The blood drains from his face as he reads the headline. “She killed her for this?”
“It has to be her. I promise you it wasn’t Greer,” I answer. There’s so much regret weighing heavily in my stomach, I fear I might be sick with it all over the floor. I should have been kinder, more forgiving. I should have asked her more questions when she brought up Joseph. I could have done more for her yesterday.
Emmett pulls on his coat. “Then I have to tell Bram. He won’t let this continue.”
On the way back across the lawn, Faith reaches over and squeezes my hand. “I might owe you my life.”
I feel dead inside, like all my sorrow has burned through me, leaving nothing but a husk. “Don’t mention it,” I say flatly.
Viscountess Bolingbroke and Queen Mor leave us alone in our cottage for the rest of the day. If I had to guess, she’s letting us stew in our fear and agony over the loss of Greer.
It’s long dark when a footman arrives with a summons for dinner. No lady’s maids come to get us. We dress each other in sorrowfulsilence and cross the lawn hand in hand, all five of us in a line.
The candlelit dining room goes deadly silent as Queen Mor strides in and takes her place at the head of the table. She’s wearing a gown of forest-green silk, her hair in an intricate pattern of braids. She doesn’t sit down.
I hate her, violently. I ball my hands into fists under the table to keep from launching myself across the table and hitting her.
All my hope now lies in Emmett’s plan, and the thought that soon I will have the power to punish her as thoroughly as she deserves.
“I thought we’d all agreed to keep our time together between us.” Her voice booms across the space, vibrating at a frequency I feel in my rib cage. “Today my son came to me and insisted I put an end to our lessons. He’s got such a soft heart, that boy. He doesn’t share my revulsion with having a group of snotty little aristocrats make demands. While we may disagree on this, it simply isn’t worth the trouble. I’ll do it better with the next batch. Fifty years passes by so quickly.” We shift uncomfortably at the reminder of how disposable we are to her. “Your season is coming to an end early. Without any more lessons, I see no reason to prolong it. Bram will propose at the Kendalls’ ball Saturday evening.”
That’s the day after tomorrow. I thought I had twelve weeks to make Bram fall in love with me. We’ve had only five. Panic rises in me. I thought I had more time.
Emmy’s grip on her knife tightens. Faith and Marion share a tense glance.
“I hope you’re pleased with yourselves. I won’t forget this,” Queen Mor says.
She sweeps out the door. “Have a pleasant dinner.”
I can’t stand it anymore. I wait a minute or two, just long enoughto be sure she’s gone, then push back from the table and walk out the door, down the stairs, and into the twilight.
I’m waiting for the guards to stop me, but no one says a word as I stride out of the gates and onto the street. I’m not naive enough to imagine it won’t get back to her, I simply no longer have it in me to care.
There’s a patter of footsteps behind me. I turn to find an out-of-breath Faith. “Ivy, slow down!” She pauses to hike up the heavy silk skirts of her evening gown, and then falls into pace by my side “Damn, you’re a fast walker. Where are you going?”
“To see if Greer is really dead.”
“All right, then,” Faith says.
We walk a minute or two, until we hear more running, quick on our heels. “Wait!” Olive calls, her ginger hair flying behind her. “Wait for us!”
A noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob escapes my mouth as I see Olive, Marion, and Emmy jogging up the street.
“What are we doing?” Emmy asks.
“I’m following Ivy to make sure she doesn’t get herself killed,” Faith replies.
“I’m following Faith,” Marion says.
“I’m not letting you go on an adventure without me,” Olive says.
Emmy gestures to herself. “Typical middle child, can’t bear to be left out. She can’t kill all of us, there has to be someone left for him to marry.”
I’m properly crying now, both in sadness for Greer and overwhelmed with the rush of love I feel for these girls.
I keep walking, feeling braver and less hollow than before. “Let’s go, then.”
It takes about a half hour to reach Belgravia, and though we keep anxiously glancing behind us, no one follows. It’s a quiet night in London, with just a few carriages trotting past us into the blue spring evening.
