Chapter Twenty-Nine
When Mavis woke up the day of the ball to find Rafe gone again, she was mostly relieved.
She hoped he’d taken her advice and gotten far away from Garlin, but she knew him well enough that she struggled to ignore the seed of doubt growing roots in the pit of her stomach as she prepared for the day ahead.
Thaddeus was expecting his money tomorrow, but he’d been growing more and more impatient over the last few days, and she was beginning to doubt he would wait that long.
If Rafe hadn’t shown up yesterday, Mavis might have skipped the ball altogether and turned herself in to the police to keep Thaddeus from having the satisfaction, but since Mavis couldn’t be sure whether Rafe truly left Garlin or not, she knew she had to play her part a little longer, even if that meant suffering through Thaddeus’s company for one more night.
When Thaddeus’s carriage pulled to a stop in front of the Abalone and his footman handed Mavis inside, she barely had a chance to let her eyes adjust to the dim lighting before Thaddeus leaned toward her, gray eyes glassy and mouth twisted in a scowl.
“Do you have it?” he demanded, slurring his words.
Gods of Old, he was drunk already. It was going to be a long night.
“I told you, tomorrow.” Mavis struggled to ignore the thick stench of brandy on his breath.
“And I told you, I need it now.”
Mavis gritted her teeth. “Whatever debts you owe, they’ll wait another day,” she said coolly.
Thaddeus lunged toward her, hand raised, and Mavis flinched on instinct, but the blow never came. Instead, she opened her eyes to see him mere inches away from her, his balled-up fist a hair’s breadth from her cheekbone.
Mavis hated that she was afraid of him, at least here, alone in the dark with nothing but a small reticule to defend herself with. More than that, she hated that he saw her fear, that it gratified him. He smiled, letting his fist drop to his side as he slumped back against the carriage cushions.
“Do you think I’d hit you?” Thaddeus asked with a cruel laugh. “Please, I wouldn’t risk ruining my gloves—they say Lack blood is a stain.”
Mavis had to bite her tongue from pointing out that no one meant that literally—it was only a way of condemning the rare marriages between Lacks and Lusters by reminding people that those marriages never produced Luster children, thereby staining Luster legacies.
Metaphor, it seemed, was lost on Thaddeus Mayles.
Mavis glanced out the window, at the familiar streets whirling by. They were nearly to Gellis House, but she couldn’t bring herself to relax.
“I won’t have you speaking with Ryskamp tonight,” Thaddeus said after a moment, his voice tight. “I’m not sure which would be more mortifying—anyone finding out you’re Lack filth, or that you’ve been having an affair with him.”
Mavis swallowed the argument that rose on her tongue—it wasn’t worth giving Thaddeus the satisfaction of a quarrel. In truth, she’d have avoided Arden tonight anyway, and after the way they’d left things, she was sure he would be avoiding her too.
Thaddeus hadn’t mentioned his sister’s engagement, and there had been no word about it in the papers.
In fact, if Oriana herself hadn’t told Mavis she accepted Arden’s proposal, Mavis might have doubted it was real at all.
With any luck, Thaddeus wouldn’t find out about it until Mavis was safely behind bars, otherwise he would find some way to blame her for it.
“That won’t be an issue,” Mavis told him. “As I said before, he’s nothing to me.”
If the way Thaddeus’s lip curled was any indication, he didn’t believe her, but she didn’t particularly care what Thaddeus believed.
He might have been able to damn her, but Arden was a Luster, from an impeccable lineage, and now that he was his aunt’s heir and stood on the cusp of inheriting one of the largest estates in Garlin, even Thaddeus knew he couldn’t touch him without proof.
“No doubt he feels the same,” Thaddeus replied. “He knows what you are—good for a sordid romp on the beach, but nothing more than that.”
He meant the words to hurt her, but he failed. Once, she might have believed him, but she knew better now. She knew Arden, now. So she said nothing, merely smiled, and Thaddeus’s scowl deepened.
Before he could reply, the carriage pulled to a stop in front of Gellis House, and Thaddeus was forced to wrap up his hatred and rage and hide it behind a congenial mask. He stepped out of the carriage and offered her his arm, the very image of the perfect fiancé.
Yes, Mavis thought as she accepted it and stepped down, the cobalt blue silk gown trailing behind her like a summer sea. Prison is starting to sound quite nice indeed.
As soon as Mavis stepped into Philomena Gellis’s ballroom, she realized that avoiding Arden would be easier than she anticipated.
While he might have been hosting the night’s festivities with his aunt, the ballroom was packed so full of every member of Garlin Luster society that she saw no sign of him at all.
While most Luster balls were bright, glittering affairs with brilliant chandeliers and elegant, tasteful decor that, in Mavis’s opinion, often verged on boring, there was nothing remotely boring about the decor tonight.
The large room was done in shades of black, red, and violet, the effect moody and alluring, and even the musicians were adding to the atmosphere, the song they played somber and melodramatic—a far cry from the usual airy, cheery melodies so often played at events like this.
But then again, she’d never been to an event quite like this.
“How damned depressing,” Thaddeus muttered.
Apparently he saw no reason to restrain himself from cursing in her presence, though his language was by far the least offensive thing about him.
“We won’t be staying long—just to put in an appearance at my sister’s insistence.
Where is she? She should be here by now. ”
Thaddeus craned his head, looking around the room, but there was no sign of Oriana, and no sign of Arden either.
It was, however, all too easy to spot Philomena Gellis, even in the crush of the crowd.
While usually the hostess would greet guests as they came in, tonight, Mrs. Gellis sat elevated on a dais across the room from the musicians, reclining on a charcoal velvet roll-back chaise with a glass of champagne in one hand while a servant stood nearby, fluttering a black lace fan in her direction.
She was dressed in a deep-red gown the color of a summer cherry, the square neckline edged in black lace that framed a black diamond necklace so heavy Mavis was surprised the woman didn’t crumple under the weight of it.
Her first thought was that Mrs. Gellis looked well, not at all like a woman on the cusp of death—her cheeks flushed, her scarlet-painted lips curved into a catlike smile, her dark-blue eyes glittering as they took in the party unfurling at her feet—but the more Mavis looked at her, the more she saw the illusion peeling away at the corners: the shallow rise and fall of her chest, the pallid hue of her skin, and, most notably for Mrs. Gellis, the fact that she didn’t seem to be interested in taking a sip of her champagne at all.
Mavis was familiar with Mrs. Gellis’s morbid sense of humor, but even she hadn’t expected the woman to throw a ball in her final days that was so downright . . . well . . . funereal.
As soon as the thought slipped into her mind, she was horrified, but then a giggle rose in her throat, and she had to clap her free hand over her mouth to keep it from escaping.
“I need a drink.” Thaddeus extricated his arm from hers and cast his gaze toward the tower of filled champagne coupes at the center of the room.
If she had any interest in truly playing the part of the doting fiancée tonight, she might caution him that it seemed he’d already had too much, but instead she let him go, eager to be rid of his presence, even for a few short minutes.
Mavis milled through the room, content to simply take everything in, but while she told herself she wasn’t looking for Arden in the crowd, the knot in her stomach tightened with each minute that passed without seeing him. Where was he? Surely, he should be here, with his aunt—
Her thoughts were interrupted as the musicians fell silent and all attention shifted toward the dais, where the servant with the fan was now helping Philomena Gellis to her feet.
She leaned heavily on the man, the liquid in her champagne glass rippling as her hand trembled, but when she spoke, her voice was level and clear, loud enough to be heard throughout the grand ballroom.
“Good evening, my dear friends, and thank you for joining me tonight, especially on such short notice. As all of you surely know, my heart has decided to wage war against me, and while I like to believe I’ve fought valiantly, I know a battle lost when I see one.”
A murmur went through the crowd, but Mavis kept her eyes on Mrs. Gellis, and a moment later, the woman continued.
“Oh, I will not stand for pity, not now especially. Tonight is not about mourning, it is not about grief—tonight, I invited you here simply to celebrate one last time. When I came to Garlin a lifetime ago, I was a stranger, but I have endeavored to make this place my home, and to make all of you my family—except, of course, those of you I dislike—you know who you are.”
At that, there were more murmurs, but this time Mrs. Gellis’s dark-blue eyes twinkled brighter.
“One of the perks of dying is that I can say whatever I wish, and I can assure you, I intend to take full advantage tonight. I have only one rule, but if you break it, I will see you removed from my home immediately: Do not cry for me. If you bear me any love, any modicum of fondness or respect, then I beg of you to spend tonight dancing, laughing, sharing stories and making new ones. Because I have lived a marvelous life, and I intend to see it end in a fitting fashion.”