us. Our kisses. His tongue. His hands stroking my back and arms and down, following the curves of me, cupping me, cradling.
I was empty and full at once. I was the opening flower, the ripe berry ready to burst. I wanted more of him and could not get more; we were already so close our bodies slipped slick together.
Beloved, murmured the voice that lived inside me, tender as I’d never heard it before. I’ve missed you. I’ve waited so long.
His eyes opened and he smiled at me: a green summer storm, a shadowed eternity there in his gaze.
You already know that I love you, Jesse said, and in that instant I awoke.
Alone in my own bed, plain Lora again.
Every bit of me aching and aflame.
• • •
Saturday edged nearer. I tried not to think about it but it ate away at me anyway, ever gnawing at the back of my thoughts.
I endured my classes. Monsieur Vachon had decided that since I was something of a prodigy, it would be his duty to deconstruct me, to take apart my talent piece by piece until he could reassemble it into a whole that better reflected him.
In other words, he was forcing me to learn scales, to read music. I was as clumsy at it as the ten-year-olds in his beginners’ class, but at least it required something most of my other lessons did not: absolute concentration.
Otherwise, my thoughts were flurried. An unpleasant tightness had lodged in my chest and it would not leave. Even the fiend could not make it leave.
History, art, French. I’d stare at my textbooks and see nothing; I’d stare at my teachers and see nothing. At the walls. At my supper.
Saturday tea was looming. Judgment Day, four days away. God knew what would happen to me if the duke didn’t like me. If Chloe decided to openly shame me. If Armand kept up his focused, uncomfortable attentions.
If I used the wrong spoon for the sugar, or sneezed on the scones, or knocked over a priceless vase—
Three days. Two.
One.
“I said, pass the butter.”
Malinda was the unfortunate soul assigned to the seat next to mine for meals. She bore up under this regrettable burden as well as she could, which was to say not well.
“Are you earless, Eleanore? The rest of us might enjoy butter on our potatoes, too. If you’re quite done with it.”
I’d been clutching the butter bowl for who knew how long, staring at the ribbed yellow curls and seeing … nothing. I handed it over to Malinda without looking at her, glanced down, and realized I’d forgotten to take a curl.
“Thank you,” she sneered. “So very kind of you.”
“Now, Miss Ashland,” scolded Caroline, in a spot-on imitation of Mrs. Westcliffe. “One must always show charity to a charity case!”
The other girls erupted into laughter.
“It’s true.” Mittie was sawing through her portion of tonight’s beefsteak, which had been boiled to the consistency of shoe leather. “No matter how pathetic some girls may be, there is always the possibility they will sink lower without proper guidance. So, in that spirit: I say, Eleanore. Did you plan to comb out your hair for the duke’s tea?”
“Or mend your skirt?” snickered Stella.
“Oh, do wear the brown one! That one the color of mud. So fashionable!”
“It truly compliments your lack of a figure!”
Malinda was closest. I suppose that’s why it happened to her. She was the one at my elbow, stuffing her mouth with a cube of potato while glancing down the table at Sophia, eager for reassurance that she was in on the fun.
I bent toward her and said quietly, “Choke on it.”
Her eyes went round. Her hands flew to her neck. She began to cough and then to wheeze, her face turning red. Bits of food flecked her lips, and her fork clattered to the floor.
Everyone stopped eating to stare. Lillian, at her other side, began hitting her vigorously on the back. Malinda lifted her arms straight out in front of her, waving them frantically. She was probably trying to get Lillian to stop.
“Stop,” I said to them both, and at once Malinda sucked in an enormous gulp of air.
Lovely, whispered my fiend, dancing with glee. Lovely, lovely power.
Lillian hovered, a hand raised, ready to clout Malinda again.
“Great heavens,” drawled Lady Sophia, rolling her eyes. “Such a fuss. Someone give her a drink of water.”
“Perhaps you shouldn’t toss down your food so,” I said to Malinda. “Not very dignified, is it? You’ve potato all over your face,” I added.