Unfinished (Historical Fiction) - By Harper Alibeck Page 0,16

its bun, her eyes too alert and bright. Though they were the same age, twenty-four, Esther looked to be closer in age to Lilith's mother, as though Esther were an eccentric, spinster aunt one tolerated at family gatherings in hopes of being named in her will one day.

She resembled a woman terrified half out of her mind after a fright, but on Esther the look was permanent. A constant twitch of the left eyelid added to the portrait of madness, and Lilith found herself falling down a spiral hole of surreality, hoping that she could end this evening and get out from Esther's socially-deprived clutches.

“So they are lovers.” Lilith's words were not a question.

“They were as of a month ago. Other sources tell me that Miss Escola is angry, having been spurned by Goliath.” Pleased with her own joke, Esther had now used it precisely six times this evening. What had been faintly amusing had now instilled in Lilith a deep desire to poke a hat pin through Esther's hand.

Esther fumbled with her carpet bag, which appeared to move of its own accord. A snout protruded from the opening near the clasp, followed by a searching eye.

“Esther! What do you have in there?”

“A tiny dog,” Esther answered, as if it were the most normal object to stuff into a purse at a lecture hall.

“He must go!” And with that, the dog agreed, escaping down the row of chairs.

“Rodrigo!” Esther cried, chasing after the little Mexican canine.

Emulating Rodrigo, Lilith took the chance to escape. Walking down the same street where she and James had kissed just a month ago was pure torture. Maria Escola? Lovers? His lips had craved hers, licked and laved and touched and teased with mouth and hands on that woman, just as he had done on her. A furious flush filled her and she began to sweat from anger, her heart beating twice as fast as it should, hand fluttering to her collarbone to quell it. A familiar darkness skirted around the edges of her vision and she searched out a bench, panic setting in.

But Esther had said James spurned Maria. A month ago. Did that mean...?

In that simple kiss, Lilith had come home. Her soul felt settled. She couldn't make heads or tails of it, and it made no sense at all, yet she was pragmatic, even about passion. There it was: she was falling in love with a poor, Irish man from South Boston, like something in a cheap rag that the maids passed around to read to each other. Except in those stories, the rich character was always the man. She didn't care. Never in her life had anyone made her feel this alive. His mouth spoke to her without words, stirring a deep – dare she say it? Love? – that felt more complete than any feeling she knew possible. She wanted nothing more than this. Ever.

And yet the same man was sleeping his way through the wealthy daughters of Boston?

Damn it, Lilith. It meant that talking with James was the only solution. She walked back to her carriage and gave the driver James' address. Startled, her coachman asked, “Miss Stone, you sure you want to go there? Now? It's awful dark and that part of town isn't...” His voice dropped off with the implication that she understood his unexpressed meaning.

“Are you afraid you will not be able to protect me should harm come my way? If so, you must not value your job.” His implication set off an angry tirade inside that threatened to spill over into the night air.

“No Ma'am,” he answered tightly. “I am from that part of town, in fact, and I know it well. That's why I advise – ”

“I need no advice from you. I need your driving skills. Which is it?”

The horses began to pull away, the steady, unsyncopated beat of their hooves on the cobblestones gave way, after a few minutes, to the softer pounding on the caked dirt of South Boston’s roads. New automobiles puttered by on their way to finer neighborhoods. Perhaps going to James' home was a mistake, but it was also a test. He'd hidden her from his real life. Including Maria Escola.

Now it was time to face him as he was, without social trappings or avoidance.

But could she do the same?

“James! Mr. Hillman!” The voice was familiar; his mind had been fogged by thoughts of Lilith Stone, and now he seemed to have conjured her, right here in his own