Chapter 23 #2
“How does this work?” Jack lifted one of the tiny flutes, examining its silvery contents.
“Mr. Weatherby has a special form of sensile conjury,” the attendant explained. “He can infuse liquids so that they trigger
emotional experiences. Care to try?”
He flourished the gilded label, which had but a single word in flowing cursive: Rhapsody.
Oliver accepted the tiny flute from the attendant, but when he offered Emmy one, she took a step back. “Oh, no thank you.”
“A portion this small will last only a few seconds,” promised the attendant. “But if you’d prefer, you can have your lady’s
maid try it first.”
As if experimenting on Mary were any better. But before Oliver could notice that Emmy’s invisible maid had gone missing, Jack took the flute and tossed its contents down his throat. With a shock of laughter, Oliver grabbed one off the table and did the same.
Their eyes glazed over, and a slow smile spread across Oliver’s face, then Jack’s. Not the smirk he wielded like a weapon,
but his crooked grin, the one she’d glimpsed in the river, when she’d held her daggered nail to his neck. A giggle burst from
him—a literal giggle, which sent Oliver into a bout of hysterics. Nearly falling over, they held on to each other for balance.
It was an unsettling glimpse into the bond they might have shared, once.
And then it was over, Jack’s genuine smile eroding until only his faux one remained.
Clapping Jack on the back, Oliver grinned at the attendant. “I’ll take a bottle.”
“That’ll be twenty dollars, sir.”
“Twenty!” Chuckling darkly, Oliver snapped his fingers at his attendant, who was stationed a safe distance behind him. “Pay
the man. It’s for charity, after all.”
They continued through the party, Oliver dominating the conversation, which seemed only to improve his high spirits. Jack
took the lead on making enough remarks to keep him talking, letting Emmy off the hook. She was even able to slip away here
and there to chat with a few of the other young ladies. Truth be told, she was beginning to like their company. There was
genuine warmth in their gentle teasing about her being too skittish to try a single potion.
When Oliver begged Emmy to try a silver flute, Emmy held it in her hand, tempted. “Just a taste.”
“I wouldn’t drink that one, if I were you,” an airy voice called.
Emmy hardly had a moment to gather her courage before Grace stood before her. With her blonde curls pinned beneath a fashionable
floral hat, she looked as elegant as always as she plucked the flute from Emmy’s hands.
“It’s called Carnality. We don’t need you throwing yourself at anyone, now, do we?”
Implied in her words was a taunting again.
Grace pressed her fingers to Oliver’s forearm. “Would you two give Miss Fairchild and me a moment?”
“If you insist.” With a smile that indicated he was enjoying this far too much, Oliver bowed to them, pulling Jack along with
him.
Emmy could only stare at Grace. Waiting.
Plucking a strawberry from a bowl on the table, Grace held it to her lips. “How kind of you to support my charity, Miss Fairchild.”
“Teaching underprivileged children to sew is a worthy cause.” For Emmy, memories of sewing were bound to memories of Grace.
Had Grace thought of her even once?
“I’d like to tell you something. Woman to woman.”
Emmy stiffened. Waiting.
“In one week, Oliver and I will be engaged.” Setting the strawberry down, she patted Emmy’s arm. “I only say this to help,
of course. If I were in your position, and I was being encouraged to seek out an unavailable man, I’d want someone to tell me.”
Emmy jerked away from Grace’s touch. Her skin wasn’t cold with bridging conjury, but when it came to Grace, Emmy could never
be certain. And did she take Winnie for a fool? One who’d take her word on anything, let alone Oliver?
Copying Grace’s practiced pleasantness, Emmy popped a berry into her mouth. “Mrs. Stratton doesn’t seem to think so.”
“Ah, but we both know who holds the real power at Pinnacle Bluffs.”
Was she suggesting that the chancellor approved of Oliver and Grace? That was too far-fetched, even for Grace.
“If Oliver were to pick between these two options, which do you think he’d choose?
” Grace set another plump strawberry beside the one she’d bitten.
“This one, which he is careful to treat with the utmost care? Or this one, which bruises the very first time his mouth grazes it?” Grace sank her fingernails into the bitten berry’s delicate flesh, and red juice oozed onto the tablecloth.
Emmy’s hand flew to her neck. Grace knew. Oliver had told her he’d kissed Winnie—that he’d left a mark on her. He’d told Grace, as if it were entertainment for them
both.
Her humiliation was hot and swift. That vile bastard had been toying with her. And although she’d kissed Oliver, Grace had
outplayed her. Again.
“Do say hello to your maid for me. Every time I try, the silly girl runs away.” With a triumphant smile, Grace sauntered off.
That hateful little wench. She had better stay the hell away from Mary.
With considerable effort, Emmy kept her head high—the gossips were watching—but she was breathing fire. She was done with
this party, done with Oliver’s haughty airs. Done giving him fodder to laugh at her. With Grace.
Emmy kept an eye out for Mary as Grace worked the crowd, smiling demurely as person after person sang her praises. About what
a lovely fundraiser, and such a rare opportunity to sip actual potions! And so much money—hundreds, if not thousands—for such a worthy cause.
So many little street urchins would learn to sew clothes for the rich.
After an eternity, the crowd began to thin, and Emmy’s impatience was quickly turning to dread. Mary still hadn’t returned.
“Still no sign of her?” she asked Caleb after the Strattons bid them adieu.
“Not since we arrived.” Frowning, Caleb glanced toward the church.
“Well, we can’t just sit here,” Jack murmured. “Oliver’s expecting me in an hour.”
“Again?” Emmy’s voice pitched. The circles under Jack’s eyes couldn’t get much darker.
“No rest for the wicked.” Rubbing the back of his head, Jack glanced around the empty lawn. “We might as well wait in the
carriage. The staff are starting to wonder what we’re doing.”
Please be in the carriage, Emmy silently prayed, which was odd; she hadn’t given God much thought since he’d abandoned her in Grimsbane. But she found
herself saying it, over and over, as they made their way to the carriage. But Mary was not there.
They climbed inside, shut the doors, and stared at each other.
“This is not good,” Jimmy finally said. “Not good at—”
The carriage door burst open, and Mary threw herself inside, a small, ornate box clutched in her arms. “Go! Tell the driver
to go!”
Emmy yanked the door shut as Jack pounded on the window. And they were off, the horses galloping down the driveway as Mary
tried to catch her breath.
“I’m sorry,” she wheezed, “but when Miss Montgomery arrived so late, I thought to myself, Just what has she been doing? So I searched her carriage, but her driver returned while I was still inside!”
Jack’s tired eyes were suddenly alert. “Were you seen?”
“I waited until he left, which took hours. But I found this.” With a triumphant smile, Mary handed Emmy the box. The jostling of the carriage made it difficult to
open, but once Emmy flipped the latch, she gasped.
A small treasure glittered in the faint moonlight. Earrings and necklaces and more radiant stones than Emmy had ever seen
in one place. “You stole her jewelry?”
“Not just any jewelry.” Mary’s grin widened. “It’s her private arsenal of conjury she’s bridged.”