Only months before, Julia had looked at her without recognizing her. Now, Emma had worn almost everything in Julia’s wardrobe. The star maps that plastered Julia’s walls were as familiar as her own room. She had never thought she would have a best friend besides Nat. And yet, somehow, it had happened.
Julia sat up straight. “Maybe I should ask him out.”
Emma squeaked. “Yes, do it. Absolutely.”
“Really?”
“Imagine a double date. You and Richard, me and Jasper.”
“Date?”
“You know, Jasper and I—after what happened today—”
“Emma—Wait, let me take this thing off. Look.” She took one of Emma’s hands in her own. Her face, freed from the mask, was troubled. “Jasper is all very well for a fling. For fun, you know? But he’s not really in the market to settle down. He doesn’t date, shall we say? I don’t want you to get your hopes up.”
“I like fun,” protested Emma, peeling off her own mask. “That’s a good thing, surely, that we have fun together?”
“I’ve heard he’s already ‘having fun’ with a few people. He’s always had so much choice. He doesn’t like to be tied down. And that’s fine and lovely as long as nobody gets hurt, but you seem—”
“Jules, I think—I know—I’m different. For him,” said Emma. She let the quiet confidence in her words sink in. “With other people here, he feels out of place. But we get each other. Ona deeper level. It’s like we were meant to be. You don’t need to worry.”
“Well, if you’re sure,” said Julia, not sounding very convinced.
“I am.” Emma smiled and tossed a marshmallow into her mouth. “He wants more with me, I know it. Just wait. You’ll see.”
CHAPTER 12
THE TURNBULL SOCIETY
REQUESTS THE COMPANY OF
Emma Curran
AT THE ANNUAL DINNER 7PM SUNDAY NOVEMBER 16TH AS THE GUEST OF JASPER BALFOUR, PRESIDENT OF THE SOCIETY
Emma drifted out of the mail room, clutching the invitation. So she hadn’t been wrong about what it meant, the way he looked at her. When he’d kissed her.
No one understands me like you.
Beneath that thrill lay another. The Turnbull Society, whose secrets stretched a thousand years, had invited her into their inner circle. Soon their secrets would become hers. Hers and Jasper’s, toshare. Emma almost skipped to her room. She had a week to figure out how to look perfect.
On the night, Emma arrived alone. Jasper had to be at the Turnbull Clubhouse early to set up, he’d said. But it was easy enough to find the building: They owned a whole town house off Beaufort Crescent. The first thing she saw was the hall, dominated by a grand staircase and lit by a chandelier the size of a horse. She tilted her face to stare at the piped-icing plasterwork and the oil paintings, sure she looked like the worst kind of tourist. The marble around her echoed with the voices of the Turnbulls and their dates.
A uniformed server glided forward, holding out his hands. Just beyond she saw Venetia Kent, insolently beautiful in green satin, dropping her coat into the hands of another server. Emma shrugged her own jacket from her shoulders.
“Wouldn’t leave anything in the pockets,” someone said in a stage whisper. Piers Popwell leered into view. “Jasper’s hired a criminal-looking lot, hasn’t he?”
The server’s face remained so rigidly expressionless, she knew he had to have heard. Emma’s cheeks flamed as she handed over the jacket. “I’m sorry,” she said.
But the server only bowed silently and moved away.
“Oh, they’re not allowed to talk to us. Or at all. De Turnbulliis silentium est.”
Piers chuckled and ran a finger up her arm. “My, we are looking luscious, aren’t we?”
The gown was Helena’s finest: a firebird-red silk that draped softly around her chest and left her shoulders bare. Lying close around her waist, the heavy skirt flared out to blaze around her ankles. She felt like a living flame in it. Her skin sparked withawareness. On her walk to the clubhouse, she’d noticed heads turning as she passed. Eyes lingering. She had imagined over and over how Jasper would look when he saw her in it.
She had not imagined Piers pawing at it. A few couples were already starting up the staircase, so she extracted herself from his grasp and hurried to join them. She caught up with Julia and Hugo on the steps. He in tails, she like a white lace mermaid. Julia seized Emma’s hand and squeezed, her eyes sparkling. An air of excitement had begun to catch. The girls around them were giggling, clutching the arms of their escorts.
