Page 34 of A Taste for the Peculiar

Eventually, she stows the dress and climbs into bed, but she can’t bear to sleep. She watches the stars through the window and replays the evening in exquisite detail. The warm, apple taste of Cascade’s tongue curling against hers. The push and pull of two bodies pressed against her from either side. The desperation in Pye’s voice when she finally said their name.

But it was more than that; the entire party was different. No one snickered and whispered behind their fans. No one cared what she was wearing. No one concerned themselves with others disappearing to be alone.

There was no judgment or scrutiny. It’s a fantastical thing Avirin could never have imagined, yet it was all real. It happened. She took part in it. Looking back, it’s like that was a different Avirin, more daring and brazen than the person she is now. She can’t believe the things that Avirin did. The things she asked for. The things she enjoyed.

Her skin heats with learned shame — but not just shame. There’s a dangerous curiosity racing alongside it, nipping at shame’s heels to send it stumbling off course. She meant what she said; tonight was magical, a faerie revelry doomed to vanish in the morning light…but could it be more than that? Could it last longer than an evening? Could she live an entire life like that?

A rough hand shakes her awake. “You’ve slept half the day away!” her mother snaps. “Get up. We have a visitor.”

By the time Avirin dresses and descends to the parlor, her mother has a tight grip on her handkerchief, and Avirin tries not to get lost in memories of Pye’s pressed to the corner of her mouth.

“Not a moment too soon,” her mother mutters. She extends a hand toward Avirin, and the man across from her rises from the sofa. “Lord Reid, this is my daughter, Miss Avirin Ellison.”

EIGHTEEN

Avirin

Lord Reid bows. His skin is a sickly beige beneath his receding brown hair and eyeglasses, and there is something odd about the way he looks at Avirin. She’s certain they’ve never been introduced, yet his eyes meet hers like he knows far too much about her. Only when her mother tenses does Avirin remember to curtsy and take the seat next to her. These surprise visits always throw her out of kilter, but she rifles through her mental scripts to recite something polite. “How kind of you to pay us a visit!”

Her mother settles a hand over Avirin’s. “Lord Reid and I have become reacquainted this season. He’s an old friend of your father’s from their university days.”

Avirin has been so thoroughly distracted with Pye, she’s been oblivious to her mother’s activities. Avirin remembers Lord Reid from her debut season, a widower twice-over and engaged to be married again.

A widower thrice-over, now. Not three months ago, his latest wife fell from the cliffs of his estate. They say she slipped off the rocks, Avirin’s mother relayed one morning over breakfast. The poor man had to witness it all. He must be heartbroken to lose another bride so young.

Avirin’s mother clears her throat, and Avirin plasters on a pleasant expression. “I’m happy you’ve kept each other company.”

Her mother smiles. “Yes, the viscount and I have spent much time together. Discussing our current stations. The futures we’d like for our families.”

A sickly feeling swells in Avirin’s stomach. It’s the same feeling she gets when her mother performs contortionist acts with her words. When she makes a statement, but is looking for an answer. When she asks a question, but hides a separate query underneath. Avirin’s hand grows sweaty beneath her mother’s. “What do you mean?”

Avirin’s mother pats her hand, like she’s trying to soothe a baby. “There is an opportunity that could benefit us both.”

The sickly feeling becomes a knowing one. It can’t be. It can’t. “Please speak plainly,” Avirin whispers.

Her mother presses her lips into a thin line and removes her hand. “Lord Reid has very generously offered to take your hand in marriage.”

Avirin’s world narrows to a pinpoint. She replays the phrase in her mind, desperately searching for a misunderstanding, a loophole, anything. Her mouth feels full of gravel. “No.”

Lord Reid stiffens.

Her mother starts to chastise her, but Avirin shudders in disbelief. “No. No.”

Her mother grabs her wrist. “Avirin!”

“He’s more than twice my age!” She knows Lord Reid is watching them, that he can hear every word, but she can’t calm herself. Her voice rises. “It’s only been a few weeks! I’m not —”

“Avirin,” her mother hisses, “you are in no place to turn this down. This is charity.” When she tightens her grip, the bones in Avirin’s wrist grind. “Your situation is dire, and it hasn’t been helped by the wastrels you’ve been seen with.”

Avirin’s world tilts. “How —”

“Do you think the servants in this house don’t gossip? That I haven’t heard the whispers in the shops?” Her mother’s teeth clench. “Whores and mollies, of all things, Avirin! I had to fire that abysmal footman for cavorting you around town.”

Avirin’s chest heaves. Being caught is bad enough, but she’s lost Mr. Brandiron his position? She tries to pull away, but her mother digs a ring of red around her skin. Avirin’s eyes dart toward Lord Reid, but he watches it all without a flicker of emotion.

“You have no other options,” her mother seethes. “No prospects. A reputation one slip away from ruin. Who else on this earth would take you?”

Avirin opens her mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. A weight spreads across her chest, pinning her beneath it until she cannot move at all.