Illusions of Fate
Page 13
My foiled new dance partner bows to us, and my savior takes my gloved hand and puts it through her arm. Ernest gives his sister a glare softened with a smile.
She leads me away from the press of bodies in the center of the room. I try not to scan for Finn. I do not need to see him; I know he’s seen me. Everyone has seen me.
“Now then,” the girl says, “I’ve been watching you for some time and, seeing as how this gala is the first I’ve planned, I’d feel simply awful if someone were to pass out from overexertion. They’d never let me be in charge again. My brother, bless him, would dance you into the floor.”
I laugh, my throat raw. “I cannot thank you enough. Nor can my feet in these wretched heels.”
“I admire your courage, coming to the gala knowing how you would stand out.” She must feel me stiffen, because she hurries on. “I don’t mean to offend. Unlike many of my lovely associates.” She smiles at two women who hold fans over their faces and lean in to whisper as we pass. “I mean, I cannot imagine what it must be like to enter a room and know beyond a doubt that everyone will notice you. The very thought sets me to the edge of panic. But here you come to a new land and allow no one to tell you that you cannot stand out. Well done.”
“And if I admit tonight is among the worst of my life?”
“Is my brother really that terrible a dancer?” She laughs as I stammer to correct her, and shakes her head. “I know he’s awful. But I will proudly inform you that no one here would ever have guessed you were unhappy, so you have played your part to perfection.” Her face is narrow, the features too pinched to be traditionally pretty, but her eyes are clever and a beautiful pale color. I can certainly see the resemblance between her and Ernest.
“That is a relief. Now I would like to find somewhere quiet and hidden to sit and be unnoticed by anyone.”
“I can do that, as well. I’m Eleanor. I should have mentioned that sooner. My uncle is the Earl of South Deacon. He granted me the favor of being the planner for this event.”
I squeeze her arm. “It’s incredible. Granted, I haven’t much to compare it to, but I cannot imagine a finer celebration.”
“I knew I was right to rescue you. Now, take a drink.” She turns me toward a long, white-covered table manned by a row of servants and covered with glasses of sparkling amber liquid. “Then wander until you find one of the quiet side rooms unattended by men looking to dance with the talk of the evening. Here is my card—” She slips me a tiny rectangle of thick paper. “I want you to visit me next week after your feet have recovered from this evening. I will take you to dinner to thank you for giving people something to gossip about. They’ll speak of tonight’s tropical flower of a girl for weeks and remember what a resounding success I am.”
I put my hand against my forehead, closing my eyes. “Was I that terrible?”
“No! You were that wonderful. Now go and hide.” She waves me away with a smile that lights up her face and I return it, surprisingly gratified to have made a friend. It is a small balm to the humiliation of tonight.
Drink in hand, I read the address on her card, then take the first trail that appears to lead away from the vast main space of the conservatory. Through one room dominated by lilies and another so saturated with the scent of roses I can scarcely breathe, I find one that, to my delight, is filled with fire-petals in full bloom.
I sink onto a bench in the corner, wondering how unforgivable a gaffe removing my shoes would be. I cannot make any stranger of an impression than I already have, so I slip them off and stretch my toes. I sip at my drink, wrinkling my nose at the bubbles. They tickle my raw throat, and I drink more.
If Eleanor is correct, whomever Finn dines or speaks with over the next few weeks will bring me up in conversation. He may have meant to mock me, or meant for others to, but regardless of their assessment I will be inescapable. I hope he is utterly plagued by my memory.
The fuzzy, white electric lights in the room go out, leaving only the light from the adjoining room spilling into this one. I stand, stocking feet on gravel, and slide back into my shoes. “Pardon me, is this room closed now?”
Someone stands, silhouetted against the entrance, his shadow stretching all the way to my feet. I frown and set down my glass.
“Jessamin.” Finn quickly closes the distance between us and stands directly in front of me. His silly cane is, as always, clasped in one hand.
“So you’ve remembered my name.”
He grabs my arm, fingers squeezing as I try to pull away. “What are you doing here?”
“Perhaps I am unfamiliar with the strange customs of the gentry. Did you not mean for me to come when you sent the dress, the motor, and the invitation that begged my presence?”
He lets go of my arm and puts a hand over his face, his shoulders stooped as though bearing a great weight. It is so dim I can see only the barest expression on his face, but he looks defeated. “I sent none of those things.”
“What?” My heart pounds. That was not the answer I was expecting.
“It wasn’t me. We’ve been set up, and I can only pray that I played my part well enough for no damage to be done.”
“I don’t understand. Are you saying that the dress, the letter—they weren’t from you?”
“Of course not. I would never do that.”
I let out a sharp breath, wishing this didn’t cut through me with icy pain. I have no reason to stay, no further levels of shame and embarrassment to drop to. My night is complete.
She leads me away from the press of bodies in the center of the room. I try not to scan for Finn. I do not need to see him; I know he’s seen me. Everyone has seen me.
“Now then,” the girl says, “I’ve been watching you for some time and, seeing as how this gala is the first I’ve planned, I’d feel simply awful if someone were to pass out from overexertion. They’d never let me be in charge again. My brother, bless him, would dance you into the floor.”
I laugh, my throat raw. “I cannot thank you enough. Nor can my feet in these wretched heels.”
“I admire your courage, coming to the gala knowing how you would stand out.” She must feel me stiffen, because she hurries on. “I don’t mean to offend. Unlike many of my lovely associates.” She smiles at two women who hold fans over their faces and lean in to whisper as we pass. “I mean, I cannot imagine what it must be like to enter a room and know beyond a doubt that everyone will notice you. The very thought sets me to the edge of panic. But here you come to a new land and allow no one to tell you that you cannot stand out. Well done.”
“And if I admit tonight is among the worst of my life?”
“Is my brother really that terrible a dancer?” She laughs as I stammer to correct her, and shakes her head. “I know he’s awful. But I will proudly inform you that no one here would ever have guessed you were unhappy, so you have played your part to perfection.” Her face is narrow, the features too pinched to be traditionally pretty, but her eyes are clever and a beautiful pale color. I can certainly see the resemblance between her and Ernest.
“That is a relief. Now I would like to find somewhere quiet and hidden to sit and be unnoticed by anyone.”
“I can do that, as well. I’m Eleanor. I should have mentioned that sooner. My uncle is the Earl of South Deacon. He granted me the favor of being the planner for this event.”
I squeeze her arm. “It’s incredible. Granted, I haven’t much to compare it to, but I cannot imagine a finer celebration.”
“I knew I was right to rescue you. Now, take a drink.” She turns me toward a long, white-covered table manned by a row of servants and covered with glasses of sparkling amber liquid. “Then wander until you find one of the quiet side rooms unattended by men looking to dance with the talk of the evening. Here is my card—” She slips me a tiny rectangle of thick paper. “I want you to visit me next week after your feet have recovered from this evening. I will take you to dinner to thank you for giving people something to gossip about. They’ll speak of tonight’s tropical flower of a girl for weeks and remember what a resounding success I am.”
I put my hand against my forehead, closing my eyes. “Was I that terrible?”
“No! You were that wonderful. Now go and hide.” She waves me away with a smile that lights up her face and I return it, surprisingly gratified to have made a friend. It is a small balm to the humiliation of tonight.
Drink in hand, I read the address on her card, then take the first trail that appears to lead away from the vast main space of the conservatory. Through one room dominated by lilies and another so saturated with the scent of roses I can scarcely breathe, I find one that, to my delight, is filled with fire-petals in full bloom.
I sink onto a bench in the corner, wondering how unforgivable a gaffe removing my shoes would be. I cannot make any stranger of an impression than I already have, so I slip them off and stretch my toes. I sip at my drink, wrinkling my nose at the bubbles. They tickle my raw throat, and I drink more.
If Eleanor is correct, whomever Finn dines or speaks with over the next few weeks will bring me up in conversation. He may have meant to mock me, or meant for others to, but regardless of their assessment I will be inescapable. I hope he is utterly plagued by my memory.
The fuzzy, white electric lights in the room go out, leaving only the light from the adjoining room spilling into this one. I stand, stocking feet on gravel, and slide back into my shoes. “Pardon me, is this room closed now?”
Someone stands, silhouetted against the entrance, his shadow stretching all the way to my feet. I frown and set down my glass.
“Jessamin.” Finn quickly closes the distance between us and stands directly in front of me. His silly cane is, as always, clasped in one hand.
“So you’ve remembered my name.”
He grabs my arm, fingers squeezing as I try to pull away. “What are you doing here?”
“Perhaps I am unfamiliar with the strange customs of the gentry. Did you not mean for me to come when you sent the dress, the motor, and the invitation that begged my presence?”
He lets go of my arm and puts a hand over his face, his shoulders stooped as though bearing a great weight. It is so dim I can see only the barest expression on his face, but he looks defeated. “I sent none of those things.”
“What?” My heart pounds. That was not the answer I was expecting.
“It wasn’t me. We’ve been set up, and I can only pray that I played my part well enough for no damage to be done.”
“I don’t understand. Are you saying that the dress, the letter—they weren’t from you?”
“Of course not. I would never do that.”
I let out a sharp breath, wishing this didn’t cut through me with icy pain. I have no reason to stay, no further levels of shame and embarrassment to drop to. My night is complete.
