9. Nora
9
Nora
S leep clearly wished to evade me. Hours before I should have been awake, I laid in bed, pain radiating through my back and shoulders from scrubbing that damn floor. It might have ebbed if Caine hadn’t continuously made me clean every spill in the same fashion throughout the duration of the night. How any of the patrons in that bar actually managed to get enough booze down their gullets to get drunk must have been magic because I swore majority ended up on the floor.
When I finally called it quits on trying to rest, I prepared myself a scalding hot bath. The water tinged my beige skin pink wherever it touched, instantly melting away my aches. Whirls of steam danced in my vision, sending warm, relaxing air through my nose into my lungs. The face cloth fell over my eyes with a wet slap. I let the heat liquify my muscles, dissolving every strain that plagued me. Once the steam dissipated, I dunked myself under and thoroughly cleansed my entire body.
The tavern closed for two days out of the week, and I’d be damned if I’d leave any hint of lingering scent from that place. Once I was certain I’d rid myself of The Tankard’s filth, my hands gripped the cold porcelain, but before I hauled myself out, my vision caught on the tiny purple glass jar that sat with the oils and soaps. Lavender and blackberry oil.
My mother had been a talented glassblower who created much more intricate designs than this simple bottle. When she attended sessions at the studio, I’d sit in the corner and work on my academics. Most adults wouldn’t consider bringing a child into that delicate, fragile environment, but the bond we had was special. She was special. I saw it in the way others interacted with her, the way she always had a smile and kind word to say.
She’d talk me through the process of her creations, teaching me lessons I didn’t realize I’d carry in my heart so many years later. Like how something as solid as glass, when put under the right pressure, the right heat, can bend and mold and adapt. Or how once something shatters, those cracks will always be a vulnerable place once put back together.
If it can be put back together.
In those weeks following my father’s death, hiding away in my isolated room, I’d decided to fortify all my broken pieces. I never wanted those weak spots to break me again. The glass heart my mother made that sat on my desk served as a reminder that there was good in the world. I tried to remember that every time I looked at it, when I studied its lovingly molded curves and smooth, shiny sides. That’d been a hard lesson to remember, given my circumstances.
Once I toweled off, the sound of a horse and carriage pulling up to the house drew my attention. Peering out the attic window to the street below, Mr. Pepins emerged, an enormous bouquet of yellows and reds in hand. Melody wasted no time threading her perfectly poised arm through his as he escorted her to the carriage. Kenzie trotted behind.
Being alone would be improper, and though Kenzie brought as much delight as rotten meat, I was glad for her presence with them. Mr. Pepins would find it difficult to cross any inappropriate boundaries with Kenzie’s vulture-like stare.
I went to take a step back when I faltered. A recognizable blue overcoat and black top hat strode into view.
Hamish Caine.
My empty stomach churned its hot acid. I thought it would take hours to cool down after that bath, but an eerie chill ate through my bones. Perhaps he would walk on by, simply on his way to the markets. My teeth threatened to break the skin of my bottom lip. Any hope I held died the moment he breached the first step.
My blood turned into icy fire as my thoughts whirred and sweat broke across my freshly cleansed skin. I'd followed his orders exactly last night. There hadn’t been a time he’d caught me slacking or taking any breaks. I knew that for a fact, since I’d made sure to bust my ass the entire shift. Except for when I’d tried eavesdropping.
“Shit,” I hissed and then frantically tossed open my armoire doors, yanking the closest of my limited outfits off the hanger to throw on.
Dull repetition from his knock at the front door made my heart canter.
No, no, no. What the hell does he want?!
Last he’d sullied this house a couple years ago, Eucinda had become his victim. He hadn’t even raised his voice, and I hadn’t known anything had been wrong until I’d heard the crack of his slap against her cheek. She’d fallen to the floor by the time I rushed in, and he leisurely crouched beside her, whispering gods knew what.
He’d addressed me with a smile, as if a woman didn’t lay injured by his hand. Then he tipped that pompous black hat and walked out as if a pleasant evening of tea had concluded.
Helping her had been instinct, and a mistake. She’d tossed insults my way and transferred the hit she’d taken to me. It was after that incident that half the furniture in the house disappeared, and my shifts became full-time.
With the memory came the tang of terror I felt as viscerally as if it were yesterday. I highly doubted he’d come to bless us with anything good. I hopped on one leg, trying to put on my pants in record time. As much as I didn’t want to see him, making him wait wouldn’t bode well either. Despite Eucinda being a wretched woman, I didn’t want her to take the brunt of something I’d caused.
I cinched the drawstring on my oversized pants, wearing a matching shirt akin to a potato sack. Melody and Kenzie didn’t own anything even remotely similar, and maybe it’d bother me if not for the fact that I’d rather resemble a bag of potatoes than wear a lacey monstrosity of a dress. My long, thin black hair dampened the neck of the shirt, but I had no time to fix it when Eucinda beckoned me.
Squeezing my hands into fists, I blew out a steadying breath and quickly made my way downstairs. Caine and Eucinda appeared in the foyer the moment I rounded the top of the staircase.
“Ah, there’s my girl,” he crooned with a crooked smile.
Eucinda’s glare sent daggers my way through a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I trust she’s serving you well.” A pointed statement, edged as a freshly sharpened razor.
“Indeed. Please.” He gestured toward the sickly looking sitting room, an invitation for us both to join him in our home.
“Of course.” Eucinda dipped and angled her face for me to follow.
Caine stood, hat tucked under his arm, a black gloved hand extended for me to follow my stepmother. Survival forced a smile to flash on my face and I kept my head down as I obeyed his request.
The weightlessness at my side was disconcerting. Two women alone in a big house with a notoriously dangerous man. I had no protection on me, left to the mercy of a hopefully diplomatic meeting.
Part of me wished I’d removed the false bottom in the armoire and donned my black uniform. Kicking his ass would be so satisfying.
My thoughts drifted to my daggers, but only upon reflection did I realize I’d only returned one with my night clothes. When was the last time I’d even held, or seen the other? I briefly glanced down and confirmed I did in fact have clothes on, the lack of weaponry making me feel utterly naked.
I stood next to Eucinda. Her hands were tightly fastened together in front of her. She chose to stand rather than suffer the embarrassment of pulling back the white sheet that covered the only remaining sofa behind us. Caine, on the other hand, held no qualms seating himself in the lone chair that used to belong to a matching set. Dust swarmed into a tidal wave when he sat, resting his ankle over his knee like he owned the place.
Technically, he did.
“I have a proposal,” he said, dominating the room with the boom of his voice.
Somehow, my skin felt slimy. When he didn’t immediately offer an explanation, I started drowning in a sea of tumultuous thoughts. Did he mean an actual proposal? He wasn’t married. Did he mean Eucinda, or me? Maybe one of my sisters? Or maybe the term was just a ploy, a figment to make it sound like we had a choice in whatever he came here to discuss—or dictate. Or maybe he’d come to finally make good on his threats and we’d be calling the streets home by evening.
“Oh?” Eucinda raised her chin, her stoney features unmoving.
“I have a way to absolve your family of the debt. In its entirety.” His wicked smile lingered, even as he took a casual position pressing his fingers into his temple and resting his chin on his thumb.
I didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t dare breathe a single breath.
“We’re not interested in trading one debt for another,” Eucinda replied stiffly.
He sat forward, waving a dismissive hand. “Not a trade. Not another debt. A final payment that will conclude our business together. You may receive the deed to your home, and Nora will no longer be needed at the tavern.”
My mind emptied. Eucinda’s face didn’t budge, but her tight inhale gave away her desperation. My father used to say, if something seemed too good to be true, it was. I didn’t even know his suggestion, and I mentally prepared to figure out his angle. No arrangement would mean we gained more than he did.
“In two days, the prince will invite every eligible young woman from the south side to a luncheon. The opening ceremonies of the marriage competition, if you will.”
My eyebrows pinched together, but I refrained from speaking.
“In this very house alone…” he motioned around the room. “There are three eligible bachelorettes.”
Hot bile branded the back of my throat. Eucinda perked up at the suggestion one of her daughters could be the next queen.
“Simply ensure one of your daughters secures the crown, send the lump sum payment before the marriage, and our business is concluded.” He flicked a speck of invisible dust from the shoulder of his jacket and returned his too casual gaze. As if he hadn’t just suggested something ludicrous and, frankly, disgusting.
“There are a lot of young women vying for the prince’s affection,” Eucinda said, carefully gauging the consequences of failure. I was curious about that, too.
He groaned as he stood, then held perfect posture standing directly before us. “It’d be a shame if I had to sell this house to recoup my losses.” His austere stare never wavered.
Things must be getting dire for him if he suddenly needed to cash out his investment. The light reflecting off his soulless eyes drove the point home. He didn’t care if we were put on the streets.
“Good day, ladies.” He placed his hat atop his head and tipped the rim in our direction, then saw himself out. The door closed, leaving Eucinda and me to stew in his wake.
Melody stood a chance, but my thoughts turned to her current prospect. Though I didn’t necessarily wish him for her, if she decided to partake in the search for a queen, surely Mr. Pepins would take offense. That, or propose to take her off the market. Would she be willing to risk it?
Kenzie didn’t stand a chance. Her attitude resembled that of a soured grape or prickly pineapple. Beautiful girl as she was at freshly twenty, she’d need to be coached on keeping her mouth shut and her vile, judgmental opinions to herself.
Thankfully, I was too old. Caine must not have realized, unable to see past the dollar signs in his eyes. And since Eucinda wouldn’t miss the chance to be the girls chauffeur so she could attend the glitzy soirees, I could avoid the entire charade altogether. For the best. The thought of surrounding myself with people who only cared about their own exorbitant amount of wealth and status made my skin crawl.
And subjecting myself to any sort of interaction with the prince? I’d end up in the castle dungeons, and he with a broken nose and two matching black eyes. Maybe they’d go nicely with the kingdom blue he was sure to adorn for every event.
I silently retreated to my room, keeping my steps muted. After climbing the first few stairs, Eucinda said, “Don’t tell the girls about this. They needn’t know the weight of the matter.”
“Yes, Ma'am,” I answered and continued upstairs.