Destroyed Destiny (Crowne Point #4) - Mary Catherine Gebhard Page 0,3

in later.”

I thought of West’s fiancée. I still didn’t know who she was, but I was certain she would most likely hate my guts for merely existing, as had Tansy with Josephine, and Lynette with all of Arthur’s mistresses.

The woman stood. “I will get started on this.”

“Wait!” I called out, standing after her. She paused, waiting. “Um…listen. Do you have a phone I can borrow?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Mr. du Lac will provide you with one, if he sees fit.”

Ice swept the room with her tone. Just like that, I was reminded where I was, and what position I held. Forget options, she wasn’t my friend and she didn’t work for me.

“Oh, well, he did…” I pushed the knots in the wood with the tip of my toe, aiming at nonchalance, grasping at straws for a good explanation.

I remembered how being a servant, it was always shoot the messenger.

“I broke it and since…”

Since…

Since…what?

I’m not allowed to speak unless spoken to.

Josephine’s words popped into my head.

“He did but it broke. I was hoping to order a new one. Fix the problem before he found out, but you know, I won’t be allowed to talk to anyone…” I tested the words on my lips, a line forming between my brow, a cavern in my chest.

I won’t be allowed to speak.

To. Speak.

I cleared my throat past the ache. “Well, the last person who was involved in something like this, he was fired…or maybe deported? I can never remember, you know how they get.”

She blanched. “Yes. I do.”

“But I guess, since I’m allowed to talk to you…when he asks, should I say you told me to wait for him?” I shrugged, while inside, fire ants were crawling on my skeleton.

She froze for a split second.

Then dove into her purse so quick a few pens fell out and clattered to the floor.

“Take—take this. It won’t work internationally but it will get you internet connection. Don’t mention me.”

I took the phone with both hands. “Thanks.”

Holy shit.

It was one step closer to Grayson.

“One more word of advice, Story. This is the most important decision you will make in your life. After you leave this place, all your decisions belong to the du Lacs. But this…” She patted her briefcase. “This will always be yours. You have until the end of your training.”

All your decisions belong to the du Lacs.

What would that even look like?

I watched her leave, waiting a few moments until I was certain she wasn’t coming back, before I turned the phone on to see if I could message Grayson.

The phone only had fifty percent power and I realized too late that I had nothing to charge it with. She said it didn’t work internationally, but I could figure something out, even if I didn’t have his email…

“Storybook Hale.”

I startled at yet another voice. I quickly shoved the phone into the nearest hiding space—a pot of fresh primroses—before turning to greet my newest mystery.

She reminded me a little of Ms. Barn, in that she had the same stern eyes and engraved frown lines, but she was petite where Ms. Barn was tall, and her voice was soft.

“Who are you?” I asked.

She scowled at my question, then said, “The du Lac head of mistresses.”

“What—they have a head for that?”

Ignoring me, she said, “You may call me Madame.”

Behind her, two women only a little older than me came into the room. Madame was dressed in the same starched blue uniform I’d grown accustomed to seeing, while the two younger girls were in matching diaphanous white gowns. Madame made a motion with her wrist, and the two girls came behind me, yanking me up.

“I—what—Hey!” I squeaked, as the girl behind me reached for my arms, pulling them above my head. The second girl dropped to her feet, reaching for the hem of my nightgown.

Madame came closer to me, eyes narrowing. I held my dress tight to my chest as the two at my feet fought with it robotically. They went for my thighs, and I shoved them off so fast I knocked over the tea. It shattered to the ground, honey liquid spilling over the antique floorboards.

I realized I’d made a grave mistake when their eyes grew like saucers.

Seconds ticked like minutes, three strangers staring at me, waiting for me to let them undress me. I wanted to take the steaming tea kettle at my back and chuck it at their faces. And then what? Run? Abandon Grayson?

A poem my uncle had read aloud to me came to mind,