I remember the bonnet resting on my lap and glance at her. “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but why do you normally hide your hair?”
She rolls her eyes. “It’s what Mrs. Coleman wants. She doesn’t like how the color draws attention to my heritage.”
“Your heritage?”
She meets my gaze for a moment before returning her eyes to the piano keys. “I’m half fae. My mother was from the Wind Court.”
“Oh! I had no idea.”
“And that’s how Mrs. Coleman wants to keep it.”
I frown. “But why?”
“I’m not sure myself. Shame. Jealousy. She was only married to my father for a year before he died, and the wealth she gained from his death is quickly dwindling away. She resents me for merely existing.”
“That’s terrible.”
“I get by.” Her song comes to an end, and her fingers slide from the keys. For a moment, a flicker of sadness tugs at her expression. She brings a hand to a locket I’ve never noticed before, fumbling with it idly while her eyes unfocus.
My stomach sinks. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pried.”
She blinks a few times and replaces her smile. “It’s not you, Gemma. That song…even the happy ones remind me of my parents. They loved to dance.”
I want to tell her I understand, that I too have lost my mother, but Foxglove’s voice steals my attention. “I think he’s fully learned the gallopade! Come, Miss Bellefleur. Take my place with Mr. Rochester. I need to judge his dancing from afar so I can make any other corrections.”
I blush, my pulse quickening. “Oh, I couldn’t. It’s been ages since I’ve danced.”
“Amelie, then,” he says.
I’m almost disappointed when she accepts and strides forward. It’s not that I’d hoped Foxglove would have pressured me just a bit more, but now I feel like perhaps I should have agreed. It’s to help Elliot, after all.
Foxglove steps away from Elliot and Amelie takes his place. I watch as Elliot takes Amelie’s hand in his, then places his other on her back. She, in turn, places a gentle hand on his shoulder. Foxglove adjusts his spectacles and assesses them, then steps forward to make a few corrections. No matter what he tries to do, Elliot’s arms remain stiff. “Whatever,” Foxglove says with a huff. “I suppose you will appear more natural with practice. Now, begin.”
Ember starts a new song with a similar beat as the last, and Elliot and Amelie begin a sliding skip to the side. Elliot nearly trips, but Amelie helps him return to the beat, ever patient and smiling. Just like with Foxglove, soon Elliot seems to grow comfortable, finding the rhythm and performing the slides and turns with increasing ease. His eyes begin to crinkle at the corners, and the next time he nearly trips, he simply laughs it off and connects to the beat again. Even his arms begin to lose some of their stiffness. I must say, he’s really not a terrible dancer.
Imogen will be satisfied indeed.
A sinking feeling comes over me, and I watch the dancing pair with fresh eyes. Where his hand rests on Amelie’s back, it will soon grace Imogen’s. Where his smile shines down upon Amelie, it will soon charm my nemesis. Rage and revulsion—and…is that jealousy?—swarm my heart. But why? Why should I care? Do I wish it were me in his arms? Do I wish it were me he’s planning to woo? Of course not! I cannot be the one to break his curse. As determined as I am to save his life, there’s no way I can sacrifice my greatest treasure—freedom and independence—regardless of the cost. It must be Imogen, for what could she possibly treasure but gowns and gold and jewels? She’ll lose nothing but her pride when this is all over, but me…I have too much at stake.
My heart beats an angry rhythm, disharmonious with the lighthearted tempo of the song.
Why am I even considering these thoughts to begin with? It’s not like Elliot can ever mean anything to me. So what if I’ve had a few tender moments with him? So what if I imagined we may have been about to kiss in the rose courtyard? None of it matters. None. For he doesn’t value me but his wolf form. And once the curse is broken, I’ll never see him again. Certainly not as Elliot Rochester. He’ll be a wolf king, immortal, and brimming with whatever magic powers he had before. I’ll be but a flicker within an unhappy event in his long, endless life.
A lump rises in my throat as heat crawls up the back of my neck. The room suddenly feels too small and too warm, the music too loud, the sound of Elliot’s laughter grating on my ears. Without a parting word, I rise from the piano bench and leave the frivolity behind.
28
When I reach my room, I feel foolish in a way that has only one solution—literary distraction.
Pushing all thoughts of Elliot, Imogen, and ballroom dances out of my mind, I retrieveThe Governess and the Earlfrom my bedside table and settle onto the bed, propping my back against a stack of pillows. I already finished the book yesterday, but considering my mind has been so distracted with work, schemes, and preparations, I’m sure there’s a lot I’ve missed. Besides, I almost always read books two or three times each.
The book has just the effect I was after, and soon the words swallow me into a made-up world. One where happy endings are real and love conquers all. It’s nonsense, and I know it. But right now, I just want to get lost there. Lost I become, following the governess’ journey meeting the handsome earl, a man who’s engaged to another woman. A woman far more beautiful and superior than the humble governess. At first, I thought this story would elicit too many feelings of discomfort, considering it hits so close to home, but knowing what I know about this series, how the governess always gets the man she loves, I’m soothed by it instead.
Hours pass. I don’t remember turning on the lights in my room, but I must have at some point, for I can see the words as daylight darkens to evening. I’m swept deep into my story, letting it override all sense of reality. It isn’t until I’m nearing the end and embroiled in a particularly heart-pounding scene—one where the governess and earl give in to their passions for the first time—that a sense of unease comes over me. I follow the words on the page, images playing across my mind’s eye, and realize I’ve made a mistake in my imaginings of the earl. I did this several times during my first read-through, but not this time. This time, I kept my vision of the earl accurate to the author’s description.
Until now.
The earl takes the governess’ face in his hands, eyes burning into hers.Garneteyes. And instead of pale blond hair, the earl has brown hair touched with gold at the ends. I try to shake the image away and re-immerse myself in the scene. The earl touches his lips to the governess’ lips, then her arms wrap around his neck as she presses herself close to him. But it isn’t the red-headed governess in the earl’s arms. It’s me. And the earl isn’t the earl at all but Elliot.
