an immaculately cut carpet of grass. "A man has returned in the guise of Edward Cullen for a reason. But what reason?" he asked himself. "There has to be some connection. He does not steal. Instead, he lounges around the garrison like he owns the place and he delivers bandits from the forest without breaking a sweat." Jasper looked past the wall that separated the back street from the Masen garden.
"Should we be worried?" Alice asked.
Jasper turned his full attention to her. "Alice, I cannot say why I believe this. But think about it, about what your mother said upon our arrival. It all started with saving Billy Black. And things escalated after the death of Lucas Ridge." As he spoke, it was evident that the fog in his mind started lifting.
"You think they are connected?" Alice wondered suddenly. She saw the light sparkle in his eyes.
"They have to be…" he trailed off.
"Jasper…why should we even worry with this?"
He stopped pacing with her hand still on his arm. "Because I think this man is trying to unearth something. He is hiding his face for a reason." Those words produced a shiver in Alice as she took a deep breath. Her stays dug into her ribs.
Jasper caught wind of her delicate state. He would not upset her anymore with his speculations. But he was certain that the man they knew as Cullen was on to something. And he would find out what it was as well.
"Now, as I've said once and again, Edward, fencing is an art," Emmett mused as he walked in circles around his brother in law. Edward Masen sported a padded vest, covers for his knees and elbows and a fencing mask. He looked ridiculous for, beneath the protective clothing, he wore a frilly shirt with lace cuffs not suitable for sport. His boots were, as always, impeccably polished.
The day bore down on both men with an impressive heat, and before already starting, Edward was sweating. However, Emmett McCarty suffered the heat as well.
The click of Emmett's boots on the stone echoed against the walls of the townhouse. Carlisle was sitting next to Rosalie enjoying some mid-morning tea. He watched his son intently. Now that bandits and dead men roamed the once sleepy town of Hayes, he insisted his only son learn how to defend himself—despite his loud protests.
"Yes, yes," Edward waved his hand carelessly with the ever-present nasal tone.
"Have you practiced your steps and lunges?" Emmett asked as he stopped before him. Edward nodded. "The compound attack?" Another nod. "Your coulé?"
"I've practiced those blasted moves, Emmett. Let us get this over with so I might continue with my day. I do not wish to waste it sweating away," he snorted. Emmett could not read his expression from within the fencing mask, but he was certain Edward's face expressed that of general distaste.
"En garde, then," Emmett muttered. They got into position and started their dance.
"Papa dear," Rosalie said as she continued with the sketch she'd been working on. "I think we should get a bodyguard for Edward instead of trying to teach him the impossible," she said in a delicate voice.
Carlisle arched an eyebrow. "Who in their right mind would tattle after a fop like my son?" he asked dryly. But then he turned more serious. "Times are dangerous, and he needs to know how to defend himself, Rosalie."
His oldest sighed as she put down paper and pen. "The only reason he is agreeing to do this silly exercise is to please you," she chastised. "He does not wish to displease you, papa."
"Displease?" Carlisle muttered.
"Edward may have…erm taken to new tastes, but he is still perceptive. He knows what you think of him. And even if he cannot change who he is now, I reckon having lost respect in your eyes is hard for him."
"I have not…lost my respect for him." Carlisle glanced while his son stumbled and fell with an audible oomph. "It is just that I—you remember him before he left, Rosalie! He was so full of passion, full of life. He didn't mind getting his hands dirty. The boy damned thirsted for these kinds of things. And now… now the mere act of walking from his rooms to his carriage tires him."
Rosalie pressed her lips together as she watched her brother get up with the help of her husband. "We must accept that Edward is not that boy anymore," she whispered.
"Well, he did not turn into a man," Carlisle muttered sourly.
"Papa!" she hissed. "You are too harsh."
"You are, Carlisle," came another voice. Esmeralda stepped out into her garden with a disappointed expression on her delicate features. "He is your son."
Carlisle got visibly flustered. "Esme," he trailed off.
"I will not have this discussion with you again. Edward might not be the man we had hoped for, but I still love him. Rosalie and Alice do too. And so should you," she said. Their conversation was quiet enough so that the fencing men had not heard them.
Emmett blocked another clumsy lunge, making Edward lose his footing enough so that he fell once more. "Damnation!" Edward uttered. He huffed and removed the mask from his face. Before standing up he took a moment to collect himself, not willing to show his anger. He pressed the sword and fencing mask into Emmett's hands. "I think that is enough for one day, McCarty," Edward muttered as he stepped away. His shirt was soaked, sticking to his skin. He stepped into the house, walking past the rest of his family.
They might have spoken in hushed voices, but he knew well enough who the subject was. And if they were speaking of him, he could indeed imagine what the conversation was about.
He walked through the drawing room, scattering the vest and paddings, heading to his chambers when he almost ran into a shorter figure.
Edward grew flustered, almost dropping the foppish countenance, almost acting out his frustrations on the poor maid or footman who had gotten in his way when he found none other than Bella Swan flustered before him.
"Miss Swan," he said, dumbfounded. However, he found the young woman lacking in words and turned confused as to her flustered state of mind.
And then Edward realized indeed why the young lady might be growing so red. He realized that the shirt he'd been wearing that was once white—now practically turned transparent because of his sweat; plastered to his body like a second skin. And he also realized that she might catch more skin than he would have deemed proper for a young and unmarried lady. He had not buttoned up the front, thus it gaped down, showing most of his chest.
Indeed, Bella had seen the stable boys, or the workers remove soaked clothes on a hot summer's day. And she had always been intrigued as to the physique of men, so different from a woman's curves and supple figure. As she grew into her teen years, she could not divert her eyes from the broad shoulders and wide chests, never really knowing why. It was only later that she learned what ladies and gents of all classes would do in the privacy of their bedrooms from her maids.
But there was one thing that had thrown Bella off more than anything else for the past few days: days plentiful of run-ins with masked men, fugitives, and ghosts. And that was seeing the foppish Mr. Masen so bared before her.
Who on God's green earth would ever believe that the fop hid such a physique under his frocks and mile-long cravats? Certainly not Bella Swan.
"Mr. Masen, I do believe you are in need of new attire," she muttered under her breath. "What on earth have you been doing?" she asked, genuinely intrigued. Genuinely flustered. Slightly panicked.
His nose rose in the air as he slumped his form and took a step away from her. "Miss Swan," he spoke in that same and unnerving thin nasal tone. "I have been fencing."
"Fencing?" Her face took a confused expression.
"Yes, fencing." His lips pressed together, yet he managed to look quite proud. At that moment, Emmett and Rosalie McCarty walked into the drawing room.
"I reckon you are here for Alice?" Rosalie asked, not bothering with any pleasantries. Emmett muttered something in her ear, but Rosalie shrugged it off.
However, Bella Swan paid the beautiful blonde little heed. "Fencing?" she repeated again. What had spurred Mr. Masen to think that he could fence?
Emmett nodded and chuckled. "Mine and his father's doing, I am afraid, Miss Swan," Emmett insisted. He too dressed only in a simple white shirt and black pants with brown boots. However, Emmett did not keep the same frilly lace about him as Edward did.
"My brother needs to learn the art," Rosalie filled in.
"I have been practicing too long," Edward snarled.
"You need to practice a lifetime, Edward dear, before you are even capable of holding the sword straight," his sister chuckled.
Harsh, Bella thought. Yet, Edward Masen did not seem bothered by the remark. He gave her a small nod and left for his chambers where he would no doubt bathe and change into his preferred and perfumed vestments.
She watched in silence as he stepped out of the room. "Joseph brought me in," Bella said without turning, feeling the golden eyes of Rosalie drill into her neck. With a small turn of her heel, she faced her friend's sister. "But Alice is not here, you say?"
"Not here, Miss Swan."
"Then where?"
Rosalie walked over to her in slow steps. "With Mr. Hale taking a stroll in the woods."
The moment Raven's Grove was mentioned, Bella stifled a shiver. "Is there no fear that more bandits might creep between the trees?" she asked.
Rosalie straightened next to her husband. "Despite your alarms, Jasper Hale is quite apt at defending himself with the blade. And, besides, Sgt. Thompson and a few other lancers offered to escort them," she smiled.
"Sgt. Thompson offered? On a warm day such as this?" Bella questioned, a delicate eyebrow arched as she crossed her arms.
Rosalie shrugged her shoulders. "Wine or ale at the Laughing Goose might have been discussed," she murmured.
Of course, Bella thought. Then, to the Laughing Goose she would head. She needed her trusted friend to take her mind of the occurrences that had transpired so far in Hayes. And, maybe, she could talk with them and play with the idea of Lucas Ridge's death not being a mere suicide. She trusted enough in their integrity not to try to read too much between the lines.
"Then I am off," she curtsied and turned to leave. Rosalie did not offer any words of goodbye as she saw the striking young woman leave the room, only to be escorted to the entrance by Joseph.
"Rosalie," Emmett turned to his wife with a concerned expression. "Why this animosity toward Miss Swan?"
She remained silent for a long while before turning to him and answering. "She bothers me," was all she could say until she left him, going to her mother's rooms.
Collins sighed as he dismounted his horse. His eyes darted around Hayes. The major's return had been kept quiet, he had come there under cover of the late evening.
His suspicions had grown quite alarmed ever since Safeira.
He knew what Captain Forster had been the moment he had first arrived in town. The blatant arrogance of the officer—thinking he could get away with his schemes—angered the major. Collins had made it clear that Forster was to be reprimanded. Other officers had lost their ranks for less.
Yet, nothing seemed to touch the captain. Until now, his actions had not caught the attention of the superiors in either Safeira or Wessport. Collins suspected Forster was protected by someone. The most reasonable assumption had been Lord Newton. Having Forster help the magistrate overtly tax the people of Hayes to fill his pockets had been Collin's first assumption.
But there was something more sinister afoot. He had heard of Mr. Ridge and the supposed suicide. And as time passed and Collins went over old reports—seeing the full extent of the abuse of Captain Forster—he wondered if Mr. Ridge might have been murdered. Had the lawyer maybe threatened the captain only to be silenced?
It unnerved and unsettled the major. It had been just enough to chance a visit to the capital, to use his connections to find out more about the cruel captain of Hayes. He needed to find out who was protecting Forster and snuff him out before the madman kept on pushing the people to the abyss. Angloa did not need any more tumult. While Collins thought the ideals of revolutionary France to be noble and just, he—like many others—was dismayed at seeing what the reign of terror had brought onto the once grand country. Angloa was not to go in the same direction.
Alas, there was nothing he could do in Safeira. Wherever he turned, he was faced with dismissing superiors. Men were too occupied by either their own importance, the frivolities of the grand city, power or the rising tensions in politics and with the king. They did not care about a power-hungry captain in some remote town in Cadherra. And they did not heed his warning when he urged that the situation might escalate.
Longer into his stay he had tried to search for other reasons lancers could not be spared for Cadherra. Little by little, Collins started unraveling payments, bribes—someone wanted Cadherra and Hayes to be closed off—under the control of few men: men like Forster it seemed.
He had given up, resolved to expose Forster himself and have him publicly stripped from his rank and thrown out of the Royal Guard. Forster was a complete disgrace to the uniform.
He walked out of his office. Forster already knew of his presence and had tried to gather the soldiers. Collins had scarcely seen any townspeople dare venture close to the garrison. He wondered what the captain had done this time.
His eyes spotted a few men in the cells—troublemakers or something else? Something glinted at the end of the long row of cells, the wooden shed had a rapier sticking out of it, swaying gently in the late summer breeze.
"I didn't get the chance to welcome you back, sir," came a voice to his right. Forster stood in his pristine uniform. Collins wrinkled his nose now that he was certain the captain was pockets-deep in corruption and greed.
However, he would not show it. Collins did not know yet in whom he could trust, but one thing was certain—in Forster he most certainly could not.
"I noticed you made quite good use of my quarters when I was gone," he added haphazardly.
Forster might have grown flustered. "I…since you were out of town, the next officer of high rank should occupy those chambers, it is only wanting—"
Collins turned around to face Forster and thus interrupted him. "I gave that post to Sergeant Thompson. Yet you ignored a direct order," he growled.
Forster grew only more flustered. "I have not lost my rank, major, I cannot just hand over that position when I clearly hold the higher rank," Forster tried, even more flustered.
Collins rose an eyebrow. "I think my command out trumps your rank, don't you?" He took a wider stance. "And what is this I hear that my office and yours were broken into?"
Forster had grown seemingly red in the face by now. The passing soldiers tried to avoid both officers like the plague. "It was—"
Collins' finger pointed to the sword that Forster had still been unable to pull out of the wooden wall. "A jokester? Please spare me the lies, captain. I have heard for a fact that someone managed to enter the garrison and made a fool out of us!" Collins' voice grew higher and higher. "How could this be allowed?!" he spat angrily. It felt good rattling the otherwise proud and foolish captain before him.
"It was no mere jokester, sir!" Forster uttered, trying desperately to defend himself. "He knew exactly what he was doing—"
"More townspeople are now saying it was Edward Cullen in the flesh. We do not need superstitious rumors to be floating around—or people to chant Audeamus in the streets. The last thing Hayes needs is to be spurred into open revolt against law and order by this fool. Are we clear?" He did not let Forster open his mouth before he continued. "You will have a report on my desk by the end of the day detailing every miniscule second of this encounter. I will have all the information about this man. Is that clear?"
Forster nodded, fighting hard to hold his tongue.
"You are dismissed, captain."
Major Collins watched as Forster left, his eyebrows knitted together, the August breeze dragging at his low golden ponytail. He needed to know this intruder—needed to know what answers he was seeking. For, indeed, Collins was certain this intruder—who had also attacked during the mayor's party—was seeking answers.
And perhaps they were answers Collins needed as well. Like, say, the strange circumstances surrounding Lucas Ridge's death. All the suspecting major knew was that things were not as they seemed in the otherwise peaceful town of Hayes. And he would unravel them, no matter what it took.
Lucy's eyes glinted across the room, taking in the same scene as always—drunkards, bothersome soldiers and some patrons that always tipped well.
Thompson was absent that evening. Usually, he would be there, in the company of none other than Mr. Masen. She liked to refer to him as Junior. In fact, many had done so. Rumors that Lord Masen was appalled by his son only grew stronger and stronger.
It was strange seeing Edward Masen among the humbler lot of Hayes. He, so refined, so pristine, stood out alarmingly much. The Laughing Goose had never before been graced by the reoccurrence of such a wealthy patron. Thus, she would not turn him away, despite his rather unsavory remarks over her beloved tavern. Besides, other things occupied her mind.
Lucy's brows knitted together, and her lips thinned. It was evident that a play between Forster and Collins had gone underway. The major had made it open that he did not like the captain. But, then, why not dismiss him? Why not have him sent to Safeira and discipline him for his many evil actions against the townspeople of Hayes? Easy, Collins couldn't. The people didn't know why, but someone of high stature must be on Forster's side protecting him.
And thus, it made the people whisper Audeamus wherever they went, in silence, in secrecy. Some tired souls—a handful of the younger ones—had ventured to Raven's Grove where it was said one could find Cullen if one knew where to look. To follow him was growing to be considered a great honor. And there was no doubt in their minds anymore that he…or his ghost, was there present.
Bella, sitting by the bar, saw the older woman's worried expression. She did not bring up either Cullen, Collins or Ridge to her anymore. By her request. But the young woman knew what troubled Lucy so. She sipped the juice slowly in her cup. All of this had started once Billy Black had been taken into custody, and it had escalated with the death of Ridge.
Bella went over everything mentally once more. Cullen had appeared the same night Mr. Black had been imprisoned. Lucas Ridge had defended Billy once he returned and wouldn't give up the man who'd saved him. In some way or another, Forster had managed to imprison Billy again and that the judiciary system should have failed Mr. Black bore down so hard on Lucas that he killed himself. Right after his death, Cullen had escalated his taunts and attacks against the garrison and Forster. Bandits had started stealing on the King's Road to Raven's Grove which prompted Collins to be transferred to the garrison and oversee its command.
Bella paused, it was hard to keep track of it all and she decided she should start writing it down only so that she might remember it. Cullen had sought something in the mayor's new estate, as well as in her house. Could it be the note Ridge had written? Or maybe it was more information that he sought: information that proved to her that Lucas Ridge knew something before dying. Yet, the note she'd found was her only clue—her only hope he might come back. The more Bella thought about it, the more it made sense. The Royal Guard had combed through the place when she'd gotten there; as if Forster wanted to clean up the mess and erase any trace that could lead back to him. Maybe it was such information Cullen sought.
This time she would be prepared. The young woman licked her lips. This time she would know what to ask him; she was certain he would seek her out again.
A guitar sounded somewhere in the tavern as the evening grew to become night.
"Ya should be goin' now, Bella," Lucy said as she wiped the countertop with further force. Her beady eyes darted about in the dim light.
"It's not even eight, Lucy. Besides, I'd rather not be home right now." Bella paused and put the cup down, letting it settle on the worn countertop. "I know you worry for me—"
Lucy leaned forward, her harsh eyes managing to capture the chocolate brown orbs that fought hard to evade them. "Thompson ain't comin' tonight, miss. Collins has the whole garrison under an iron fist since his return from Safeira."
Bella's lips pressed together. She thought she might have gotten more information out of Thompson before heading back. Alas, it was not to be.
"Let me call on Joe for ya, I won't be lettin' ya go all alone in these times—"
"I can manage, Lucy. Thank you," Bella smiled. She cast a few coins on the counter and got up, leaving for the entrance of the tavern. The sun had already started setting and it got darker quicker. September was nearing and with it came fall, and winter. Summer had passed by too quickly, she was not yet ready for the chill of its absence.
April was latched to a post in front of the tavern. Bella walked over to her. "There, my girl," she cooed to the mare. She took the reins and mounted the horse, turning in the saddle to gaze at the garrison. Bella did indeed wonder what was taking place behind those walls. She wondered if Cullen would make another appearance soon. She had been waiting for him to sneak into her chambers for the past week, a growing disappointment telling her she would not be seeing more of him.
On her trot home, she passed one of the outer gates, finding it odd that it should be standing half open. The curfew would soon be in place and unless one had a strict invitation to a gathering or a friend's dinner, no one was allowed to graze outside—even less outside of Hayes.
Her eyebrows shot to her hairline as she saw a figure wave at her by the gate. Bella's heart stopped as she held the reins taut. She froze, and April stomped in place nervously.
"W-who goes there?" she whispered, quickly looking around the neighborhood to make sure they were not being spied upon. But then the young woman came to the realization that having no witnesses might not be such a good thing either.
It could not be him—could it? She remained seated on April, listening intently to the sounds in the shadow. She heard only the howl of the wind,
"Come closer," a strained voice whispered. Bella shivered. But strangely she did as it bade, automatically urging April to move toward the shadows. Indeed, Bella Swan had never been so curious before.
She expected to find him there, in his black garb, ever menacing. She expected the deep voice, to flow in her direction like amber honey and make her knees buckle with its melody. She expected his intense aura to ooze and surround her.
But, instead, and surprisingly to her disappointment, she was met with Jacob Black.
"Jacob!" she hissed as she flung herself off April. Had her father been there, she held no doubt that he would've had a minor attack at her brutish behavior. And Bella suspected her mother would have been none too happy either.
She pulled the reins over her mare's head and snuck up to her old friend. He seemed tense, his eyes surveilling the road passing by the gate.
"What are you doing here? They told me you left! Why are you acting so suspicious?" demanded the shorter woman with a quizzical expression.
He dressed in more casual clothing than before. Despite not knowing much about his whereabouts, Jacob Black looked better than she expected. Alas, he gave the impression like he was about to commit a crime—or had already committed one. He dressed in darker clothes, and had a hat in his hands, no doubt it would conceal him once he was done speaking with her.
"I need something from you, Bella," Jacob hurried her.
She could not help it as her hand rested on her waist and her head shifted to the side.
Jacob muttered something under his breath. "I also meant to say that it is genuinely good to see you again, my friend." They hadn't seen each other in weeks. After Jacob had left town, Bella wondered if he had gone to seek out his father, wherever he was. But she knew he would divulge little to her. It seemed there was an air of mistrust oozing from him, and it hurt her. But she understood. Jacob had suffered much since the start of summer, and she did not doubt his view of the world had drastically changed. There was anger contained within him, an anger she knew very well to whom it was directed: to Captain Forster.
She shook her head with a defeated air. "What do you want?"
"You were the one to clean up most of Ridge's office. And you may have retained something from it."
Bella knew instantly what he spoke of. The note. But what she could not make out were several things. Why was Jacob of all people asking for that note? How did he know she had even found the note there lest he had gone there himself at a later time and purposefully looked for it?
She was about to sneer at him when she recollected herself. "Well, Mr. Black, had you come that day to help me, you might've found what you were looking for yourself—" she suddenly cut herself short, almost as if swallowing her tongue. In the midst of speaking the sentence, Bella had realized something pivotal.
Jacob Black was witness to Bella Swan's eyes widening further than he had ever thought possible. Indeed, never before had he seen her so stunned.
"You are in league with him¸ aren't you!" she exclaimed and was surprised when his hand clamored tightly over her lips in a desperate attempt to make her lower her voice. But Bella continued carelessly, removing his hand. "Do not tell me it is to Raven's Grove you have gone!"
"Schhh! Do you wish to bring the whole of Hayes here?" he begged.
Bella pushed away from him and pointed an accusing finger. "You are, oh you—you—"
"Do you have any information or not!"
She squared her shoulders defiantly and arched an eyebrow. "You may tell that fiend and bandit that he owes me an apology," she almost growled. April flickered her ears lazily, the mare looked as if almost sighing toward her mistress.
"An apology?" Jacob dared to ask.
"Aye, coming into my chambers like he owned the place and demanding information."
It was too dark to fully discern, but Bella swore that Jacob grew flustered. "He entered your chambers?!" he asked in a strangled voice.
"While I was indecent in my nightgown and sleeping!"
But Jacob had not gotten past the first bit of information. He was too enthralled to fully process it. "In your chamber?" he murmured to himself.
Mayhap it had been a bit of information that Cullen had chosen not to share with Jacob. Bella could still not get over the fact that her childhood friend was in cohorts with him.
They arrived at staring at each other for a while, one with her lips tightly pressed and the other growing redder by the minute. Yet, Bella could still not make out if it was from fury or embarrassment.
She took the initiative to speak, finally. The hour grew late, and she had no mind to be caught out on the streets—even with Collins now commanding the garrison.
"Tell your friend," she said while mounting April. "That if he wishes that note he may come and claim it, together with an apology and an explanation," she sneered.
A/N: As always, thanks for the reviews and reads! I hope you will enjoy this one as well!
Cheers,
Isabelle