“You’ll have a wonderful time, Grace. Let your hair down. Be young,” he said, rocking on his heels. “Dorian’s a good lad. I know I can trust him to keep you safe.”
Nick swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and let his eyes drop for a moment. He didn’t look certain at all, but seemed to be fighting those thoughts away.
“I’m quite capable of taking care of myself, sir,” I said with a weak smile. “As I’ve always done.”
“Of course,” said Nick, clearing his throat. “Of course you have.”
The chiming of the doorbell rang around our heads. It was time to go.
“One moment, Grace,” said Nick, drawing something from his trouser pocket. “I was in the Burlington Arcade in Mayfair when I spotted this in the window of a boutique. It’s a gift for you.”
He opened a velvet box, revealing a white and silver clasp in the shape of a delicate moth, with intricate silver-thread details mapping the veins of its opaline wings.
My mouth went dry as I sucked in a quick breath. I’d never been given the gift of jewellery before, and never anything so precious.
“Oh, sir, it’s beautiful,” I said, the words gushing from my mouth in one breath.
Nick smiled briefly and took the moth out, before pocketing the empty box. He turned me gently by the shoulders and fitted the clasp to the coil of hair at the back of my head, securing it expertly, even covering the teeth of the clasp with strands of my hair.
“Being a funeral director does come in handy for these sorts of things,” he murmured as he adjusted it. His breath on my neck, warm and comforting, made me want to turn to him and fall into his arms. “Nobody else would believe the amount of hairdressing involved unless they saw it for themselves.”
I closed my eyes at his touch, enjoying his fingertips on my scalp.
“There,” he said when he was finished. “You look truly beguiling, Grace.”
I was speechless, touching the back of my hair as he guided me toward the door.Why, I longed to ask him.Why are you sending me away with another man, when I want to be here with you?
I was near breathlessness when I met Dorian on the doorstep. He was dressed in a tailored navy blue suit with a crisp white shirt, smelling of expensive cologne. I noticed how his lean muscular figure was complimented by the slim-fit of the suit, distinguished and urbane.
“Grace, you look breathtaking,” said Dorian, as he took my hand. He walked with me down the stone staircase and through the wrought iron gates. A sleek black chauffeured car awaited. He opened the door and helped me inside, before closing it and making his way around to the seat beside me.
“You’re looking lovely yourself,” I said, and I meant it,although there were no butterflies present in my belly. Not for him. I noted that my heart didn’t ache to look at Dorian, even though I could acknowledge how handsome he was.
The rain came, thudding down on the roof as we drove through the grey, murky streets of London.
We were heading towards the centre. I knew so little about the place, and had hardly explored. A knot worked away in my belly as I realised I was outside of my comfort zone. I had left Crowthorne House and entered the wilderness of the modern world once more. Crowthorne House felt so very much like Heather House used to feel, like an impenetrable shelter among nuclear fallout. My own safe terrarium, where days rolled into one another, and time was gauged by the changing seasons rather than the dates on the calendar.
I could feel Dorian’s eyes on me, taking my image in.
“I’m going to introduce you to so many people,” he said. “You’re going to meet my sister, Eugenie – she’s a real one. Unique, like you. I think you’ll get on like a house on fire.”
“I can’t wait,” I said with a brief smile.
I wanted to mean it, but I didn’t. The further the car drove away from Hampstead and Crowthorne House, away from where Nick was, the worse I felt. A hollowed-out feeling began to form in the pit of my stomach, gaping wider, until I wanted to cry.
“Don’t be nervous,” said Dorian as we stepped out into the rain. He opened a large umbrella and tucked me under his arm, shielding us from the downpour. “Everyone’s going to love you. You’re going to make so many connections it’ll make your head spin. Every year theynominate a new charity. The fundraiser is organised by the London Funeral Directors’ Association – they invite all their connections, associates, you name it. Seeing as you’re Nick’s new protégé, you can consider this your debut.”
The gaping hole in my belly threatened to rip open and split me in two.
Funeral Directors Association? Nick had made no mention at all of this event having anything to do with work.
“Then...then why didn’t Nick want to bring me here himself?”
A storm raged in my head. He should be here with me, but instead he’d outsourced help from his accountant, using Dorian like a babysitter.
We scaled the glossy black marble steps to what looked like a grand historial building now used as an art gallery. Dorian swallowed hard as we entered and gave our names to the concierge, who took our dripping wet umbrella and guided us towards a large modern art gallery.
“Well?” I was getting impatient, feeling deceived by Nick. I would have insisted he come with me if I’d known.
