of pins.
“Not exactly. There is someone I’m hoping to meet at the ball, though.”
“She’s been practicing her Foresian for weeks!” Morella confided with a chuckle.
Mrs. Drexel smiled. “I’m sure he’ll be impressed. Now, I will put the final touches on these two tonight and can bring them to Highmoor tomorrow.”
“That would be most kind, thank you,” Morella said. “It seems our to-do list keeps growing longer and longer. Only one day left now.”
* * *
Crossing the street, I spotted him.
Eulalie’s Edgar.
He was down the sidewalk from us, chatting with a trio of men, and dressed head to toe in black. Our eyes met, and I nodded. His face turned pale, and he sputtered something to his companions before rushing to leave.
“Mr. Morris!” I called out.
He froze in his tracks, his shoulders dipped with resignation—caught and unable to escape.
“Mr. Morris?” I repeated.
He turned, eyes wild with panic. They swept over me, then fell to the hem of my cloak.
“Miss Thaumas, good day. Forgive me, I hadn’t expected you to look so…fresh.”
His judgment struck me as sharp as a slap. I’d grown accustomed to the frenzied glee now infusing Highmoor. Sunlight poured in through open windows and fresh-cut flowers were everywhere. New dresses arrived daily and our armoires were riots of colors.
All traces of mourning were gone. The black shrouds from every mirror and glass plate had been gathered into a big pile on the north lawn. Bombazine wreaths and ribbons, crepe hangings, and all of our dark clothes had been set ablaze, fueling a bonfire that burned three nights long.
I glanced down at my blue gabardine uneasily, rubbing my thumb over the pads of my fingers. “There have been several…changes at Highmoor.”
He took in the colorful clothes, my uncovered face. “I’ve heard. I’m so sorry, I must be going, I—”
“How…how have you been?” I asked, unable to stop the words from tumbling from my mouth. His dark, appraising eyes turned me into a stammering mess. “We’ve not seen you since…” I couldn’t bring myself to finish the sentence and grabbed on to the first topic that came to mind. “We’ve heard it’s been a good fall. For fishing! Out on…well, the water, of course. A good fall for fishing.”
Edgar blinked once, confusion written across his face. “I don’t fish, actually. I’m an apprentice at the clockmaker’s shop.”
My cheeks burned. “Oh, that’s right. Eulalie told us that….”
“How is Mr. Averson these days?” Camille swept in, skillfully saving me.
His eyes grew hard with scorn, taking in her pink organza before answering. “He’s well, thank you.” He jangled one knee back and forth beneath his dark frock coat, clearly ready for the conversation to be over.
Camille seemed oblivious of his discomfort. “We have a grandfather clock he repaired last spring. Perhaps you remember it?”
Edgar adjusted his spectacles, dismay etched across his features. “Yes. With the Thaumas octopus as a pendulum and the tentacles carved on the weights?”
She nodded. “The very one. As the hours pass, the arms lower on its prey.”
He twisted his fingers, knuckles sharp and white.
She smiled, apparently done with pleasantries. “I was just tracking down my sister. Our stepmother is waiting for us.”
“Of course, of course.” He bobbed his head, edging away even before removing his hat to say goodbye. As he did, the sunlight gleamed across his head.
His head of very fine pale blond hair.
“Wait!” I called after him, but he’d slipped through the crowds, all but fleeing from us.
Camille linked her arm through mine, pulling us toward the tea shop. “Such an odd little man.”
My heart rose with hope. “You thought so too?”
“It was as though he couldn’t get away from us fast enough.” Her laughter rang out over the marketplace. “But of course, not everyone is as keen to talk about the fall fishing as you are, Annaleigh.”
I trudged up the stairs, exhausted from the long afternoon on Astrea. After lunch, I’d wanted to race home and ask Papa if Edgar had ever approached him about an interest in Eulalie, but Morella had other plans. She whisked us from shop to shop, appraising the wares like a magpie in search of treasure.
I planned to drop off the purchases in my bedroom before searching for Papa, but as I walked down the hall, I spotted steamy air billowing from the bathroom. It smelled of lavender and honeysuckle, such a distinct scent I paused as memories of Elizabeth flooded my mind. She had a special blend of soap made in Astrea just for her. I hadn’t smelled it