Chapter 23
SERA
“Can you not magic it into obedience?” I watch Mrs Hawley’s reflection in the mirror as she weaves braids through my dark hair, fighting with each unruly strand that seems to have a mind of its own this evening.
“There are some things that require a more traditional method.” Her eyes are narrowed as she focuses on pinning the last section into place. “If you would keep still, I might achieve the end result more swiftly.”
Lizzie sniggers beside me, and I pull a face at her in the mirror. She is already dressed, having been attended to by Mrs Hawley first. Her spirits have raised considerably since Rafe has been back.
I wish I could say the same for mine.
I know Nate went to see Charlotte. He spoke into my mind and told me of her threats against me and that she still pushes for more answers from Caroline. To protect me, he had to find something to give her, which meant I have spent yet another night alone and aching for him. It has turned to frustration. And if we did not have the ball tonight, I would be marching to House Azarov myself and breaking into their vaults — to hell with the consequences.
I am sick of waiting.
“If ever there was something that marked the ball as one arranged by vampires, this is surely it,” Lizzie says, gesturing to my hair. Instead of the tight ringlets and severe centre parts that are so fashionable among the ton, Mrs Hawley has swept my waves into a cascading waterfall of braids and twists, interwoven with delicate strands of gold and silver that catch the light like stars.
“You will see such styles in London in the next decade,” Mrs Hawley says. “Vampires set the standard, humans simply don’t realise it.”
“I am not sure the ton will be prepared for this. Nor the gown.” I glance at the dress laid out on the bed. Another beautiful gown for a ball hosted by monsters. And we know how well the last one went.
“Will there be much dancing?” Lizzie asks. “Rafe has been quite insistent on me learning the steps, but I wonder if it wasn’t an excuse to take me in his arms.”
“Lord Raphael was right to get you to practice,” Mrs Hawley says gruffly, pins poking out between her teeth. “There will be new dances. The steps you learn in London are always debuted here.”
“And which vampire do we have to thank for putting us through that every year?” Lizzie asks with an ill-concealed eye roll.
“House Rassard usually takes the lead on such things.”
“And the fashions?”
“The Moreaus.”
“What do the Blackwoods bring to Society?”
Mrs Hawley jabs the last pin in place. “Their charm. You are well-acquainted with Lord Raphael — where do you think the term rake originated from?”
“Stop,” Lizzie gasps. “The Blackwoods are responsible?”
Mrs Hawley does not respond, but steps back and I turn my head from side to side in order to marvel at her creation. “It makes sense, I suppose.” My fingers trace over the pins. “That those gentlemen who steal women away and ruin them are vampires.”
Mrs Hawley nods sharply. “It was the entire basis of the pledging before the Blood Rose Ball. The Blackwoods were once notorious for such a thing, though under the Duchess’s jurisdiction there has been more discipline.”
“It cannot be entirely true though,” I say, staring at my reflection. “There are young ladies that end the Season with child. Charles’s sister, for one. And it is impossible for vampires to be responsible for that, isn’t it? Rafe told me as much.”
Mrs Hawley’s eyes meet mine in the mirror. “There are exceptions to every rule, even those we believe to be immutable.”
I hold her gaze in the mirror, but she quickly turns away, busying herself with tidying the nest of hair pins back into their box. If Lizzie heard her, she has paid the comment no mind.
But it niggles in mine.
I move to stand and take in my full reflection, my thoughts drifting to Marianne and the life Charles has so desperately worked to save them from. His sister was seduced by a rake of the highest order and left with nothing but empty promises and a new mouth to feed when he abandoned her. There is no possibility he could have been a vampire lord. It is unthinkable — like something out of a nightmare.
But then, that is exactly what we are trapped in.
“Perhaps vampires could do something good for Society,” I mumble. “Show forgiveness. An open mind. Strength of character that is not swayed by gossip and scandal. They should be the lessons the ton takes, not how to style one’s hair or which modiste is most in favour.”
“Forgiveness is not a word in a vampire’s vocabulary,” Lizzie says, watching me. “Fury and revenge seem more appropriate. And human men are more than capable of those emotions.”
I nod. I know only too well what it is like to live with such a man as my brother, who has been driven by rage his entire life. From what I have learned of Lizzie’s life in London, she has experienced it, too.
“Come, Miss Sterling.” Mrs Hawley snaps her fingers at me, gesturing for me to stand.
The dress waiting for me is a vision of deep purple silk and intricate black lace. The fabric whispers as it unfurls and Mrs Hawley lifts it over my head.
She straps me into it quickly, pulling the laces tight with her usual brusqueness. The gown hugs my curves, the neckline dipping low to showcase my collarbones and the swell of my breasts. Mrs Hawley adjusts the lace sleeves, ensuring they sit neatly on my shoulders.
“There,” she says, stepping back to survey her handiwork. “Turn for me.”
I rotate slowly; the skirts swishing around my feet. Mrs Hawley nods approvingly, then reaches for a pair of delicate black satin slippers. She kneels, helping me step into them.
“You look beautiful,” Lizzie says from behind me, joining me to stand at the mirror as Mrs Hawley leaves us.
“As do you.”
I barely recognise either of us. Lizzie’s own gown is a deep emerald green to match her eyes. Her blonde hair has been fixed in an elegant swirl, exposing the long line of her neck.
I meet her gaze in the glass, trying to summon a smile. “I fear Rafe won’t be able to keep his hands off you tonight.”
“I think that's rather the point.” She steps closer, lowering her voice. “I will try to get Agnes alone at the ball. Find out how she fares under Charlotte.”
I nod. “And I will do the same with Charles. We will draw less attention to ourselves than if we all gather in a group.”
At Charles’s name, Lizzie falters. “I know House Azarov has a rather grim reputation, but Rafe told me something last night….” She lowers her voice still. “He will tell Nate when he sees him, but it might be relevant when you speak to Charles. Maybe something for him to be alert to.”
I frown at her. “What is it?”
“Rafe believes Lord Nikolai was behind the plot on Nate — that he was the one who ordered the hunters and paid the driver to stop the carriage.”
I turn away from the mirror. “Nikolai? But his family is one of the thirteen. It would be a direct betrayal.”
“Rafe didn’t know what his grievance was, but he is attempting to find out.”
My chest tightens at the thought of Charles being under the Azarov’s roof. It was already dangerous for him there and now…
“For you, Miss Fairfax.” Mrs Hawley reappears, a string of glittering black diamonds in her hands. She drapes the necklace around Lizzie’s throat. “A gift from Lord Raphael.”
Lizzie lifts a hand to touch the diamonds, then turns to admire them in the mirror. For a moment, I see the slightest quirk of her brow — a feeling of awe at the piece, but it is fleeting. “I cannot accept such a thing.”
“Lord Raphael was quite insistent,” Mrs Hawley says, barely containing an eye roll. “It would be unwise to refuse such a gesture.”
“He is such a showman,” Lizzie grumbles. “A rake if ever I met one.” When Mrs Hawley turns away, Lizzie continues, “I suppose this is how all young ladies fall into the trap. We know they will ruin us, yet we find ourselves being dragged away quite willingly.”
“Be kind to yourself,” I say. “It’s the glamour.”
“I hope so, Sera.” She looks at me pointedly. “I truly hope this is a spell that can be broken.”