Chapter Eighteen
Truth is ever to be found in the simplicity, and not in the multiplicity and confusion of things.
—Isaac Newton
“You need to eat, Rosalin,” Ela cajoled, to which I ducked and buried my head beneath the counterpane, which smelled distinctly sour.
“And leave this bedchamber before it starts stinking of bed piss like a sick room,” Zia added, wrinkling her nose as if the odor was more pervasive than just on my bedding.
“Zia!” Ela chastised, which I also would have done if I had the will to care. Ela lifted a bowl of broth that one of the maids handed her, the smell of it making me feel instantly nauseated. “Please, Rosalin. Just a spoonful or two, and I promise we will leave you alone.”
“I’m not hungry,” I said.
“She hasn’t eaten a proper meal in days,” Anna said, her low voice missing its usual caustic edge. One would think she’d be furious now with my apathy, but she only sounded worried. “That’s why I sent the message to you.”
It had been a week or two—perhaps more—since the ill-fated ball that had ruined my life.
I hadn’t taken to my bed in a fit of self-pity, but the despair I had felt had been unimaginable to bear.
I wanted to sleep it away like Little Snow-White in the fairy tales Tarik so esteemed.
But perhaps that was a bit melodramatic.
Admitting to my best friends that I had schemed and lied had felt unconscionable. After I’d done it, I hadn’t been able to look any of them in the eye. And so, I’d hidden like a coward and refused to see anyone, until Anna sounded the alarm.
“You need to wash, Rosalin,” Zia said. “You smell like ten-day-old stockings sitting upon a round of moldy cheese left in the sun.”
God, she was histrionic—and obsessed with old cheese and smelly stockings.
I seemed to recall an old duke suitor of hers whom she’d described similarly.
Come to think of it, that also sounded exactly like my moldy old suitor, the Duke of Bentley.
Did all old dukes smell like stockings and cheese?
I bit back a ragged laugh. Was that now in my future?
I’d take the prepubescent nose-picker himself, Renton, over him in a heartbeat.
Too bad I didn’t want either of them.
When Zia cleared her throat expectantly, the slightest twinge of shame rolled through me.
I honestly could not remember the last time I’d left the bed, much less to bathe properly.
Ducking my head to my armpit, I sniffed cautiously and grimaced.
She wasn’t wrong. Not exactly moldy cheese-stockings but not fresh roses either.
“Will you termagants leave if I promise to have a bath?” I muttered, peeking over the bedclothes with a shamefaced scowl.
“And eat a meal,” Ela added. “A full one, not just a nibble or two.”
I huffed a breath and regretted that, too. I’d have to give my teeth a good scrubbing as well. Nothing like falling apart on the inside to mirror it on the outside. “Fine.”
“And we will wait right here to make sure that you hold up your end of the bargain,” Zia said firmly.
“We know all the tricks in the book.” She peered at my head.
“And wash your hair! It looks like a deranged rodent made a nest on the top of your head. And no boy, I repeat, no boy is worth weeping over to the point that you have snot trails crusting your cheeks.”
My hands flew to my face, and finding only smooth, uncrusted skin, I let out a curse. “You’re the worst!”
I turned in my bed to meet those glacial amber eyes that glittered in an unsmiling countenance.
Zia scrutinized me and placed her hands on her hips.
She was a force to be reckoned with on a regular day.
Today, she embodied a cyclone bearing down on me without remorse or mercy.
I was too tired to argue, but the truth was I’d grown sick of my own company.
Gingerly, I hobbled out of bed while Ela and Zia made themselves comfortable in the small sitting salon adjacent to my private chambers, and I glowered at Anna. “Turncoat.”
Anna’s smile was spare as she led me into the bathing chamber to the steaming bath.
“Turncoat or not, my lady, you needed help. I was worried that your deep, incurable melancholy would send you to the lunatic asylum for hysteria, but then I realized I would never be so lucky to finally be rid of you.” She sniffed dramatically.
“You love me,” I said.
For once, she had no scathing retort, which made me falter. “And you should be glad I do, my lady. Anyone else would have left you to rot in your own putrescence.”
I let out a horrified giggle. That was an impressive word choice, but it did not surprise me.
Anna also loved to read, though her tastes ran to novels and verse instead of textbooks.
For a second, I wondered if, like me, she’d had any dreams of education beyond becoming a lady’s maid.
She was obsessed with poems and usually carried around a notebook that she scribbled in.
Maybe when Tarik finished his club, a woman like her might be welcomed for poetry discussions.
My heart clenched at the thought of him. He hated me—not just for lying to him but for ruining his chance to secure investors for his own social club. My already-swollen eyes stung, the pressure behind the bridge of my nose building. Deuce it, I was done crying!
Don’t think about him.
I inhaled a handful of bolstering breaths as I stepped into the soothing, warm rose-and-vanilla scented water.
With a sigh, I leaned back as Anna washed my greasy hair, combing through the tangles with a gentle hand.
She might be frustrated with me and have an unnaturally sharp tongue, but she was never cruel.
“There, doesn’t that feel better?” she asked, after she’d lathered my locks and rinsed them clean. “Now let’s get you up and moving. I told Cook to make your favorite steamed buns.”
The thought of food, for once, didn’t make my stomach roll. Instead, it rumbled.
After I dressed in a soft navy day gown, with my hair left loose over my shoulders to dry, I joined my friends in the antechamber. Zia was in the process of stuffing an entire steamed bun into her mouth, practically moaning at the flavor of the sweet pork filling.
“Those are mine,” I said petulantly.
She rolled her eyes. “Thought you were on a hunger strike, which means these are for public consumption.”
“Don’t make me fight you, Zia,” I warned, having had enough of her incessant needling.
She grinned. “You want to fight me?”
“If you steal my food, I am going to have to teach you a lesson,” I threatened. “You’re not the only one who has been learning things in secret.”
“There she is,” Zia crooned. “I was wondering where our friend had gone, cowering and hiding in her room like a little mouse when Ela and I both know you are anything but, even if you play the part of the demure, obedient lady so exceptionally well.”
I knew why she was goading me, of course.
She wanted to make me vexed enough to feel something more than numbness.
Perhaps she understood more than she was letting on.
Both she and Ela had had their share of tribulations, especially when it came to the gentlemen they chose.
But sadly, it wasn’t the same. There was no way Tarik would ever forgive or trust me again.
Heavy of heart, I approached my friends and sat in one of the plush armchairs, reaching for a plump bao and tucking my knees beneath me. “I wasn’t cowering. I was…”
“Hurting,” Ela said softly. “I understand that all too well. Our circumstances are somewhat similar. When I thought I’d lost Keston by pretending to be Lyra, I felt helpless.
” She exhaled roughly as if the thought of what had nearly come to pass was much too painful to remember.
“But you’re stronger than you know, Rosalin. We all are.”
“I’m not as strong as the two of you,” I murmured.
“You both won the loves of your lives. Rafi turned out to be the rock you needed, Zia, and Keston loved you enough to forgive you, Ela, because deep down, he always knew who you truly were. You both have your happy endings while I’ll probably be betrothed to Bentley or Renton within the month.
” I couldn’t keep the morose expression from my face. “And Tarik hates me.”
The sound of his name on my lips felt like knives through my chest.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Zia asked.
There was nothing on earth that would make me want to talk about him, and yet, I knew I should.
Somehow, I had to purge all the chaotic feelings that were rioting inside me, and who better to tell than my friends?
They were here for me, not because they had nothing better to do.
I opened my mouth, just as my bedchamber door crashed open.
“You better be decently attired,” Blake drawled, right before walking in like he owned the place. My cousin followed on his heels with an exasperated look.
“Honestly, we all know he’s an uncouth boor,” Ansel said by way of apology.
Blake grinned and sprawled on the sofa, kicking one leg out and immediately stuffing a whole bun into his mouth.
“Mmm, so good. Can we get more of these? Where’s my darling Anna?
Can we have Cook make some more?” he called out.
“I know you’re lurking in here somewhere, protecting the questionable virtue of this degenerate pretender! ”
Anna appeared, thank goodness, though she went pink at Blake’s overly flirtatious gaze. Lord, was no one safe? Anna was betrothed to Henry for goodness’ sake. She still shot Blake a smile and practically skipped off to do his bidding.
I scowled at my friend. “Not everyone is like you, you libertine! And my virtue is decidedly unquestionable, thank you very much.”
He snorted. “Oh? Then why was a certain gentleman looking at you as if he wanted to devour you whole in the arbor…as if said virtue was hanging on by the skin of its teeth?”
I blushed, my cheeks heating. “You are truly a wretch! There was no devouring. Or skin or teeth. Or any of it!”