Serafina and the Black Cloak - Robert Beatty Page 0,12

when exactly are we going horseback riding?”

The other guests laughed at the two gentlemen as they quipped back and forth, and Serafina smiled. She enjoyed watching the camaraderie of these people. She envied the way they spoke to one another and touched each other and shared their lives. It was so different from her own world of shadow and solitude. She watched a young woman tilt her head and smile as she reached out and put her hand on the arm of a young gentleman. Serafina tried imitating the gesture herself.

“Are you lost?” someone said behind her.

Startled, Serafina whirled around and started to hiss, but then she stopped herself short. A young boy stood in front of her. A large black Doberman with sharply pointed ears sat at his side, staring intently at her.

The boy wore a fine tweed riding jacket, a buttoned vest, woolen jodhpurs, and knee-high leather boots. He was a little sickly looking, a little frail even, but he had watchful, sensitive brown eyes and a rather fetching tussle of wavy brown hair. He stood quietly, staring at her.

It took every ounce of her courage not to run. She didn’t know what to do. Did he think she was a vagrant who had wandered in? Or perhaps she looked like a dazed servant—maybe a chimney sweep or window-washing girl. Either way, she knew she was stuck. He’d caught her dead to rights exactly where she wasn’t supposed to be.

“Are you lost?” the boy asked again, but this time she heard what sounded strangely like kindness in his voice. “May I help you find your way?” He wasn’t timid or shy, but he wasn’t overconfident or arrogant, either. And it surprised her that he didn’t seem angry at her for being there. There was a trace of curiosity in his tone.

“I-I-I’m not lost,” she stammered. “I was just—”

“It’s all right,” he said as he stepped toward her. “I still get lost sometimes, and I’ve lived here for two years.”

Serafina sucked in a breath. Suddenly, she realized that she was speaking face-to-face with the young master, Mr. Vanderbilt’s nephew. She’d seen him many times before, standing at his bedroom window looking out at the mountains, or galloping his horse across the grounds, or walking alone on the footpaths with his dog—she’d watched him for years, but she’d never been this close to him.

Most of what she knew about him she’d overheard from the gossiping servants, and when it came to the young master, they sure did prattle on. When he was ten years old, his family died in a fire and he became an orphan. His uncle took him in. He became like a son to the Vanderbilts.

He was known as a loner. Some of the less charitable folks whispered that the young master preferred the company of his dog and his horse to most people. She’d overheard the men in the stables saying that he’d won many blue ribbons at equestrian events and was considered one of the most talented horseback riders around. The cooks, who prided themselves on preparing the most exquisite gourmet meals, complained that he always shared the food on his plate with his dog.

“I’ve explored pretty much every room on the first, second, and third floors,” the young master said to her, “and the stables, of course, but the other parts of the house are like foreign lands to me.”

As the boy spoke, she could tell he was trying to be polite, but his eyes kept studying her. It was nerve-racking. After all those years she’d been hiding, it felt so strange to have someone actually looking at her. It made her stomach twist, but at the same time, her skin tingled all over. She knew she must look completely ridiculous standing before him in the remnants of her pa’s old work shirt, and he must have noticed her hands were dirty and there were smudges all over her face. Her hair was as wild as a banshee’s, and there was no hiding its streaked color. How could he help but stare?

She reckoned he knew most of the guests and servants, and she could see him trying to figure out who she was. How out of place she must seem to him! She had two arms and legs like everyone else, but with her sharp cheekbones and her golden eyes, she knew she didn’t look like a normal girl. No matter how much she ate, she couldn’t put any weight on the feral leanness