Chapter Thirty-One
Something Blue
I am waiting in the garden.
The grass is soft beneath my shoes, though the moisture soaks through the satin of my slippers.
I must be quite a sight, dressed in my tailored wedding gown; white silk with mother-of-pearl beading along the bodice and a train that stretches behind for what feels like an eternity.
My traveling case sits beside me, packed with everything I could carry without raising suspicion.
Today is the day. Tommy and I are running away together before I become Alister’s wife.
Noon approaches, and I have to remind myself to take a breath. I’m overcome with nerves. My corset is too tight, the veil keeps slipping, and my fingers are numb with cold despite the mild weather.
Tommy will come; he promised. We will run away together, start a new life, and leave all of this behind—the manor, the expectations, the engagement to a man I do not love.
I smooth my dress for what feels like the thousandth time and check the path where Tommy said he would meet me.
Any moment now.
Any moment, I will see him appear through the trees, that crooked smile on his face, those hazel eyes full of mischief and devotion in equal measure. He will take my hand, and we will run, and nothing else will matter because we will be together, and we’ll be free.
My heart races as my eyes scan through the trees, trying to glimpse the clock tower in the center of town. Just ten minutes remain.
I smooth my dress again while glancing at the path once more.
Footsteps.
My heart leaps.
I turn toward the sound, already smiling, already reaching—
But it is not Tommy who emerges from the trees.
It is Alister.
My fiancé. The man I am supposed to marry this afternoon. The man I came to this very garden to flee.
He walks toward me slowly, deliberately, his expression unreadable in a way that makes my stomach turn to ice.
“Madeleine,” he says. Just my name. Nothing more. The way he says it causes my skin to crawl.
“What are you doing here?” My words come out sharp and panicked. I instinctively move away from him, positioning myself between him and my traveling case. “You should not see me before the ceremony. I-it is bad luck.”
“Superstition,” he says dismissively. “The province of the weak-minded.”
He takes another step closer.
“I’m afraid luck has already turned rather poor, my dear.” He stops a few feet away, close enough that I can see the satisfaction lurking behind his carefully neutral expression. “I’ve come to deliver unfortunate news about your blacksmith boy.”
The world tilts.
“What have you done?” I whisper, and I already know. Somehow, I already know.
“I?” He places a hand over his heart in mock innocence. “I have done nothing. It is Thomas who has acted most grievously. He has been arrested, you see. For murder.”
“No.” The word barely makes it past my lips. My legs feel weak, and I reach out to steady myself against my case. “No, that is impossible. Thomas would never—”
“And yet the magistrate has quite conclusive evidence. A witness and stolen property found in his possession.” Alister’s smile is knife-sharp now.
“He will hang, I expect. Or rot in prison for the remainder of his miserable days. Either way”—he steps closer, too close—“he will not be meeting you here. Not today. Not ever.”
“You did this.” I am shaking now, rage and grief and terror warring inside my chest. “You arranged this. You planted evidence. You—”
“I protected what is mine,” Alister interrupts, his voice gone cold. “And you, Madeleine, are mine. Best remember that. Now”—he offers his arm as though we were walking into a ballroom together—“shall we return to the manor? You have a wedding to attend.”
“I will not marry you.” The words tear from my throat. “I will never—Tommy—THOMAS!” I scream his name into the garden, into the trees, into the empty air where he should be emerging. Where he promised he would be. “THOMAS!”
But he does not come.
He is not coming.
He will never come.
And I am alone in the clearing with a monster wearing a gentleman’s face.
“TOMMY!”
The Bliss
“TOMMY!”
The sound rips from me, raw, desperate and entirely inappropriate for the peaceful confines of my small cottage in The Bliss.
I sit upright in bed, terrified. I bring my hand to my neck, as if I can feel the burning coursing down my throat from the outside. My chest aches, and my hand does nothing to soothe it; it only trembles. My entire body shakes.
A nightmare.
I have never had a nightmare before—not since arriving in The Bliss. Nightmares do not exist here, only pleasant dreams or peaceful nothingness.
Yet I can still see it. I can still feel the garden under my shoes, the anxious waiting, Alister’s cruel satisfaction, and the knowledge that Thomas was not coming, would never come. The knowledge that had been taken from me by design rather than fate.
I press my palms against my eyes, trying to calm my racing thoughts and restore the pleasant equilibrium that has defined every morning since I can remember.
But nothing works. Everything is coming undone.