Her cuticles were getting a bit rough—Zada pulled her gaze back up to the carriage window. The city blurred by in a hodgepodge of architectural styles, everything from Tudor to rococo to Victorian.
“Try looking me in the eye,” said Daphne. When Zada wrestled her focus back to Daphne, it earned her an exaggerated eyebrow waggle. It was the kind of thing Daphne used to do during class to make her laugh.
“Now say it like you mean it.” Daphne folded her arms, waiting. “Go on. I’ve seen you read those romance novels aloud with Flora. I know you can do it.”
Zada tried to conjure up every simulacrum of passion she’d ever witnessed in fiction. She thought about her favorite lines from Austen and then she thought, inexplicably, of touching that soft sliver of Daphne’s wrist the other night.
“I’m so happy to be with Buford,” said Zada, holding Daphne’s gaze. “When I kissed him, I knew that we were meant to be together. The feeling was electric, like every cell in my body was drawn to him. Like he’s all that there is in the world. Only him.”
Daphne’s dark brown eyes were intent on hers. She tilted her head slightly, giving Zada an appraising look. “Better. A little over-the-top, but people will be expecting that. When you’re asked about Buford, just try to hold on to . . . whatever that energy was.”
Zada nodded, her cheeks flushing.
“And do you have plans for children?” said Daphne, and Zada choked on nothing. “You’ll need an answer.”
“I don’t—” Zada began. “I mean, I haven’t discussed that with him yet.” Zada didn’t even notice herself looking down again to worry at her callus on her thumb until she felt careful fingertips warm on her chin, tipping her face back up.
“Look at me,” Daphne murmured. “You can’t sell a lie without it.” Something about her hand on the delicate skin at the underside of Zada’s jaw made Zada swallow hard, unable now to look away until Daphne finally let go.
“Seems like we’re here,” said Daphne. Sure enough, the carriage had stopped at the gates of the magnificent Fallow estate. The sprawling mansion, built in the red-brick Georgian style, the gleaming green artificial lawn—Zada had only seen such splendor on the celebrity feeds Flora used to follow. They climbed down onto the sun-dappled cobblestones. “Come on,” Daphne threw over her shoulder as she began to walk up the long driveway.
A gentle chime sounded in Zada’s ear, someone trying to get ahold of her via earring. She tilted her head and let the message filter through, smiling slightly when she recognized the voice.
“Augusta says she wants to get tea together,” Zada called. “Should I tell her this is a bad time?”
“Tell her to come here instead.” Daphne strode back, picked up Zada’s bags, and jogged ahead again. “We haven’t had the chance to chat for a while. My grandfather’s away on business, so we can be as loud as we like.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. It’ll be fun!” Daphne paused on the front steps, her face cast in shadow. “And loud noises scare the ghosts away.”
“Sorry.” Augusta laughed. “Say that again? Ursa Neale implied that all engaged women—”
“Have some sort of special telepathy with each other?” Daphne filled in. “Yes, that seemed to be what she was getting at.”
“And then she hugged me so hard, I think she permanently reshaped my organs,” added Zada.
Augusta’s eyes danced. “At least you can comfort yourself with your special psychic bond to Ursa Neale, so long as you avoid her proprietary palette of salmon pink and silver.”
The three of them were clustered together at one end of an enormous dining table, its gleaming surface marred only by the mess of crumbs, teacups, and plates of biscuits and jam between them. Zada found it intoxicating, being able to laugh with her friends once more.
Daphne had remained close with their set, even after Zada had removed herself from Daphne’s company. They hadjoint custody, as Daphne would no doubt have put it, a scandalous air of implied divorce clinging to the words. Zada felt a twinge of guilt for what she must’ve put her friends through when she’d cut off Daphne.
But they were together now, for the first time in years, and it was wonderful. Well, Flora still wasn’t responding to messages, and Carine was gone, but Zada would take what she could get.
“If Ursa truly had a psychic link with me,” Zada said, “she would’ve noticed how hard I was fighting not to completely bust my gut at Daphne behind her, expertly miming the construction of an escape tunnel—”
“Why thank you, I’m glad someone noticed my tunneling skills.” Daphne took a long sip of her steaming hot tea.
Augusta grinned. “Was the tunnel really so expertly pantomimed, or was Zada just that good at knowing what you meant? Remember how the two of you used to dominate in charades?”
“Nobody was willing to go against us,” said Daphne with a laugh.
“It’s hard at the top,” Zada added. “Or should I say—” She pretended to lug an imaginary trophy up a steep slope.
“What in the world—?” said Augusta.
“She’s dragging her prize up a mountain, obviously,” said Daphne, and Zada giggled from sheer joy.
