The Sweetest Dark (9 page)

I yanked harder, swiveling back to my easel, closing my eyes as my fingers fumbled with the cloth.

I am invisible. Invisible. If I can't see them, they can't see me.

Surely they weren't here for me. Surely Armand was here to visit Chloe. She was still standing right there beside me, practically licking her lips with anticipation. She'd removed her smock already and had it arranged elegantly over one arm.

I pulled at the knot again and heard threads begin to pop.

“Allow me, Miss Jones,” said Armand, right at my back.

There was no gracious way to refuse him. Not with Mrs. Westcliffe there, too.

I exhaled and dropped my arms. I stared at the lotus petals in my painting as the new small twists and tugs of Armand's hands rocked me back and forth.

Jesse's music began to reverberate somewhat more sharply than before.

“There,” Armand said, soft near my ear. “Nearly got it.”

“Most kind of you, my lord.” Mrs. Westcliffe's voice was far more carrying. “Do you not agree, Miss Jones?”

Her tone said I'd better.

“Most kind,” I repeated. For some reason I felt him as a solid warmth behind me, behind all of me, even though only his knuckles made a gentle bumping against my spine.

How blasted long could it take to unravel a knot?

“Yes,” said Chloe unexpectedly. “Lord Armand is always a perfect gentleman, no matter who or
what
demands his attention.”

“There,” the gentleman said, and at last his hands fell away. The front of the smock sagged loose. I shrugged out of it as fast as I could, wadding it up into a ball.

“Excuse me.” I ducked a curtsy and began my escape to the hamper, but Mrs. Westcliffe cut me short.

“A moment, Miss Jones. We require your presence.”

I turned to face them. Armand was smiling his faint, cool smile. Mrs. Westcliffe looked as if she wished to fix me in some way. I raised a hand instinctively to my hair, trying to press it properly into place.

“You have the honor of being invited to tea at the manor house,” the headmistress said. “To formally meet His Grace.”

“Oh,” I said. “How marvelous.”

I'd rather have a tooth pulled out.

“Indeed. Lord Armand came himself to deliver the invitation.”

“Least I could I do,” said Armand. “It wasn't far. This Saturday, if that's all right.”

“Um …”

“I am certain Miss Jones will be pleased to cancel any other plans,” said Mrs. Westcliffe.

“
This
Saturday?” Unlike me, Chloe had not conceded an inch of ground. “Why, Mandy! That's the day you promised we'd play lawn tennis.”

He cocked a brow at her, and I knew right then that she was lying and that she knew that he knew. She sent him a melting smile.

“Isn't it, my lord?”

“I must have forgotten,” he said. “Well, but we cannot disappoint the duke, can we?”

“No, indeed,” interjected Mrs. Westcliffe.

“So I suppose you'll have to come along to the tea instead, Chloe.”

“Very well. If you insist.”

He didn't insist. He did, however, sweep her a very deep bow and then another to the headmistress. “And you, too, Mrs. Westcliffe. Naturally. The duke always remarks upon your excellent company.”

“Most kind,” she said again, and actually blushed.

Armand looked dead at me. There was that challenge behind his gaze, that one I'd first glimpsed at the train station.

“We find ourselves in harmony, then. I shall see you in a few days, Miss Jones.”

I tightened my fingers into the wad of the smock and forced my lips into an upward curve. He smiled back at me, that cold smile that said plainly he wasn't duped for a moment.

I did not get a bow.

...

Jesse was at the hamper when I went to toss in the smock. Before I could, he took it from me, eyes cast downward, no words. Our fingers brushed beneath the cloth.

That fleeting glide of his skin against mine. The sensation of hardened calluses stroking me, tender and rough at once. The sweet, strong pleasure that spiked through me, brief as it was.

That had been on purpose. I was sure of it.

Chapter Eleven

I was dreaming. It was a good dream, one I'd had nearly every night since coming to Iverson, and I liked it.

In my dream I was heavy at first, heavy as one of the massive rocks that made their rough stair steps down the cliffs of the island to the sea. I felt the weight of me sinking into the earth, and it was as if I would sink forevermore.

But then I changed. I became buoyant—immediately, fantastically buoyant, without any weight at all. I rose in a mist, in smoke, silvery curls that shone translucent in the moonlight, rising, rising. Free to flow beyond windows and walls. Free to descend into the unknown depths of a very dark woods.

I was flight. The air pushed by an owl's wings, the breeze off the sea that ruffled bracken and oak leaves. I could go anywhere, high or low or as far as I wished, but what I wished was to float through the open door of a cottage nestled in those woods, a place that was also dark. Also unknown.

In the cottage was a bed, and in the bed was Jesse.

His eyes were closed; his lips were parted. I sank closer to him, to the heated contours of his uncovered skin, his chest, his shoulders, up to his peaceful face. I touched him, and his hands lifted to touch me back. He inhaled deep and I became the oxygen that nourished him. I was inside him. I was outside him. My lips were on his and our kiss pulled me back into weight, but not as a stone.

As me. As Lora with Jesse in his bed.

Our arms locked, our bodies pressed into one. His hair a golden sift against my throat, his unshaven cheek on mine, deliciously, wonderfully rough. The sheets knotted around us. Our kisses. His tongue. His hands stroking my back and arms and down, following the curves of me, cupping me, cradling.

I was empty and full at once. I was the opening flower, the ripe berry ready to burst. I wanted more of him and could not get more; we were already so close our bodies slipped slick together.

Beloved,
murmured the voice that lived inside me, tender as I'd never heard it before.
I've missed you. I've waited so long.

His eyes opened and he smiled at me: a green summer storm, a shadowed eternity there in his gaze.

You already know that I love you,
Jesse said, and in that instant I awoke.

Alone in my own bed, plain Lora again.

Every bit of me aching and aflame.

...

Saturday edged nearer. I tried not to think about it but it ate away at me anyway, ever gnawing at the back of my thoughts.

I endured my classes. Monsieur Vachon had decided that since I was something of a prodigy, it would be his duty to deconstruct me, to take apart my talent piece by piece until he could reassemble it into a whole that better reflected him.

In other words, he was forcing me to learn scales, to read music. I was as clumsy at it as the ten-year-olds in his beginners' class, but at least it required something most of my other lessons did not: absolute concentration.

Otherwise, my thoughts were flurried. An unpleasant tightness had lodged in my chest and it would not leave. Even the fiend could not make it leave.

History, art, French. I'd stare at my textbooks and see nothing; I'd stare at my teachers and see nothing. At the walls. At my supper.

Saturday tea was looming. Judgment Day, four days away. God knew what would happen to me if the duke didn't like me. If Chloe decided to openly shame me. If Armand kept up his focused, uncomfortable attentions.

If I used the wrong spoon for the sugar, or sneezed on the scones, or knocked over a priceless vase—

Three days. Two.

One.

“I
said,
pass the butter.”

Malinda was the unfortunate soul assigned to the seat next to mine for meals. She bore up under this regrettable burden as well as she could, which was to say not well.

“Are you earless, Eleanore? The rest of us might enjoy butter on our potatoes, too. If you're
quite
done with it.”

I'd been clutching the butter bowl for who knew how long, staring at the ribbed yellow curls and seeing … nothing. I handed it over to Malinda without looking at her, glanced down, and realized I'd forgotten to take a curl.

“
Thank
you,” she sneered. “So
very
kind of you.”

“Now, Miss Ashland,” scolded Caroline, in a spot-on imitation of Mrs. Westcliffe. “One must always show charity to a charity case!”

The other girls erupted into laughter.

“It's true.” Mittie was sawing through her portion of tonight's beefsteak, which had been boiled to the consistency of shoe leather. “No matter how pathetic some girls may be, there is always the possibility they will sink lower without proper guidance. So, in
that
spirit: I say, Eleanore. Did you plan to comb out your hair for the duke's tea?”

“Or mend your skirt?” snickered Stella.

“Oh,
do
wear the brown one! That one the color of mud.
So
fashionable!”

“It truly compliments your lack of a figure!”

Malinda was closest. I suppose that's why it happened to her. She was the one at my elbow, stuffing her mouth with a cube of potato while glancing down the table at Sophia, eager for reassurance that she was in on the fun.

I bent toward her and said quietly, “Choke on it.”

Her eyes went round. Her hands flew to her neck. She began to cough and then to wheeze, her face turning red. Bits of food flecked her lips, and her fork clattered to the floor.

Everyone stopped eating to stare. Lillian, at her other side, began hitting her vigorously on the back. Malinda lifted her arms straight out in front of her, waving them frantically. She was probably trying to get Lillian to stop.

“Stop,” I said to them both, and at once Malinda sucked in an enormous gulp of air.

Lovely,
whispered my fiend, dancing with glee.
Lovely, lovely power.

Lillian hovered, a hand raised, ready to clout Malinda again.

“Great heavens,” drawled Lady Sophia, rolling her eyes. “Such a fuss. Someone give her a drink of water.”

“Perhaps you shouldn't toss down your food so,” I said to Malinda. “Not very dignified, is it? You've potato all over your face,” I added.

She seemed too out of breath to reply. She swiped her napkin along her mouth and glared at me. I smiled at her.

My entire body buzzed with an energy I'd never felt before. It spread through me, marrow to blood to flesh, sinister and strong.

I had done that to Malinda. I didn't know how. But I had.

I stared down at the food on my plate, the blanched meat and potatoes and asparagus tips sprinkled with pepper, and suddenly it all looked luscious.

Beside me, Malinda was surreptitiously flicking food from her lap.

“What
are
you planning to wear, Eleanore?” asked Sophia.

“What do you care?”

“I don't, much. I was merely curious. I thought you might like to take a look at my wardrobe to see if something fits.”

“What?”
gasped Mittie and Lillian together, perfectly timed.

Sophia shrugged. “Well, why not? She's going to represent Iverson. Our class more than the rest. I'd rather she make a better impression on His Grace than not.”

Beatrice laughed uncertainly.

“Why don't you come by my room after supper?” Sophia was ignoring all the other girls to hold me in her flat gaze. “And we'll see what's what.”

“All right,” I said, lifting my chin. My newfound power buzzed through my veins like caffeine, like potent gin.

Let her try to humiliate me with an ugly frock. Let her try.

“Splendid.” She looked away once more. She took a bite of the leathery steak, chewing and chewing and chewing.

...

I had not ventured into the section of the castle that housed the other students. I knew that they had their own wing and that it was adjacent to my tower. Sometimes late at night, when the wind stilled, I heard their whisperings, secret confidences exchanged. Sometimes when I looked down the connecting corridor, I saw the dull orangey glow of their lamps shining beneath door slits or silhouettes of girls slipping from room to room in their robes.

But I'd not been invited into that realm, so I had not gone.

Sophia walked ahead of me without looking back once, obviously certain I'd do nothing but follow. It was what all her other acolytes did.

They marched behind us in a clot of purple skirts and disbelieving head shakes.

Every door in this hallway looked alike to me, white paint with sharp black trim. I wondered if the other girls had to count them just to remember which one was their own.

I suppose it was inevitable that I would enter one sooner or later. It was actually surprising that none of my classmates had thought to torment me this way before tonight.

I might have been a princess in a tower, but Lady Sophia was an empress in a palace, one complete with a fireplace, fancy paintings, and a rug of lavender posies on cream so thick and plush I sank with every step. All the furniture was rosewood, slick with wax. The windows had been hung with sheer, billowing curtains—bridal lace, just like in Mrs. Westcliffe's office.

My only consolation was that there were two beds in this room, not one, each pushed against a wall. So at least the empress had to share.

Mittie went and flopped across the far one, eyeing me with outright hostility. She looked like an angry pug ready to mark its territory.

The other girls positioned themselves silently along various settees and chairs. No one sat near Mittie.

“Let's see,” said Sophia calmly, still ignoring everyone but me. “I'd say we're nearly the same size. If you're a tad smaller, it won't matter. Everything this season drapes so loose. I have a few things that might do.”

She opened an armoire so huge it reached nearly to the ceiling. I glimpsed the same white and plum uniforms that hung in mine. She pushed those aside on the rod ruthlessly with one hand.

“Here. And here. Perhaps this. This … this …”

Colors began to spill forth, delicate creations of taffeta and organdy, serge and chiffon, pitched to the unoccupied bed like dirty rags, a few slithering to the floor. I remained near the doorway as she worked. I was waiting for the punch line of her jest.

“Tea with His Grace, but not Sunday tea,” Sophia mused aloud, examining the pile of frocks. “So … I think not anything too bright.” She plucked free two of the gowns, handing them off to Lillian nearby. “And nothing too long.” Another gown gone.

Her fingers traced the sheen of a blue satin tunic. “Too bold for an introduction to a duke? What do you think, Caro?”

“I …” Caroline clearly didn't know what to think. “I imagine so?”

“Agreed.” The tunic was tossed to Lillian. “Ah, wait. I have it. Yes. Here we are.”

She used both hands to free a new gown from the mess, shaking away all the rest in a tumble of unwanted glimmer. She turned around to me with it held up in front her, a smile at last breaking through the calm.

The dress was beautiful. Of course it was; all of them had been. This one was floaty and silvery gray, the color of the moonlit mist of my dreams. It had a silver sash and a dash of silver sequins along the bodice. I knew straightaway it was worth more than I'd make in a year as a governess.

Probably more than five years.

“Try it on,” Sophia said.

I didn't move.

“Oh.” She looked around the room, sighing. “Right, everyone out. Give her some privacy. Go on.”

Lillian went first, still mindlessly clutching the discarded dresses. The others filed out in an unenthusiastic line.

“You, as well,” Sophia said pointedly to Mittie, who'd stayed on the bed.

“Why should I? It's my room, too.”

Lady Sophia only stared at her. Mittie's mouth tightened into a downward curve, her pug face gone sour. She was no match for Sophia's ranking in the pack, and she knew it.

“Fine,” she huffed, and went. The door slammed hard behind her.

Sophia looked back at me. “You needn't be concerned about undressing in front of me. I don't care a whit about your body or your modesty.” She walked over, shoved the dress into my arms. Layers of gauzy silk puffed against my chest. “Try it on.”

“Why?” I demanded. “So you can tell me to take it off and then kick me out in my knickers? Or, better yet, tell me I may borrow it and then accuse me of stealing it?”

“No,” she said, flat again. “I want you to wear it to the tea.”

“Why?” I wasn't going to play her game, not without proper answers.

“Because Chloe will be there. And I want to make her as miserable as I possibly can.”

My arms dropped. The silver dress felt light as paper in my grip.

“She's my sister,” Sophia said. “Didn't you know? Stepsister, actually. Her mother wed my father four years ago.”

“You hate her,” I said. It wasn't a question.

“You've no idea.”

“How will me in
this
make Chloe miserable?”

“Anything that drags attention away from Chloe makes Chloe miserable.”

The lamplight flickering on Sophia's desk behind her burned a halo around her pale hair. She gazed at me bright and hard, an unlikely angel in a schoolgirl's shape.

I lifted a shoulder. “Fair enough. I'll wear the dress.”

Her distant smile returned. “Good.”

The route back to my tower lay thick with night. I knew the way well enough now not to need illumination. My feet took me where I needed to go.

Sophia's dress was a silken veil across my arms. It tugged at the shadows behind me, murmuring to the dark as I climbed.

My door was closed, as I'd left it. But there was something at the base of it. Something new.

It was a box. A small one, cardboard, unadorned. I picked it up and felt a weight sliding around inside, singing as it moved.