“I will,” she admitted. “It will not be the same here without them.”
“Yes,” she agreed, then smiled. “Lady Charlotte in particular added a bit of flair. Her enthusiasm will be missed.”
Jaclyn’s heart skipped. What Mrs. Havenwood did not say was that Jaclyn and Charlotte often stirred a bit of chaos together. There was not one inch of the school or the grounds that they did not explore. Their mischievous nature was what led to Charlotte first catching a glimpse of her new husband. He had been going for a swim in the pond that bordered his estate with Havenwood.
"I must inform you about some changes that will happen immediately,” Mrs. Havenwood began. “You will be sharing a room with two new ladies this year. Your new roommates are Lady Melisande Burton and Lady Ella Winslow."
Jaclyn blinked, taken aback. Two new roommates. Two? She had been alone with Charlotte for a year before they had added Georgina to the room. Now they were springing two on her immediately? And one of them was Lady Melisande? That girl was the worst sort of hellion. She was almost mean in her mischief, and she and Jaclyn did not get on well.
"Lady Melisande Burton," she murmured. "She’s... quite a handful, isn’t she?" How was she to survive living with that girl every day? She had no escape from her. Before she had the peace of her bedchamber and even that would not be afforded to her going forward.
Mrs. Havenwood sighed, the faintest shadow of a smile crossing her lips. "That is one way of putting it. Lady Melisande is certainly... spirited. But I am confident that you will manage her quite well. As for Lady Ella Winslow, she is a new student, though her family is well known in society. She has recently had a bit of difficulty…” Which meant she found herself embroiled in some sort of scandal… “Life at an academy might prove an adjustment for her as well. I’m sure she will appreciate your help in settling in."
"Of course," Jaclyn said, her mind whirling. A troublemaker like Melisande and an unknown possibility in Ella. She did not know whether to laugh or cry. She prayed that at least Ella would be tolerable because she already knew that Melisande would not be an ally.
"Lady Ella will be quite different from Melisande," Mrs. Havenwood continued, her voice taking on a more measured, thoughtful cadence. "Ella is a sweet girl—though she possesses her own reckless streak of adventure—more subtle, perhaps, than one would first imagine. She may be shy at first, in unfamiliar company though not as shy as Lady Foxmoore had been. I have every hope you will become fast friends. I believe the friendship will be beneficial to you both." Georgina had been so shy she had trouble speaking at times. Charlotte and Jaclyn had coaxed her out of her wallflower ways. It had taken weeks, and often gentle encouragement, from Charlotte and Jaclyn to coax her from the shadowed corners of her wallflower existence into a more confident, spirited presence. Jaclyn fully believed that their friendship helped Georgina to open up and allow herself to be courted by her husband. She could show that same patience and kindness to her new roommate if she required it. Jaclyn hoped that Lady Ella would be as wonderful as Georgina and Charlotte had been to her. They would need each other if they had to suffer through the company of Melisande.
Jaclyn furrowed her brow as she took in the details and considered what she might have to do with her two new roommates. She didn’t know how she was supposed to manage two such different personalities, but she should be able to navigate it. She would do her best. This was likely her final year at Havenwood. She would return home and be launched, once again, in society to find a husband. That part she was not looking forward to. Jaclyn wasn’t so certain she wished to have a husband, but she had little choice in the matter.
"Now," Mrs. Havenwood said, her voice softening. "I do hope this change will not trouble you too much. It’s only for the year, and I’m sure you will acclimate and be welcoming to both girls."
Jaclyn nodded, though the tension still lingered in her chest. As long as she did not have to socialize much with the Duke of Amberwood she did not doubt she would be just fine. Not even Lady Melisande would disrupt her. She could hold her own against that girl. Though it would be inherently better if Lady Ella would become a new close friend.
"I shall make my best attempt," Jaclyn said with a small, tight smile.
"Very well," Mrs. Havenwood said, giving Jaclyn a reassuring look. "I will leave you to prepare. I’ll see you all at dinner this evening."
As Mrs. Havenwood left the room, Jaclyn turned to look out the window. She had no idea what the new year would bring, but the thought of sharing a room with Melisande and Ella left her both curious and apprehensive. A quiet knock interrupted her thoughts, and the door creaked open. Standing in the doorway, looking a bit unsure of herself, was a young woman with pale blonde hair almost white in color and hazel eyes that gleamed with an unusual intensity.
"Lady Ella Winslow?" Jaclyn asked, her voice warm but cautious. As she was acquainted with Melisande it had to be her, but she did not want to presume. She was a lovely girl. Her hair was an unusual shade, and her eyes—they were almost golden in appearance.
"Yes," the girl replied, her voice soft. "I’ve come to introduce myself. I was told I’d be sharing a bedchamber with you."
Jaclyn took in the girl’s serene appearance, her beauty almost ethereal. There was something about Ella that intrigued her, but she could not put her finger on what it was. She looked like someone who had lived a sheltered life—so different from Melisande, who had a reputation for mischief and mayhem. What kind of scandal could this girl have been embroiled in? She did not appear the type to do anything outrageous.
"Welcome to Havenwood," Jaclyn said, then smiled. "I’m Lady Jaclyn Thomas—but you may just call me Jaclyn. I do not believe in formalities between friends, and we will be great friends. It will be a wonderful year, I believe."
Ella’s smile grew, though there was a hint of coyness in her eyes. "I do like you already. You very well may be correct. It will be a grand year."
“Of course you do.” Jaclyn beamed. "Because I am remarkable.” She leaned down and whispered, “Though you best be prepared for our other roommate. She can be… difficult. But I’ll make certain we both survive her wickedness." She turned toward the door as the sound of boots echoing down the hallway reached her ears. "And I believe here’s our other roommate now..."
Lady Melisande Burton strode into the room with a swagger that could only belong to someone of her reputation. Every step she took resonated with purpose. Her raven-black hair gleamed under the light, and her gray eyes sparkled with mischief as she surveyed the room, her lips curled into a smirk as she boldly met each of their gazes. There was a sharpness in those eyes, a dangerous kind of intelligence. It made Jaclyn wonder whether it was recklessness or courage that drove her to act the way she did.
She paused in the center of the room, letting her gaze travel deliberately over the assembled company. Her lips curved into a smirk so audacious it seemed to mock decorum itself. "Well, well," she said, her voice rich with amusement and tinged with a lilt that suggested she enjoyed the discomfiture of others far more than she ought. "I see we’re all settled in. Let the chaos begin." Her announcement dropped into the room like an ominous premonition they should all be prepared to befall them.
Jaclyn could already feel a knot of anticipation forming in her stomach. This year, she realized with a sinking certainty, would be different. Not merely lively, not merely scandalous, but unpredictable in a way that made her pulse quicken with both dread and excitement. Charlotte, for all her sharp tongue and brilliant scheming, would not be present to temper the storm. Charlotte’s absence was a conspicuous void, one that made Melisande’s presence feel all the more formidable. Charlotte had been the one person Jaclyn could always count on. She would no longer be here for her to lean on. This year would be different. Because Charlotte would not be here even through the worst of times. Instead, she would have Melisande to contend with.
Poor Ella, who still had no inkling of the kind of storm she was about to weather. Jaclyn’s gaze flicked to her new friend, noting the slight, unguarded tilt of her head, the innocence that made her so ill-prepared for Melisande’s clever jabs and subtle provocations. It was almost cruel, Jaclyn thought, how little Ella knew what she was stepping into. Melisande, meanwhile, seemed entirely unbothered by the room’s undercurrent of apprehension. She moved with the ease of someone accustomed to command, as though the very space belonged to her. One hand rested lightly on the back of a chair; the other toyed with a fan she had brought, flicking it open and shut in a rhythm that mirrored the heartbeat of the room. Every gesture, every glance, was deliberate, calculated to provoke curiosity, admiration, or—if necessary—discomfort.
Jaclyn swallowed, trying to steady the fluttering in her stomach. There was a thrilling danger in Melisande’s audacity, a charm that could not be denied. But charm, she knew, was the most treacherous of weapons, and Melisande wielded it with deadly precision. Jaclyn forced herself to breathe, to remember that decorum, reputation, and prudence still mattered—at least, in theory.
She took a deep, fortifying breath and reminded herself that she could survive whatever Melisande had in store for them. She was far stronger and much cleverer than Melisande might realize. There room might very well end up being a battlefield, but Jaclyn would be the victor in the end.
The soft crackle of the fire in the hearth did little to warm Kingston Brooks, Duke of Amberwood, as he sat alone in the library at Easton Abbey. His fingers lightly traced the rim of the crystal glass in his hand, the amber liquid inside catching the low light from the flames. The rich scent of brandy filled the air, but even the heady warmth of the drink could not settle the restlessness that gripped him. His gaze drifted absentmindedly over the room, taking in the grandiose furniture, the polished surfaces, and the faint shadows of the evening creeping in through the tall windows. There was a deep silence that seemed to stretch beyond the walls of the abbey, much like the unease that lingered in his chest.
He had been here for weeks now visiting with his friend and suffered through that infernal house party. His arm still ached, a dull reminder of the injury he had sustained while acting the gentleman in that blasted duel. The memory was still too fresh—too bitter—even over a year later. He had never been one to stand idly by when a woman was in peril, but that night had been different. She had been abandoned by her brother at Vauxhall, and he only sought to help her find him. If someone had not bumped into her causing her to fall, and him to catch her, the lady’s brother never would have assumed he intended to seduce her. He had caught her as she tumbled, a blur of beauty and surprise, only for her brother to accuse him of intent far darker than the reality. In an instant, the delicate dance of propriety had crumbled into a scandal that would haunt both their lives. The injury he had sustained—his arm still reminding him of it with every shift in the weather—had come as a result of trying to do what was right.
He did found Lady Jaclyn attractive—there was no denying her beauty. Her bright eyes, her porcelain skin, the delicate curve of her neck that had beckoned him in a way he had not expected. But that wasn’t why he had acted. He hadn’t been seeking to compromise her, even if her brother had made it appear that way. The memory of it still stung. He had been laid up in bed for weeks afterward, trying to recover from the injury and the scandal, which had followed him like an unrelenting shadow. It hadn’t helped that his reputation of being a consummate rake had added to the scandal. That night had ruined what little of a reputation he had left. And for what? A foolish misunderstanding.
