The Treachery of Beautiful Things (35 page)

Jenny sat in silence through the lesson, listening to them talk about things she’d experienced as though they were just myths, fairy tales, dark tales to frighten children.

And all the time, Jack sat there, and he didn’t know her.

Every other moment she thought, no, she’d been mistaken, but then he’d smile, or frown, and it was him. Could only be him. Sometimes his face looked different from the corner of her eye, but when she looked at him, really looked at him, it was Jack.

In the general rush to leave, Jenny lost sight of him. In truth, she could barely bring herself to move. It had been months, and perhaps…God, perhaps she was imagining things now. It was possible, wasn’t it? They’d watched her after her escape, her parents, overjoyed at the return of their son, but horrified at the so-called attack on their daughter. It had taken her the summer to persuade them to still let her go away to university, though a large part of her had wanted to stay near her brother. She and Tom—they had seven years’ worth of time to make up for. Counseling and psychiatrists hadn’t really helped, of course.
“What
really happened?”
they asked again and again. But Jenny knew better now. She kept most of it to herself. What could she tell them without ending up in an asylum? Tom took the same line, feigned amnesia, and if no one was fooled there, the sheer relief that he was home quelled the questions.

She had kept the faith, secretly, silently, with only Tom to rely on. But even so, her old friend doubt gnawed away at the edges of her mind. And she couldn’t help but wonder.

It had to have been real. Hadn’t it? That was
Jack
.

There was no sign of him in the corridor when she left the room. Nor on the stairs, or the corridor beneath. Mr. Woodhouse, or whoever he was—the name made her smile—had vanished.

The desolation returned, the smile slipped from her face. Head down, she walked back through the quadrangle, to the lawns beyond. Better this way, without false hope. Better than enduring such a crushing disappointment again.

“Excuse me?” someone called from behind her.

Every cell in her body shuddered. She turned to see him sitting under a tree. An oak tree. She stared at him. It was. It was her Jack.

And at the same time not. Just a boy in jeans and a T-shirt, with a backpack slung over one shoulder. But his eyes…his expression, his smile…

“You’re in my folklore class. Jenny, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she managed.

He laughed then, and blushed, getting to his feet with fluid movements. He shook his dark hair out of his eyes. “I’m sorry.” He offered his hand. “I can’t get over the feeling that I…I’ve met you before…I’m Jack,” he said.

Jenny let her hand close around his, felt his fingers wrap around hers. The warmth of his skin, the sensations of his touch were real, and just as they had been. It couldn’t be a mistake. But how? Her breath hitched her chest as she struggled to stay still. Her eyes snagged on a flash of gold at his neck and she saw it, recognized it.

Her locket.

She stared too long at it and his other hand rose to close over it protectively. His hands, so familiar, long elegant fingers that had entwined with hers once upon a time. His other hand held on to hers and his grip tightened ever so slightly. She could feel the calluses on his palm and fingers. She knew every one.

She dragged her gaze back to his face and found his color high, his eyes bright with embarrassment.

“Jack,” she said slowly, aware that her eyes were shining with tears. She must look like a crazy person. He didn’t know her. Couldn’t remember her. But he was here. He was truly here.

Jack stared at her, a confused smile playing over his lips, fading into something else. A distant recollection, the dawn of a remembered dream. He released her hand slowly
and slid his fingers into his jeans pocket. She stepped back, uncertain.

He must have noticed.

“Wait a minute, please Jenny.” He reached out, offering her something. A green stone. Polished and bright.

Jenny stared with wide eyes.

“It’s yours. Isn’t it? I don’t know where it came from. I…I kind of found it, but it feels like—like it’s yours.” And he blushed more fiercely, flustered. He looked so very young in that moment with the shadows of the leaves playing over his face, like a lost boy.

She plucked the stone from his palm, closed her hand into a fist around it, and wished. She wished with all her heart.

Jack watched her and slowly, something else trickled into his expression. His eyes widened, as if he were seeing her for the first time. He made a sound like he was trying to breathe and speak at once.

He reached out again and she didn’t pull away. Memories flooded his eyes, making their blue and green glisten. His pupils dilated and she saw herself reflected in them, herself and so much more. Jack stepped back, stumbled and caught himself, still staring at her. Then strong arms wrapped her up, lifted her, and she slipped her arms around his neck, holding him close. “Jenny.” He murmured her name into her hair, and spun her around in a dizzying circle.

He finally set her down again and took a step back, his hands grabbing hers, his eyes taking her in. “My Jenny Wren. I’ve missed you.” Earnest, true, words she knew she could believe, from the boy she could trust. He touched her nose and smiled. “Freckles.”

Jenny threw back her head and laughed, laughter that rang out through the leaves of the oak tree above them. Jack pulled her to him, to kiss her and whisper her name again. And the oak tree above them whispered back, of love and sacrifice, of a king and a queen, and a future made anew.

T
here are many people I’d like to thank for their help on this novel and the great fear is always there that I’ll leave someone out. So to everyone who has read, guided, critiqued, and made suggestions over the years, thank you.

I’d like to send special thanks to the ever-wonderful Gnats of Ooh Shiny, best writers’ support group of all time: Dayna, Lee, Crystal, Kate, Patti, and Lori. Just remember that for every…Ooh! Shiny!

Thanks also to Ciara Franck, reader extraordinaire, a bright girl with a very bright future ahead of her. And to the lovely Stacia Kane for giving me a healthy shove in the right direction.

More thanks than I can ever give to my agent that was, the fabulous Colleen Lindsay, my agent that is, the fantastic Suzie Townsend, and my wonderful editor at Dial, Jessica Garrison. The invaluable input, knowledge, and advice you’ve given has helped to shape this book into something more than I’d dreamed. I’m also deeply grateful to Danielle Delaney for the
beautiful jacket design, which takes my breath away each time I see it.

I’d like to thank Jeff Goddard of The Friends of the Ridgeway and Jennifer Delaney for answering many questions on the Ridgeway and Wayland’s Smithy. Any mistakes are my own.

Last but by no means least I’d like to thank my family, especially my husband and kids, who hike up hillsides and scramble through passage tombs, who replace the mugs of cold tea with hot ones, and who put up with an awful lot.

You’re the best.