The Cerulean (The Cerulean Duology #1) - Amy Ewing Page 0,55

a voyage. She had never arranged for her own travel before.

The motorcar stopped and she was brought abruptly back to reality. The Granges’ brownstone was only two stories, made of red brick with white trim, a large bay window on the ground floor and a small balcony above the front door. Agnes swallowed and found her mouth had gone completely dry. The car idled for nearly a minute before Eneas said, “I think it’s time to go in, my dear.”

Her legs felt disconnected from her body as she walked the path to the house, up four steps; then somehow, she was pressing the ivory doorbell. A great booming clang rang from inside. A few moments later, an aging servant with graying hair and a large Solit triangle pinned to his breast answered the door.

“Miss McLellan,” he said, bowing. “Young Master Grange is expecting you. Do come in.”

She followed the man into the drawing room, her stomach crawling with spiders. The room was decorated in light-colored wood with blue and copper accents. An oil painting of a ship in a storm hung over the mantel. There was a small bar cart with crystal decanters in one corner and a bookshelf with leather-bound volumes in another. The coffee table was set for tea, and there was a bouquet of lilacs and lilies on a side table. The air was muggy, even though the windows were open.

Ebenezer Grange sat on a periwinkle sofa, looking nearly as anxious as Agnes felt. He jumped at the sight of her, shoving something behind a throw pillow and standing.

“Miss McLellan, sir,” the butler announced.

“Thank you, Peter,” he said. His voice was slightly nasal. He had thick brown hair and a very simple beard, Agnes was pleased to see—she hated all the ornate ways men in Old Port wore their beards, with ribbons or pins or curls or, worst of all, perfume. Ebenezer’s olive skin had a sallow quality, and his wire-rimmed glasses slid down the bridge of his nose; he pushed them up and blinked at her. He gave her the overall impression of a very thin owl.

“How do you do, Agnes?” Ebenezer said, stepping forward and offering his hand, before seeming to remember that men and women did not shake hands. He put the offending appendage in his pocket, took it out and wiped it on his trousers, and then put it back in again.

“Very well, thank you,” Agnes said stiffly, making her traditional awful curtsy. Her father must have had quite a laugh at this pairing. Two misfits who couldn’t do anything right.

“Would you like some tea?”

Agnes thought she might have preferred whatever was in the crystal decanters—she never drank hard alcohol but was willing to make an exception on this day.

“Yes, please, that would be lovely,” she said, sitting on the sofa by the lilies and trying to keep as much distance between her and Ebenezer as possible. His hands shook so hard as he poured that he nearly spilled the tea. Agnes almost felt bad for him, but still not as bad as she felt for herself.

She held her saucer and sipped her tea. The silence was oppressive. Ebenezer took a great amount of time adding the correct ratio of milk to sugar in his. She wondered if he was merely nervous or if it was a compulsion.

They sat and sipped and sipped and sat. The only noise was the occasional hum of a car passing or the chirp of a bird.

“Quite the heat wave we’re having, isn’t it?” Ebenezer said at last, and she groaned internally.

“Yes,” she replied. “Even hotter than last year.”

They fell into silence again. Agnes had just about had it. She hadn’t asked for this arrangement, and she certainly wasn’t going to twist herself into knots for Ebenezer Grange.

“At least you don’t have to wear a corset,” she said. “I feel as though my ribs are trapped in a very sweaty vise.”

Her words certainly had an effect—Ebenezer choked on his tea, his cheeks darkening.

“I—I—I—” he stuttered.

“What?” she asked innocently. “You do know what a corset is, don’t you?”

“Of course, but . . .” His whole face was coloring. “I’ve never heard a lady speak of one quite like that in public before.”

Agnes swept a hand out at the room around them. “We are alone in your parlor. It isn’t exactly the lobby of the Regent.”

Ebenezer went to drink more tea and found he had finished it. He put the cup down with a clink. “My father told me of