Chapter 1
One
Stories I read as a child—happy ones filled with magic that had implanted dreams of grandeur—were simply not meant to be.
Childish dreams.
The seamstress tightened the atrocious garment’s bodice, nearly knocking me off the pedestal.
I glanced at the full-length mirror and suppressed a cough.
The dress, a ghastly shade of pink, fitted with capped sleeves and frills, was more of a napkin.
Gold trim accented the bodice, and the sleeves made it better if not for the giant bow between the skirt at the waist.
Mama stated this attire was all the rage in France, resembling the style of Marie Antoniette, but I wonder if it was to draw away from my pale glow.
Burning it seemed more appropriate for the occasion.
“Almost there!” the seamstress gritted through teeth as the last gasp from my lungs emerged from its murky depths.
Mama pressed a handkerchief to my palm, a solemn agreement of my condition.
I coughed precisely into the cloth, aware of the intense stares of the ladies of the ton at large.
One wrong move, and it was all over.
Without glancing at the crimson dotting the cloth, I folded it and placed it back into Mama’s hand.
“William is going to faint when he gets a look at you!” Miriam said as she took my hands.
I ran my thumb on the soft part of her inner wrist, cherishing my innocent sister’s thought. That our situation wasn’t dire. That there was more to it than the singular reason I was to be tied to him. That my dreams should be taken and not hers—never hers.
“I dare say that he is going to be one lucky man tomorrow!” She spun me around, much to the displeasure of the modiste forcing me to stare at our reflection.
Despite being sisters, we do not look much alike.
Miriam is like a golden flower with a heart-shaped face beautifully framed by long ashy-blonde hair and plump lips the color of a peony in bloom.
Blue eyes that shimmer under long lashes have most suitors trapped in her spell with a charming wink and a cheeky smile.
None of the suitors nor Mama understands the cunning side behind her looks.
Every detail of her appearance, from her dress to her heavy rouge, is an elaborate part of her master plan to get what she wants.
It was a sight to see and something I’d never replicate. Not since I became a means to an end. Her goals, wants, and needs had become my own since we found ourselves in such dire circumstances.
“Oh, Valeria, you look gorgeous! I’m so jealous.” She squeezed my shoulder, flashing me her award-winning smile, one that hid more than she’d ever let on.
Better you than me, her smile seemed to say.
Mama gripped her cane, accessing the modiste’s work. She nodded. “Better than the dark clothing you seem to wear. Brings out your eyes, darling.”
Choking back a laugh, I was met with the stranger in the mirror, with her hair in neatly pinned curls, strands falling into sad dark-green eyes.
They held the weight of dreams, tired from the burden she carried.
They darted around the small shop and took in the stark pallor the sickness had exacerbated on her thinning frame.
Illness had taken much of my innocence, leaving her round face sunken.
The woman in the reflection was a walking corpse.
I forced my glance away.
I won’t last the year.
The modiste flitted around the shop, gathering materials and fussing with last-minute touches. “There, miss. Although I can’t say this is my finest work, it should do for your special day.”
I turned to Mama, her stern expression unreadable in the tight wrinkles of age that had taken much of her youth in the past year after Father’s passing given light of our situation.
A tragic story, really. A devastating one if the ladies of the ton found out.
Once upon a time, Boris McCallister was a man of dubious virtue. He had a successful career in managing properties and investing in the newest wonder taking the world by storm.
He married Julia Dryer, a woman from another wealthy family, and had two beautiful daughters. All seemed well as his wealth and success grew exponentially.
But a virtuous man is not without his folly.
Five years ago, Boris had taken to the bottle, much to the surprise and displeasure of his wife, while gambling away their fortunes in the dens so few knew.
Further and further, he spiraled into the darkness, which was a complete mystery to his family.
Little did they know, his sins would multiply in the form of a bastard and a mistress whose husband was less than pleased by the affair.
The more he drank, the more debt accumulated, and the more desperate he grew to hide it from his family.
Until it was too late.
Father had caught consumption at the beginning of the last year, wasting away quickly with the help of the alcohol permeating his study in his final moments. He often did not leave that room, insisting it would be his tomb. Many a night, I wandered the halls, too sleepless to stay in bed.
Outside of the study one night, I was not the only lonely soul.
Behind the door, Father was muttering to himself the old prayers similar to the ones I’d heard in church in languages from my studies.
Each line he spoke sounded with such fervor and felt as if the man was afraid for his soul as much as he was of death.
Before summer’s breath, he was gone. He left us with debt miles high, a scandal to suppress, and the illness that took him.
The illness that ravaged me.
“Chin up, Valeria. People are watching,” Mama whispered, peering over at another young lady getting fitted for her first season. She adjusted the stray hairs falling from the hazard pins, clumps of black hair curled around her fingers. “We must be on our way.”
The streets of Endovior were alive and well, with people bustling past us as we made our way to a local tea shop. The sun beamed, the afternoon heat stifling as Mama hastened our pace, flying past ladies and gentlemen darting out of her way.
I clung to Miriam, looping our arms as one as we walked together in swishing skirts.
She hummed a tune, one I had not heard in some years, a sweet lulling melody she’d pluck on her harp.
During simpler times.
I lost myself in the sweet tune, using her more as a crutch than I’d like to admit as the familiar constrict in my chest worsened.
The city’s squalor was extra pungent that day in the heat of summer.
I refrained from shielding my nose from the odor and stood closer to Miriam, inhaling her cinnamon perfume.
A large shadow barreled toward us, quick and inhumane, skirting the edge of the crowd and against my peripheral. Black dots floated in my vision, chest heaving as I struggled to keep upright. The silhouette draped in darkness slammed into my shoulder, knocking me off my feet.
I stumbled backward into the man, holding on for dear life and using his trench coat as leverage.
Arms shifted around me before I hit the ground. I felt lightheaded, the crowd blurring around us as the brightness of the day adjusted to the shadow beside me.
I gazed upward to find gold orbs fixed in surprise. Shadows from his hat played against tan skin beneath a mask.
It struck me as odd.
Righting myself, I fluffed out my skirt and ensured my purse had not been open before huffing, “Thanks.”
I huddled near Miriam, attempting to keep my distance from this man. He was overly dressed for the hot summer weather, covered head to toe in a long black draping coat and a top hat shielding him from scrutiny.
I scowled, rubbing my sternum to ease a cough bubbling to the surface.
“I’m sorry, miss,” the stranger said, their voice coming out more like a growl.
A long wisp the color of moonlight poked out from under his hat as he tipped his hat in greeting and disappeared into the crowd.
“What an odd fellow,” Miriam commented. “It’s far too warm to be wearing black. He might faint.”
I looped my arm in hers, dismissing the encounter. “Come now. I’m sure Mama is furious that we didn’t keep up.”
When we’d reached the tea shop, I labored in my corset, the swell of my breast heavy as the tightening in my chest threatened to combust my lungs.
It took all my willpower not to double over onto the cobblestone.
Mama scowled, handing me the handkerchief.
“We’ll get you some herbal tea, but I need you to be careful around these ladies.
They are the in of high society, and under no circumstances are we to show them any weakness.
” Mama leaned in close, her stray gray hairs tickling my nose as she menacingly whispered, “They are not to know that you are sick. If they know, then it is all over.”
She pulled away, a smile replacing her scowl. “Shall we?”
“My,” Georgia drawled, “you are lovely. William will have his socks knocked off the moment he sees you.” She took up the dainty teacup up to her lips, sipping in that drawn-out manner I’d often see in high society.
Her movements were precise and flawless, not a hair or straying glance as she lowered her cup and gave a false smile.
“Although her countenance is quite drawn. Julia, is she well?” Charlotte quipped, her blonde curls bouncing in time to her tapping foot.
Charlotte was young, younger than Georgia and possibly myself. Much of the gossip had pinned her marriage at the very first season she was out.
She had a childlike demure about her many ladies lose well before they are placed on the marriage mart. Her round face and eyes did not help draw her away from the childlike wonder despite a diamond stud on her gloved hand.
Mama smiled. “Oh, heavens no. She is very particular in her diet and has a marvelous skin routine.”
Their heads turned in my direction.
I attempted a smile. “Yes. Although the way that you talk, I am more like the vampire of old these days. Who knows, I may be back from the dead soon enough to haunt Endovier.”
Mama’s stern glare sent a message.
I had crossed the line.
Her gray eyebrow twitched as she rearranged her face back into the placid smile hiding our sins.
The other ladies seemed startled by my answer, their delicate features tense and uncertain while hiding their shock by drowning themselves in tea.
My own tea remained untouched along with the sweets on the platter nearby.
Miriam howled in laughter, “When did you get so funny, sister?”
“William will have his hands full,” Gloria said. “Has she met my son yet?”
Son.
I messed with the piece of lace underneath the table.
Much of my engagement was arranged with a string of connections I did not understand.
Mama was the one to arrange it with the Sharpes, but even then, I was never privy to their conversations.
The quickness of it all disturbed me, as it kept reminding me that my life—my choices—were never my own.
It was just this morning I was informed I was to be married in a month to a man I never met.
The news came the same morning I was informed I wouldn’t last the season.
Gloria and my mother talked with Charlotte, adding her two cents in marriage advice, fiddling with the large diamond atop her finger.
Chatter kept the shop busy, teacups clinking against their porcelain friends, the lingering aroma of sweets and sandwiches curling in my senses.
I kept my gaze on the pathetic teacup sitting in front of me, unable to drink or eat as the tightness in my chest coiled. I feared if I partake, I’d ruin the ruse. I’d be the reason we are destitute and on the street. Not that I would live long enough to really see it to fruition.
Miriam grasped my hand from underneath the table and squeezed.
I’m still here.
Half-heartedly, I squeezed back.
“Dear,” Mama said. I snapped my attention back to the conversation. She sat her cup down, lips tight. “You haven’t had a sip or bite to eat.”
I grimaced.
Mama had especially ordered the tea to be the medication the doctor prescribed to ensure I was healthy enough for my wedding.
The lukewarm tea stared back at me mockingly, insisting its sustainability to my miserable life.
“I’m simply not hungry, Mama. Pre-wedding jitters.”
The lie formed upon my lips.
Gloria clasped her hands together. “Oh, sweetie, you have nothing to worry about. William will be a good man to you, I am assured.”
I nodded, if only to sound interested. “That is a relief to hear, madam.”
“You’ll be meeting him tomorrow at the Sharpe’s estate. It’s time that you both got acquainted with each other, seeing that you’ll be married.”
A shiver of dread pulsated through my body—the momentum in which everything around me was happening terribly too quickly.
The world spun, and the patrons in the shop all blurred together as I sat, languid limbs moving too slowly to catch up.
They all talked of the potential meeting with William Sharpe in his family home. Their voices faded away.
Even Miriam joined, exclaiming the thought of traveling outside of the city to find herself a love match. She slipped her hand out from mine to talk of things I’d never get to see for myself.
I silently cried out, I don’t want to die.