Chapter 31
31
“ W hy are you an escort? I thought you were one of us…” I try to wave around to Clara and I, but can’t because my hand is anchored around Teague’s very solid arm. And it needs to stay there. Managing these stairs in heels is a life-threatening undertaking, and I have his arm in a double death grip.
“Not an initiate this year, no,” he says, eyes resolutely ahead so that we don’t perish. Behind us, I hear Clara’s heels thunk thunk ing at regular, careful intervals too. Just in front of us, two girls round the bottom of the stairs and head toward the back of the main level. Each of them has a man in a tuxedo on their arm.
“So your job is to…”
“Escort you around tonight.”
I risk a look up at him. Not just to escort me to somewhere, but around all night ?
He gives a small smile. “An auction.”
I quirk an eyebrow. “I don’t know if you know this, but I am broke. An auction at an estate in Ireland isn’t in my purview.”
Teague laughs. “Oh, had a lot of experience with private auctions?”
I rise to the joke, like he’s tossed me a lifeline. It breaks through all the surface tension I’ve been operating under since coming to Oxford. “Sure. In fact, the very last private auction I attended, I spent so much money my accountant barred me from ever taking part in fancy private auctions, ever again. It’s really because I have too much money. I wouldn’t want anyone else to feel badly.”
There’s an amused quirk to his gorgeous lips that I stare at long enough I cause myself to trip. He steadies my arm. “You are a guest of distinction tonight. If you hadn’t realized, you are wearing some very fancy jewelry.”
“This old thing? I found it at the bottom of my sock drawer.”
My irreverence charms him. He gives a low chuckle, warm and rich, that makes gooseflesh break out on my arms. “Yes, well, lucky you found it. That sock drawer item is up for auction tonight. It’s actually my job to escort it around.”
Realization dawns. “I’m a walking jewelry box for the night?”
“Essentially.”
It’s a weight off my shoulders for a moment. “Wait. Why wouldn’t they just have things on display?”
Teague looks down at me and I’m lost in the whiskey depths of those eyes. This time I do trip, and his arm reaches out to steady me without breaking eye contact. “Our bidders like to see the jewelry being worn. Sometimes people admire the…setting…as much as the jewels.”
His eyes scrape the diamond band on my throat. I swear he’s looking at the slight hollow between my clavicle as if he wants to bite me there. My breathing comes faster and good God, I think I’d let him.
“Alright there?” Clara asks from several stairs up.
I clear my throat and regain my footing. “Should have worn flats,” I comment loud enough for her to hear. “I’m clumsy in heels.” Her voice kicks loose the information from my conversation earlier with Clara. “So wait, this auction. It somehow determines if I stay.”
It’s Teague’s turn to nearly misstep. He glances down at me, surprise widening his lovely hazel eyes. “Why would you say that?”
I roll my eyes. The secrecy game is starting to get old.
“Clara said that Irina told her we’d know by tomorrow if we’d pass this test. So what, is the test to see who can earn the most money from their jewelry?”
Teague helps me down the last few stairs, turning to walk under the stairs. We enter the right wing of the house, where I can hear faint strains of music. We’ve caught up with a longer line of people, all walking slowly down the hallway.
Teague leans his head down closer to mine and speaks under his breath. “Something like that. But you’re not supposed to know, so play it cool, okay? I can neither confirm nor deny.”
“Look,” I say, squaring my shoulders. The meeting with Dorothea Howard has rattled my dedication to the plan of escaping all this, and what I want is time enough to weigh my options. My real options. The options that might push my life out on a trajectory hitherto unobtainable. And if that means I need to continue this pathway to its conclusion, I’m not going to self-sabotage. “I play games to win. So if I need to sell the shit out of this necklace, I’m going to do it.”
There’s a rumble of a laugh against my side, and the look he returns my glance with a heated one. “Good girl,” he praises me.
I can’t really describe what that “good girl” does to my insides.
“There’s only one thing I can think of that will keep us from being successful,” I say, almost to myself. Teague raises an eyebrow at me as we queue up behind several other black-clad, jewelry-laden couples.
“Kendall,” I explain. I stop myself from confessing everything he’s told me, and make it sound more like I just suspect him. “It feels like he’s dead-set against me becoming a member. Although,” I muse, thinking of his hands on my skin and the boob tape, “he has helped me too. So there’s that.”
There’s something inscrutable that flits across Teague’s face. “He’s supposed to be helping everyone. He won’t be a problem.”
“You sound so sure.” I don’t argue with him that I’m pretty sure Kendall has not been staying the night in other people’s rooms, or helping them with the interviews by handling their boobs. Or giving them orgasms in a library.
He leans down again, and I breathe in the smell of his light, soapy scent. He smells expensive. “It’s my job to keep him from being a problem. That’s why you’re with me tonight. It’s not a random chance. I’ve got you.”
He sounds so sure, so solid. I gaze up and meet his eyes. For the first time since I arrived here, I feel like someone outside of all of this mess is on my side . I feel safe, and protected.
“And we’ve got this.” He winks. “If you’re still in the mood to kick a little ass tonight. I wouldn’t mind showing these people what I, what we, can do.”
The smile that erupts on my lips is genuine and radiant. “Yes, let’s do that. Together.”
Beyond the floor to ceiling glass in the foyer, the dark night is broken only by small landscape lights in the curated garden right outside. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch the reflection of Teague and I in the mirror of a window; two elegant figures. Two beautiful people, heads close together, arms entwined. It feels like a premonition. Like I’m gazing into my future. Teague looks significant to me in this window, like the rest of the world falls away when it’s just us. The sounds of a lavish party fade. For now, I just look at this creature I’ve become. Long and lean in a silk sheath, the pendulum weight of a ruby swinging against my back. The girl who left high school is nowhere in evidence right now. I’m already different, on the cusp of fully transforming into someone else. “I look…powerful.”
It’s not until he responds that I realize I said that last part out loud. “You don’t even know how powerful you are, how powerful you could be.”
Teague steps up behind me. His nose slants ever so slightly into my hair, smelling the flower, maybe? As I lean into him, his hand slips up ever so slightly until his palm rests on my bare skin, fingers under the curtain fall of my dress. I shiver. There’s a slow anticipation building that has nothing to do with the party.
I study his reflection. His eyes glitter, pupils dilated. He looks bothered , in the best possible way. In a way that gives me a heady sense of strength. Like we’re two marble statues, ready to stand the test of time.
“Are you ready?” His lips are near my ear, and I shiver. I look up at him in response. There’s a weight to his words that I don’t understand. “Just stay with me, and it will be okay.”
I nod. “Ready.” Then I square my shoulders and we enter the ballroom.
The air in the ballroom is close—more people packed into the room than I would have thought. The room itself draws my gaze and takes my breath away, though. Literal crystal chandeliers hang suspended from a double-height ceiling. Crown moulding and panels of carved plaster offset beautiful old-world floral wallpaper. It looks like real fabric—likely silk—hand-printed and applied in a different world. And in the far corner, near a set of open glass doors? A small orchestra.
It’s true old world elegance. I feel like I’m on the set of a Bridgerton movie. This can’t be real life, and I certainly struggle to place my self at the center of this reality.
As our line enters, everyone inside quiets and pivots to watch. It should be flattering, but it’s terrifying. Everything hinges on this, I don’t know what Kendall has planned, and it feels like an inordinate amount of eyes train on me specifically .
I glance up at Teague, but his face is blank, staring ahead. Mannequin it is. He squeezes my arm ever so slightly in solidarity. Remembering my dedication to selling this thing, I paste a smile on my face.
People stand around the room, roughly in a large ring. Some faces I recognize from the various events I’ve been at. The man from the cocktail table after the dress/duct tape fiasco—The one Kendall was so mad I talked to—raises his glass to me slightly as Teague walks me past him. I give a small nod or recognition. It can’t hurt to be friendly, right?
Beside me, Teague stiffens, and I chance a glance at him. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Tell me,” I whisper.
“My father,” Teague answers in a clipped tone that brokers no room for continued questioning.
Now that I’m looking, I can see the vague resemblance. Dark hair, though gray at the temples. The same hazel eyes.
The orchestra picks up again, this time more muted. Small conversations break out, but largely this is a silent affair until all of the jewelry-clad initiate hopefuls are in the room. We’ve made it almost all the way around the room, and come to a stop several feet behind one of the rowing twins who has a sequin-clad woman on his arm that I don’t recognize.
Behind me, I hear Clara give a small cough.
Augustine steps into the center of the room, like a showman at a circus. “Welcome all,” he says warmly, “to this time honored tradition. As always, the funds raised tonight will be used generously by our foundation to support causes and charities outlined in our charter. We wouldn’t be here without our always dedicated host, Lord Loughty. Thank you for your continued patronage and hospitality.”
There is a brief amount of applause.
Ah. So this is an annual fundraiser. And then Teague’s father raises his glass, and I realize that Augustine was addressing him. Lord Loughty. This is…this is his house , which means…
There’s a commotion in a corner of the room, and instinctively, Teague and I pivot to see what it is. I’m expecting to see…well, I’m expecting to see Kendall. But what I am not expecting is a black woman bursting through the double entry doors in a violently red ball gown, and marching through the crowd like she owns the place.
“Who on Earth?—”
Beside me, Teague sucks in a breath, and lets out a string of epithets that I think might be his version of a prayer. “It’s Bea.”
As if I’m supposed to know what that means.
You could hear a pin drop as she strides into the center of the room, her heels clicking with so much power, I hear it echo back at me from the ceiling.
“Starting without me? What poor form.” She’s got a Londoner’s accent and the face of an avenging angel.
Augustine startles. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen him at a loss for words. His mouth opens and closes twice before he manages a weak, “I’m sorry, this is a private event.”
“Oh, I’m well aware what event I’m attending. I demand a spot in your auction tonight.”
A murmur runs through the crowd. I peer shamelessly around Teague who has taken particular interest in the room's ceiling, avoiding meeting anyone’s eyes.
Augustine coughs. “Ah, unfortunately, Ms…”
“Beatrice Fitzroy, sophomore at Cambridge, daughter of Hellman Fitzroy, but you already know that.”
“Ms. Fitzroy, I wish we could oblige, but you have completed none of the necessary?—”
“That is bullshit, and you know it.” The words stop Augustine in his tracks. She gives him a mirthless smile and turns to address the room at large. “My grandmother was a member of All Saints, and your bylaws allow that any Legacy member may take part in the auction without qualifying events. In fact, only a Legacy candidate may run this institution. We protect our own. As I am a Legacy candidate, I am invoking said bylaw.”
Muscles twitch in Augustine’s jaw. He looks like he’s grinding sand into glass in there.
I gasp and it has nothing to do with why everyone else is gaping. My wide eyes fly up to meet Teague’s gaze. He’s looking down at me, not at Beatrice. He nods, ever so slightly. He knew. Kendall knew. “My grandfather…” I trail off, brain making connections. “That makes me a Legacy too,” I say to Teague.
Something in his jaw clenches, and he nods.
“So, is she right? I could have come here without?—”
Teague puts his head down near mine. “No. Well, yes. But it’s not done. You did it the right way. The respectable way.”
Yeah, sure. But. Like. I was drugged. And man-handled for these tests. And the kicker is, it seems literally everyone knew I could skip them and failed to tell me. “Kendall knew. Augustine knew. This whole time. You knew. Everyone knew.”
He doesn’t deny it. “This isn’t a good look. She still has to get a sponsor in order to make it to full membership…I don’t know what she’s doing here. This isn’t like her. This—there’s something more to this spectacle.”
“You know her.” It’s a statement, not a question. And then I remember the black girl he was dancing with at the charity gala at the beginning of the term. Maybe not even just knew her, had he dated her?
He flicks a look at me before looking back at Beatrice and Augustine, locked in a hushed whisper fight. “Yes. A little. Although now I have to wonder if we were really friends or if she was just planning…”
Augustine is trying to rein in the room. “I am sorry for the inconsiderate delay, but it appears we have made an error in tonight’s auction. If you’ll give us a moment, Ms. Fitzroy will also be joining us for the evening. Clara, if you’ll come over for a moment, we’ll split your auction items into two lots.”
There’s a murmur, but he holds up his hands, and continues. “We will have thirty minutes for you to inspect the items of your choice, and then you may submit your intention to bid with me. A bid can be written on your card and slipped to me at any point in the evening. Each card is linked with RFID to your identity, so no trying to re-create the fiasco of 1902. Rivalries stay firmly outside the ballroom, at least until after drinks.”
I don’t understand the chuckle that ripples around the room, but I gather that taming a group of wealthy elite can be hard.
“Thank you also to our scholarship recipients here tonight. We wouldn’t be here without you.”
The applause is stronger this time. Augustine cues the orchestra, and they start playing louder. I crane my neck around, counting the couples. And if I’m honest, looking for the one person I feel is waiting to jump out at me. I haven’t seen Kendall anywhere all night.
I glance down the line of party guests, all of them dressed to the nines, gathered in small groups. No Kendall. And then, my eyes are drawn across the room to the line of initiates. Kendall is directly across from me.
He’s one of the initiates, a gorgeous black woman in a sleek black jump suit on his arm.
His gaze has been wandering down the line of initiates on my side of the room, just the same as I’ve been doing. I can’t help feeling like it looks like he’s categorizing competitors in a game. Looking for weaknesses. His eyes skate over me, and I brace for some sort of glaring, glowing look. Some sort of death stare at Teague. But there’s…nothing. Not even a snub. He doesn’t skip looking at me. He looks at me with the same amount of interest that he uses on everyone else. It’s like I don’t exist.
His gaze continues on, scanning the room casually.
I blink.
“Stop staring,” Teague warns through gritted teeth.
I whip my head forward, cheeks reddening. “He’s already fucking with my head,” I say back through the smile that has become painful to hold, I’m gritting my teeth so hard. “He’s ignoring me. Doing that whole hot/cold thing.”
“Then let him. Fuck with his head right back. Ignore him .”
It was a solid plan. Scrap that, it was the only plan, so I went with it. I ignored the shit out of Kendall as Teague and I worked our way slowly around the room clockwise. We’d stop and let the various groups of people examine my necklace. I’d turn around with a cheeky peek over my shoulder and shimmy a little, making the pendulum sway. I captivated them. I told them I appreciated their support of the charities. I asked them who in their families needed such a lovely piece for Christmas.
And yet. I never lost track of Kendall. And every time I’d peer at him out of the corner of my eye, I swear he’d just be turning his head resolutely away from me. We play this game of cat and mouse all night, even as Teague steers me from group to group.
And Kendall is doing his own version of charming. It’s a Kendall I’ve never really seen before. He leans in to talk to the groups, eyes sparkling. His body language is not the guarded jackass I know. He’s showing off a watch that must be his “jewelry” to sell. Flashing teeth. Honestly, I’m half-mesmerized by this versions even in snippets of visions from halfway across the room. He’s flirting with the women, honestly, he’s flirting with the men too, and then I realize.
I realize that this is his game. He’s trying to outdo everyone. He’s trying to outdo me . Because if I don’t make the most money, if I’m not on the rank somewhere then he gets his wish. I get kicked out, and he…well, I don’t really want to go down that path.
So I double my efforts. I stop trying to look at him out of the corner of my eye. I double my efforts and playful and witty banter. I take this little necklace and I work it.
And by the time Teague leads me back out of the room, I am exhausted . I cling to Teague’s arm as he walks me back out of the ballroom. This time we’re behind Clara and her escort. She turns slightly and peers at me over her shoulder.
I do what I can to offer her a bolstering smile. I’m sure she did wonderfully. I’d have bought anything she was wearing, she looks like Grace Kelley come back to life in her tiara. She’s missing her bracelets, having given those to Beatrice as her auction item.
The chaperones peel off into different wings of the house as we exit the foyer. Irina, Clara, and I all march dutifully up the stairs. I don’t even turn around to see where Kendall is going. I hope he notices just how little I am noticing him . Serves him right for ignoring me tonight.
The hallway to our room is dark and quiet, and the further we press on toward the door, the more exhaustion hangs on me light a millstone around my neck. Teague gives my arm a squeeze as we stop outside the doorway. “I have to come in and take possession of the jewelry, and then you get some sleep, okay?”
I nod as I turn the knob and let us into my room. Like a dream, the bed is turned down and there’s an honest to God fire in the fireplace.
Despite my excitement, I groan. “Am I going to have to wait for this to burn down to go to bed?” I do not want to ask Aoife or Edmund for any additional help tonight. I want to crawl in bed and sleep like the dead.
“Most of them are natural gas now, pretty safe to have on,” Teague answers as if he knows everything about fireplaces.
“Oh, well, pretty safe sounds almost good.”
“You are cheeky,” he says with a wry quirk of his mouth. Despite the dark in the room, he crosses quickly over to the far wall and flips a switch on the wall I didn’t even know was there. “The other good thing about gas fireplaces is that they’re really easy to turn off and on.”
“Now you’re the one being cheeky,” I say, rubbing my hands over my face. I’m sure I’m smearing my makeup but I don’t care. “Do you think we did okay?”
Teague has crossed back to me, and stands unsettlingly close. The fire is back on, bathing us in a pleasant orange glow. “I think,” he says, reaching out and running his finger under the diamond collar on my neck, “that you did wonderfully tonight. A performance anyone would be proud of.”
I swallow. He drops his hand and crosses behind me. I know he’s just doing this to take the necklace off, but suddenly I’m jittery. Nerves jangle in my body. “Thanks,” I say, just to say something.
He undoes the clasp, and then opens a black velvet box from my desk. I turn to watch him drape the necklace in, then close it with a snap.
“Sleep well,” he says.
“Okay,” I agree.
Neither of us moves.
Then, slowly, he steps toward me again. His hand raises, and I think for a moment he’s going to caress my cheek. And I’m one hundred percent going to let him. Instead, he reaches up, and tugs the wilting lily free of my hair. Without a word, he gives me the smallest of smiles, tucks the flower into his breast pocket, and turns to leave the room.