The Sweetest Dark - By Shana Abe Page 0,65

but Miss Swanston took the tongs for the strawberries, which were nearest, and placed a few on my plate.

“How are things, Eleanore?”

I woke up fast. In my experience, when adults asked this question, it never led anywhere pleasant.

“Very fine, ma’am.”

“Good. I’m pleased to hear it.” She moved on to the roast beef, nodding to the footman behind the table for a slice. “I imagine it’s been something of a transition for you. Coming all the way out here from the city, I mean.”

“Yes,” I agreed, straight-faced.

“But, I must say, I think you’ve adapted nicely. You seem a resilient girl.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“You’re quiet but smart. Modest, I suspect. Watchful.” She sent me that sideways look again. “Watchful is good. Learning by observation is a most useful skill, especially for someone in your position.”

I had nothing to say to that, so only took up the cheese tongs.

“I lived in London for a few years after my own schooling. Islington. Do you know it?”

“No.”

“No, perhaps not.” She smiled, but it seemed wistful. “London is a colossal place, after all. A splendid, stinking jewel of humanity. I read that somewhere, and I don’t believe I’ve ever come across a description more apt.”

We had reached the end of the table, and my plate was full. I looked around for a space to sit, but the duke’s truly inspired décor apparently didn’t include tables and chairs. We strolled toward the only vacant spot left on the patio, leaning together against the marble railing. One of the Chinese lanterns hung directly above us; it colored us and all the food candy-red.

“Why did you leave, ma’am?”

“Ah.” Miss Swanston was rolling a cube of cheddar around on her plate with her fork. “Well, my parents died one winter, both of them. And the house had to be sold.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yes. I am, as well.” She abandoned the cheddar. “As I said before, Eleanore, I know you’re smart. I also have a reasonably clear understanding of how very … difficult your life has been up until now. Please don’t look so distressed. Mrs. Westcliffe shared your records with me under circumstances of strictest confidentiality. Your past is your own, and, as far as I’m concerned, no one’s business but your own.”

The roll I’d just bitten into had gone dry as sand in my mouth.

“Yet I find I cannot help but offer you some unsolicited advice. Stay focused on your studies. Iverson will open doors for you that you might never have conceived. Your future could be as happy as your past was not. Don’t allow yourself to waste that chance. Don’t succumb to any … distractions.”

I could only imagine my expression. Miss Swanston lowered her candy-red lashes and glanced back at Armand.

“Oh,” I said, swallowing. “No. Definitely not.”

“Forgive me. He seems quite taken with you.”

The bite of roll lodged in my throat; I coughed. “He isn’t, I assure you.”

“Eleanore, it grieves me to correct you, but he is staring at you even now. He hasn’t been able to tear his eyes from you since we arrived.”

I couldn’t tell her the truth. I couldn’t say anything like, Armand doesn’t count. Armand’s not even in the game. I’m in love with a boy made of stars, and we’re going to live together ever after on gold and smoke and moonlight, and that’s my happy future, no matter what any of you think.

I scowled down at my plate. “He’s simply …”

“Yes?” she prompted, very mild.

I searched for the right word. “I don’t know what he is,” I admitted finally, frustrated. “Bored, I suppose.”

“Yes,” she said again, just as mild. “I’m glad you’ve realized it, too.”

“But I’m not dense. He’s nobility. I know—I know what I am. I know what to avoid.”

“Good,” Miss Swanston said once more, and gave me her wistful smile.

• • •

Eventually, I ate my fill. Eventually, Miss Swanston became convinced that I wasn’t about to go fling myself at Lord Armand and left me at the railing, saying that no doubt the headmistress would be missing her.

Twenty wily girls roaming free in the night and three unguarded tables of French champagne. I suspected Mrs. Westcliffe was rather outmatched.

The receiving line had dissolved, and the duke and his son were nowhere in view. Adults of all sizes and shapes stood elbow-to-elbow around me, admiring the gardens and one another. Chloe and her group were making their way through the food tables; Sophia and hers loitered at the foot of the stairs below me. So I left my plate with a maid and

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