Ugh, the king. That infernal wolf-man.
My stomach churns with the knowledge that I must see him tonight. See him, sit at the same table as him, and scheme with him. There’s no way I can leave the dinner’s success riding on Elliot’s shoulders. Surely, he’ll say the wrong thing if I’m not there, act the wrong way, bark at everyone to get out before the first course is served. I had Blackbeard bring him a list I’d made regarding dinner party etiquette, but who’s to say he even read it?
For the love of the saints,I think, the blood leaving my head,why didn’t we have a practice dinner?
The answer is obvious: I’ve been avoiding Elliot, refusing to even step foot in his parlor, and he’s clearly been avoiding me too. If this dinner goes terribly wrong, I’ll have only myself to blame. Or him. No, definitely him.
I study my reflection in my bedroom mirror and give myself to the count of five to feel anxious.
One.
I gather my mask of calm and watch it settle around me.
Two.
My brow loses its furrow, my shoulders grow squared yet relaxed, and haughty confidence settles over my lips.
Three.
It’s just one dinner. I can handle a dinner.
Four.
I won’t need to talk much. Imogen will do most of it. I’ll simply steer the conversation when needed.
Five.
Elliot and I will hardly need to exchange more than a word.
A rapid knock sounds at my door, and Micah barges in a second later—something I’ve learned he excels at. “People!” he shouts. “Really fancy people.”
My heart pounds. They’re here.
With a deep breath, I secure my persona firmly in place.
* * *
I enter the parlor,relieved at finding it empty. Our guests are still coming in from the drive and Elliot must be doing as he should—drawing out suspense with his absence. Along with my list of dinner etiquette tips, I included a note about what he should specifically do tonight, starting with a grand entrance in the parlor once all guests have arrived.
The Colemans are the first to enter the room, escorted by our hired footman-for-the-day. Imogen leads the way while her mother, Mrs. Maddie Coleman, follows just behind. Clara and Ember bring up the rear. Once again, Ember wears a bonnet that nearly dwarfs her face. She smiles at me when she meets my eyes, and I return the grin before fixing my attention on Imogen.
She assesses the room with feigned disinterest, then settles her gaze on me. Her eyes quickly flick to my bosom. “What are you wearing, Miss Bellefleur?”
A blush heats my cheeks. I’ve been so used to being around nobody but the manor’s residents, who never comment on my clothing, that I’ve slipped into ignorant bliss. Even though my dress is plain, the low-cut neckline and lack of corset is a bit racy for modern fashions. Hiding my momentary embarrassment beneath my confident mask, I wave a dismissive hand. “Just some old thing assigned to me when I took the job. A fae fashion worn by servants.”
Her lips pull into a satisfied grin. “Ah, servant’s garb. No wonder it’s so…indecent.”
“Indecent is one word for it,” Mrs. Coleman says with a sneer. I can’t help remembering what Imogen said, that her mother was the one who told her about…about what happened in Bretton. Thanks to my father, of course. Why he thought it necessary to share such private information with a woman he’s courted for not even a month, I can hardly guess. At least I can be thankful he did not receive one of Imogen’s invites.
Imogen looks around the room again. “Now, where is the mysterious Mr. Rochester I am to play hostess for tonight?”
“He’ll be in shortly,” I say, just as another party enters the room. It’s a couple I only know in passing—the Davidsons—a middle-aged husband and wife. Imogen, Clara, and their mother go to greet them, and they fall into hushed conversation. I catch the Davidsons’ burning stares, followed by Mrs. Coleman’s poorly concealed whisper offae fashions.
I grit my teeth.
Ember sidles up next to me, so quiet I almost startle when she speaks. “I think the dress is lovely,” she says, her voice quiet and refined. Despite the way she’s dressed, she seems to be a mature young woman of fine breeding. “Fae fashions are my favorite, although you won’t find them here in Vernon.”
I face her with a grin. “It’s a shame.”
