Belladonna (Belladonna #1)(14)
“Then I’ve plenty to teach you, and very little time to do it.” Marjorie set her free hand on her hip, still smiling. “Shall we start tomorrow?”
Weary as she was, Signa would get started now, should Marjorie allow it. A fluttering in her heart made her impatient and wanting. But there were six more months until she would receive her inheritance, and if she was to last at this estate—if she was to have the freedom of the life she wanted—then she needed to ensure that Death couldn’t get his hands on anyone at Thorn Grove. Not to mention she’d have to watch her own hands, too.
Though she knew they would not hurt anyone right now, she tucked her hands behind her back all the same and smiled. “Tomorrow is perfect.”
“Wonderful.” Marjorie readjusted the coat in her arm. “You may take the rest of the evening to settle in, then. You’re welcome to explore any of the upper floors, but I ask that you keep off the first level while the guests are here. Tonight, dinner will be brought to you, so please relax. I’m sure you’re exhausted.”
She was. But as Marjorie saw herself out, letting the door shut quietly behind her, Signa knew there would be little relaxing. The moment the woman’s footsteps disappeared down the hall, Signa cracked the door open again.
Marjorie had suggested she explore after all.
SIX
SIGNA WAS NO STRANGER TO FINDING WAYS TO PASS THE TIME. LEFT with little to do during her days and few to converse with, she’d spent many afternoons stealing glances out the windows or wandering outside, curious to know more about the neighbors of whatever house she lived in. Some were more interesting than others, sneaking in strange company when their partner was away, or sharing the latest gossip over tea with a friend, which Signa would casually overhear as she just so happened to be taking a walk near an open window. She never spent any time with such people and could do little with the information she gleaned. But for Signa, the point was always to fill in the gaps in their stories. She was intent on solving the puzzles she’d formed in her head, and mentally crafting stories for people she’d never be close to.
Thorn Grove was already a puzzle, and far too much of one for her not to investigate. Signa counted down from sixty before she crept along the dim halls, sticking close to the walls and relying on their shadows to conceal her as she tiptoed toward the staircase. Technically, she’d be breaking no rules so long as she remained on the landing.
Signa crouched and peered down the banister—through the crafted branches that adorned it—and into the party below. From this angle, she could see only glimpses of what was happening, and she had to strain to hear voices over the swell of a piano and violin. The details of the gathering came to her in pieces—in bright lights and flashes of golden walls and silver serving trays. Crystal flutes filled with bubbling champagne, and miniature gilded cakes that were offered to women in beautiful gowns and men in their proper tailcoats. Those who didn’t eat either busied themselves by drinking or by dancing to the music that swept through the ballroom. Their dancing, however, was not at all what she expected.
Signa’s grandmother had often relayed stories of her daughter’s fondness for parties. It was at a ball where Rima met Signa’s father, and her grandmother had always promised that Signa would have the same fortuitous fate. They never discussed how it was Rima’s love for parties that ultimately stole her life, focusing instead on romanticizing her time alive. For years Signa had listened to stories of her mother, told to her with great softness as her grandmother brushed through her hair or tucked her into bed, as though speaking the stories aloud would keep them alive. Signa had loved hearing the stories and imagining that she would soon follow in Rima’s footsteps. But her young life had not gone as she’d hoped, and those stories now filled her with a deep envy for the women adorned in silks and lace, with their delicate curls and rouge on their cheeks. They made her wonder where her beautiful stranger was, the man who would sweep her away into a waltz (which she’d of course be perfect at, despite never having danced outside her bedroom).
But if the etiquette book Rima left behind was any indication of what a party should have been like, the one happening at Thorn Grove was all wrong. Parties were meant to have dance cards. Varying music for each different dance, with a myriad of rules for every one of them. No woman was to drink more than a single flute of champagne, laugh so boisterously, or dance so freely. Yet at Thorn Grove, no one paid etiquette any mind.
Flushed were the women who stumbled from the ballroom for fresh air, hiccupping as they fanned themselves. They used those fans to swat away the eager hands of those who tried to pull them in for a dance, and instead hunted down the lavish cakes with rosy frosting and golden glitter. No one seemed to pay any mind to the two women who were tucked away in the far corner, their bodies pressed so close that blood rushed to Signa’s cheeks; she’d never seen two people embracing so thoroughly.
Either her etiquette book was more outdated than she thought, or this was far from polite society.
It took Signa a moment to notice that there was a familiar face in the crowd—Percy, standing outside the ballroom with his hand fisted around a champagne flute as cheers erupted from inside. With everyone distracted, Signa lowered herself down the first step for a better vantage. She could barely make out a man standing upon the highest point of a chairback, making a show of balancing himself as the chair tipped. The man clapped, demanding everyone’s attention. He seemed to be enjoying himself, just as the guests of the party appeared to be enjoying his show.