I sat in silence, trying to make sense of it. Was this good? Was this bad? Was this how I wanted next to encounter Armand, trapped on a boat with him?
Mrs. Westcliffe talked on. “I am unclear on the precise number of guests attending. A few of the better sort of locals might be present, along with any visitors currently staying at the manor house. Everything will be perfectly proper. I am confident you will have a most delightful time.”
“Yes.”
“But,” she added—a hard, expelled sound; perking up, I thought, Ah, here’s the rub—“none of the other students are included in this invitation. Only you.”
I pursed my lips. I looked innocent.
Westcliffe pressed her palms together atop her desk, forming them into a steeple. “Miss Jones.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I understand that you have been without proper social or maternal guidance for most of your life. It’s possible you do not understand all the potential consequences of this situation.”
“Indeed,” I said, waiting for her to simply go ahead and forbid it.
“It is considered an honor to be … plucked from the crowd, so to speak. There are fine families in the district who have lived here for generations, none of whom have been so favored with the duke’s attention. Yet I wonder if it’s not truly His Grace himself behind this invitation, but his son.”
“Perhaps there’s a piano aboard.”
Her nostrils flared. “Don’t be pert. This is not a matter of jest, Eleanore. If you go on that yacht, your every move will be scrutinized. Your every word will be dissected. Your manners must be irreproachable, and they must be so at all times, even if you believe you are alone. Do you understand me?”
Do not steal anything. Do not belch or scratch your arse.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Should Lord Armand choose to favor you with his attention, you will react politely, graciously, but always with an aloof, dignified demeanor. It could be that he believes you to be … less than what you are. You will show him the error of that thought.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He’d already seen me naked. I supposed everything from there would be a step toward dignified.
“Do you still have the bangle he presented to you?”
The cuff, I wanted to correct her. As if I was going to lose it.
“I do.”
“Wear it. Let him see that you value it, but take my strong advice on this, Eleanore. Do not accept another such gift from him. One is permissible. Two becomes a suggestion.”
“Oh.”
“Do we understand each other?”
“Yes, ma’am. We do.”
A smatter of laughter and applause reached us from beyond the open window. Some of the girls had set up a game of lawn pins, and the sudden crack! of a ball hitting its mark echoed through the room.
“One last thing,” said Westcliffe.
“Yes?”
“Wear your uniform. It won’t hurt to remind everyone of where you belong.”
I puzzled over that for the rest of the bright day.
• • •
That night, Jesse said to me, “You should go.”
We were in the grotto, the remains of our midnight meal scattered around us. I was sleepy and full and in his arms, and I’d never known that wet stone and a couple of blankets could be so comfortable.
I’d gone to smoke five times more since my trip to the stars, but no dragon.
I’d tried, though. For Jesse, I’d tried. Smoke was all I’d been able to accomplish.
“Armand needs to see you. He’s had all this time to think things through. He’ll have questions. He’d rather go to you with them than to me.”
“I hardly have answers.”
“Then guess.”
I huffed a laugh. “Are you serious?”
“I am. Either you guess or I do.”
That brought me upright. “You mean, you’ve only been guessing at what you’ve been telling me?”
He gave a grin, folding his arms behind his head. “Not entirely. Sheathe your claws, love. The stars tell me most of it. I hypothesize the rest.”
“You guess.”
“Very well. If that’s the word you want.”
“That was your word!”
“Come back down,” he invited silkily, opening up the blanket again. “It’s cold without you.”
I didn’t, not right away. I fixed him with what I hoped was a steely look, but Jesse was right. Without the shared warmth of our bodies, the grotto rippled with cold after nightfall.
“What is a yacht?” I asked, burrowing back against him, yawning. “Is it like a fishing boat? Like a steamer?”
I was a child of the city, remember. The only boats I knew were the punts and masted ships that went up and down the brown waters of the