belonged to him. Dark wine, dark longings. I’d been his since the moment his fingers had brushed mine that amethyst night by the carriage. Since I’d eaten the orange. Since I’d followed him into the grotto and listened, enraptured, to the legends he’d spun around us both.
But I’d never spent the whole night at his house. I’d never done more than dream of us in his bed together.
He gazed at me, his expression veiled, though there might have been pain in the shadows behind his eyes. His mouth opened on a reply, but before he could say what I knew he was going to—no, not tonight, which could all too easily become not ever—I added quickly, “For an hour or so. That’s all. Then I’ll go back.”
The veil lifted; he changed course without warning. “Yes. All right.”
I was a very skilled liar. You had to be if you hoped to live by your wits. It was no wonder he couldn’t tell.
Or maybe he could, and had decided not to care.
• • •
That was how I discovered a sweeter darkness than even the one from our stitched-together dreams. I drowsed in his arms in his bed with my head cradled to his bare shoulder, one leg thrown over him. I couldn’t sleep and I couldn’t stop smiling, so I was glad that with the curtains closed it was pitch-black and he couldn’t see.
I let his body seep new warmth into mine. I listened to the sleepy, delicate songs of gold that lilted through his cottage, that lilted through him and me together, binding us in a net of notes, and thought, Now you are mine, as well.
• • •
“You seem different today, Eleanore.”
“Do I?”
“Yes.”
Sophia had caught up with me as I walked to French class. With her books hugged to her chest, she matched her pace to mine and gave me a leisurely perusal.
“Rather less glum than before. Rather more … content, I’d say. Glowing. Oh! Was it the yacht trip? Having Mandy all to yourself for a change? Do tell me all about it.”
I shook my head. “Don’t be absurd.”
“Did he kiss you finally? Is that it?”
“No, Sophia.”
“Zut alors! He did! He did, didn’t he? You’re blushing.”
“I am not. I’m warm. That’s all.”
“It’s an icehouse in this part of the castle. You’re not warm.”
We slowed to a stop. Students joggled by us, a few of them tossing us dirty looks for blocking the narrow hallway.
“I don’t blush over kissing boys,” I said to her, holding her eyes.
Her lips curled. “Well. That’s worthy of note. Bold little Eleanore. What is bringing out that wholesome glow, I wonder?”
“We’re going to be late,” I said, but before I could push on, Beatrice rushed up to us both.
“Did you hear?” she gasped. She had a hand pressed to her side as if she’d actually been running.
“No, what?” Sophia was curious but was acting as if she mostly wasn’t. Beatrice in general annoyed her; Beatrice being dramatic annoyed her even more. Interesting how I could tell that about her now.
Beatrice threw a pent-up glance at me. Whatever it was, she was dying to spill it but didn’t want me to hear, too, in case it brought me further into their forbidden circle.
“What?” snapped Sophia again, aggravated.
Beatrice decided her news outweighed my insignificance.
“The Marquess of Sherborne is dead!”
I frowned. Why was that title familiar?
All of Sophia’s cool pretense vanished. Her mouth made an O and her books slid down to her stomach. “Where did you hear such a thing?”
“Westcliffe was discussing it with some of the professors in her office with the door open, and I was passing by. The duke received the telegram this morning, and it’s all the talk of the village. His aeroplane was shot down by the Huns!”
The Marquess of Sherborne. Of course. Aubrey, Armand’s older brother.
Chapter 26
So it became that my third visit to Tranquility was not for a party but a wake.
Fittingly, the sky was overcast with storm clouds again, although the wind wasn’t perfumed with impending rain. It was a tepid, muggy day, made muggier by the fact that I was dressed entirely in black, which seemed to repel the breeze but soak up the moisture.
We all wore black, we Iverson girls. It had taken Almeda and the castle staff nearly four days to dye all the formal uniforms.
I reeked of dye. Tranquility reeked of grief.
The manor house would be open to the public all week. Tradition dictated that the locals would come by to pay their respects in