Chapter 20 #3
‘I may have peeked into the potential of this evening running late.’ Ellie’s cheeks grew suspiciously pink.
Apparently, all the Blair women were prone to blushing, except Aunt Rowan.
‘It appeared we would need a guest room tonight, so I made up Clio’s bed.
’ She scooped Ophelia from where the ferret had curled into a white ball on the settee’s velvet cushion.
The ferret gave a half-hearted, disgruntled chitter before resettling in the crook of Ellie’s arm.
‘Don’t worry, Cyn. You should be quite comfortable.
Helena is just across from you if you need…
anything. Aunt Rowan and I are all the way down the hall, so we don’t hear much if you happen to be a night owl.
’ She winked. ‘Well, I’m off to bed.’ She gave a final blinding smile and swept out of the parlour, followed closely by Aunt Rowan.
‘Sleep well, my little witches,’ Aunt Rowan called as she ascended the stairs.
And then there were two.
‘Right. Well. You must be exhausted.’ Helena fiddled with her cuff. Cynthia had never seen the woman fidget before.
She shrugged, not willing to make this easy on Helena. ‘Not really.’
‘Oh. Well. I find I’m quite tired.’
Slowly shaking her head, Cynthia tsked. ‘Liar.’
‘I am not lying.’ There was the bold woman Cynthia knew.
‘You aren’t tired. You are trying to avoid me. Ever since your aunt talked about Hamlet choosing both of us because our spirits might be intertwined, you’ve been acting oddly.’
‘Of course I have.’ The vase to Cynthia’s right started to vibrate as the water within swirled. ‘Our spirits can’t be intertwined.’
‘Because being connected with me would be so awful?’ She stalked closer, not sure if she wanted to shake Helena until she saw reason or wrap her up and hold her until she felt steady once more.
Hamlet stood between them, his golden eyes moving from one to the other, his hackles raised.
‘I cannot be your spirit match. We can be friends. Even friends who sometimes seek pleasure in each other’s company. But our souls cannot be intertwined. It’s impossible.’
Cynthia had seen debutantes, duchesses, and widows slavering after whomever society determined was the dashing lord of the hour.
Even the powerful Duchess of Devon had made a fool of herself once or twice for a lord who wasn’t ready for her voracious appetites.
She had pitied all of them. To pursue one who had no interest in returning your attentions was a miserable affair.
A fate she had been gratefully spared, as no person caught her interest. Until now.
But she would not lower herself to begging. Not even for Helena.
‘You are impossible, Helena Blair. Stubborn. Frightened. Foolish. This evening did not exhaust me, but you have.’ She swept out of the room without bothering to say goodnight.
Halfway up the stairs, she realised Hamlet had followed her.
You can’t leave her. She is frightened. She needs you.
‘She doesn’t need me. She needs a swift smack from Governess Smithers’s biting birch stick.’
He cocked his copper head and whined, his golden eyes begging.
‘Go to her, Hamlet. She’d much rather have you than me.’ With her newfound power, Cynthia gave the fox a nudge, then continued to the second floor. At the landing, she realised her mistake. She didn’t know which of the two doors on either side of her led to Clio’s room.
Drat!
She could hardly turn back and ask Helena.
Instead, she cracked open the door to her right and a wave of bergamot and lemon poured forth, nearly washing away her resolve.
Her core melted, and her chest tightened.
What she wouldn’t give to hold Helena. To take comfort in her arms. To talk over everything they had discovered.
About Cynthia’s powers. About the investigation.
About their unusual connection. But she wouldn’t humiliate herself for someone who did not want her.
Shutting the door with a loud click, she turned and entered the opposite room.
A candle wavered on the table, spilling a golden glow over freshly laundered sheets.
Cynthia didn’t have the energy to admire the woodwork carved into the neat desk by the window or appreciate the soothing apricot walls and fresh flowers sitting on a vanity where a jug of cold water waited for ablutions.
She couldn’t dredge up the energy needed to wash her face.
Pulling back the covers, she sat heavily on the bed.
She managed to unlace her half-boots and kick them off.
After much twisting, cursing, and fumbling, she unclasped enough buttons running down the back of her gown to shimmy out of the black silk.
She draped it carefully over a padded chair to avoid wrinkles and went to work on the laces of her corset.
Once the ribbons had been untied, she took in a lungful of air and exhaled in relief.
Stepping out of the contraption, she tossed it on the floor next to her dress.
She untied her stockings, rolling each one down her legs and tucking them into her shoes.
With a disheartened sigh, she sank onto the bed and pulled her legs up, hugging her knees to her chest. ‘Bother and damnation.’
Not having Helena’s company made Cynthia acutely aware of how very much she wanted it. Rolling onto her back, she groaned, kicked her feet, and cursed the fates for showing her a glimpse of how glorious companionship could be before snatching it away from her like a greedy baby.
Sleep was slow in coming, and when it did arrive, it brought with it dreams of swirling waters, sucking her into their depths.