Chapter 16
XVI
EDEN
The house smells like roses.
Too many roses. It’s never been like this before.
Fresh bouquets in every hallway, every vase—overstuffed arrangements that choke the air with sweetness, as if someone were trying to cover up something rotting beneath the floorboards, to overpower the scent of decay seeping from the walls.
When I stepped out of the Range Rover and the majordomo met me at the door, I almost didn’t recognize the house.
In the time I had been away, the whole place had seemingly been renovated.
As terrible as my mother is, homemaking seems to be her only skill.
It still has its old world charm, just polished for the twenty-first century.
The granite facades have been cleaned and repaired, and though the balustrades, cornices and wainscoting have clearly been changed—it looks just like the original, just newer. Furniture has been upholstered with velvet and silks, the chandeliers new and bigger.
None of it surprises me really.
My mother gets like this when she’s bored.
And for a moment, I figured she occupied this because she missed me.
“We’re pleased to have you back home, Young Miss Eden,” Miss Durell says, guiding me through the house as if I don’t know my way around. “Viscountess Lockhart is over the moon with your impending nuptials, working tirelessly to ensure that everything is perfect.
Even though the footmen trail behind us carrying my luggage, her words make me feel like the weight of all those suitcases are on my shoulders—impending nuptials.
“The Viscountess has arranged a room for you in the east wing.”
My steps falter. “Why would I need another room? I can just use mine.” Of course, the east wing is where everyone else in the house lives—mother, father and my brothers. I was always relegated to the west wing. Over time, being alone there gave me a sense of solace.
“The Viscountess had your room renovated.” Miss Durell doesn’t even spare me a glance.
I give her a questioning look. “What do you mean?”
“It is now an additional storage closet for her growing collection of shoes,” she says, chipper as ever, as if she doesn’t just admit that my mother turned my room into a shoe closet the moment I left.
Miss Durell clasps her hands together. “Now, let’s not waste anymore time.
We have many preparations to make for your engagement party tonight. ”
I take a deep breath.
Even though my mother sent me to a school, apparently getting married matters more than my education. Here I am in London, on a Saturday morning, when I should be studying for my upcoming end-of-term exams, to prepare for my engagement party.
Afterwards, I’m expected to return to school by Sunday evening.
Just lovely.
Though the house is bustling with activity, I’ve yet to encounter a member of my family. The boys usually have polo practice on Saturday mornings, and it seems like my father may have accompanied them.
The closer we get to the east wing, the more my heart rate picks up. When we get to the hallway that leads to the rooms, Miss Durell spins on her heels. She’s a slight woman, shorter than me, with ash-colored hair swept into a severe bun. She smiles, the skin by her eyes crinkling.
“The Viscountess awaits you in the Lavender Room.”
Then she disappears.
The Lavender Room—so named because of the color scheme and because of a past Viscountess Lockhart’s love of the plant—is one of the coveted guest rooms at the estate.
The only people who have stayed in this room are my father’s parents, other royalty and heads of state, including a few Prime Ministers.
But it’s not my room.
I can’t help but be skeptical of my mother. She’s given me one of the best rooms for my brief stay here, but has turned the room that was once mine into another one of her closets. I want to ask her why, if it means she’s already moved me out of the house in her mind.
Yet I stay quiet as I hear a familiar gate.
Click. Click. Click.
Her heels echo against the well-polished floor in a perfect rhythm. She turns the corner and the moment her eyes land on me, she smiles.
That’s new.
As usual her makeup is light and impeccable, hair is styled elegantly. No flyaways, the plaits wrapped into her bun perfectly symmetrical. She wears a flowy Max Mara dress and her only piece of jewelry today is her emerald and diamond wedding set.
“Darling!” she chirps, arms open as she floats over to me. “You’re finally home.”
Before I can even process what’s happening, she’s wrapped around me. She kisses my cheek and smooths my hair. I’m so shocked I barely feel the sting of the bruises when she touches me. All I can think of is all the times I wanted this as a little girl.
A hug.
A kiss.
Her love.
“I’ve missed you,” she whispers, lingering in the hug.
When she pulls back to look at me, hands still gripping my arms like she’s afraid I’ll vanish, I see something close to admiration in her watercolor eyes. They shine like she’s proud of me, like I’m a frog turned princess.
I guess that’s what I am after all.
I only became valuable to her after finding my Prince, well, Duke Charming.
“You look divine, my love.”
A smile finds my face. I hope it looks genuine.
Miss Durell leads the footmen to the Lavender Room, while my mother hooks her hand in mine and starts leading me elsewhere in the house. She peppers the walk with casual conversation about my flight over, how my studies have been. Everything she’s never asked me before.
We end up in one of the drawing rooms.
Tea waits on the table in bone china—the delicate centuries old set that we only use for esteemed guests. She pours me a cup without asking if I want any. Two cubes of sugar, just how I like it—I didn’t know she knew that.
When she hands it to me, I let it sit, watching the steam fade.
Then my mother really starts talking.
The florists. The cathedral. The star-studded guest list. She’s in rapture over it all. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her this happy. It’s like a fairytale coming true.
“My daughter,” she beams. “The future Duchess of Surrey.”
The title hits like ice water.
I smile because that’s what’s expected of me. But my body still hurts from my future husband’s “love” and it makes me nauseous. I take a sip of the tea then, hoping it will steady me, but it goes down like glass.
“Remember I need the details about your bridesmaids,” she says, over her steaming cup of tea. “We’ve invited the Wilson-Sings and the Malones. Araminta and Audrey attended Spearcrest with you, didn’t they? I’m sure they’d love to be a part of the wedding of the century.”
There’s a stone in my chest
Yes, I know Araminta Wilson-Sing and Audrey Malone, they were two of the sweetest girls at the school—the ones who didn’t think I was awkward.
Spearcrest was quite a strange experience for me.
I had all the money and connections to put me at the top of the school’s social hierarchy. But never the personality.
Still, it seems like I have no choice but to reach out to them.
Hopefully they won’t find it too strange and actually agree to do it.
“I think Eleanor, Araminta and Audrey will work.”
My mother pauses mid-sip. “I suppose I shall send Eleanor’s family an invitation, then.”
“You didn’t invite her?” My jaw slackens.
She brushes me off. “Oh, don’t get too upset.
The cathedral only seats about six-hundred.
It’s been quite the feat to invite everyone who should be there.
” She sets her tea down. “Eleanor and her family will be there, I promise.” She gives me a saccharine smile.
“Please reach out to them in the next 48 hours, so that when I contact them in three days they’re not taken off guard by my requests. ”
I nod.
We drink the rest of our tea, mostly in silence. I talk about Literature class but leave out Lucian. I don’t linger on Vivienne’s death, only that my new roommate is of “poor breeding.” I even mention how Silas and I took a romantic trip into town.
That particular lie felt like needles on my tongue.
She claps her hands as soon as we’re both finished. Housekeepers materialize to clear the table while my mother stands and smooths out her dress.
“Come, come, Eden. Upstairs now,” she says with another grin that unnerves me.
I’ve spent my entire life watching this woman scowl at me.
A smile from her feels out of place, almost predatory.
But I try to calm the anxiety snaking up my back and accept her love.
“Hair and makeup are waiting. I was able to snag Carine Fleu on short notice. She did the last Met Gala. You’ll be the most photographed woman there, so we have to make sure that you look impeccable. ”
I nod and rise.
As I turn, her hand brushes my collarbone.
I flinch. She freezes.
“What’s this?” Her voice falls flat.
I know what she sees. The faint bloom of a bruise—barely there now, but still a shadow on my skin. A souvenir from Silas. From a night where I said the wrong thing in the wrong tone.
She pokes it. I flinch again.
Her eyes don’t narrow. She doesn’t scold. She just looks.
I hold my breath as I imagine her telling me that what he’s doing to me isn’t right. That I shouldn’t get married to him if this is how he’s going to treat me—that she’ll protect me from him, because she doesn’t want to lose her only daughter to his violence.
But she only clicks her tongue and smooths my hair behind my ear.
“We’ll cover it,” she says. Calm and clinical, like it’s a stain on a dress. “No one needs to see something so unbecoming.”
No mention of how it got there.
No questions.
Just cover it.
Hide it beneath concealer and pressed powder.