Belladonna (Belladonna #1)(55)
There wasn’t so much as a glimmer in her cousin’s eyes. “I was meant to debut this year,” Blythe admitted. “I’ve spent years delaying it, but the moment I turned nineteen, Marjorie was insistent. No longer having to participate in the season is perhaps the one silver lining of my illness.”
Signa balked at her cousin’s words. “You don’t wish to join society?” She’d never heard such a statement. Never thought that anyone might want anything different. To debut was expected—it was what the etiquette books instructed, and what society trained young women for.
Blythe leaned forward at Signa’s bewilderment. “Do tell me you’ve considered what it will mean to take a husband.” She took Signa by the wrist, her brows drawing together. “You hold your family’s fortune, Signa. But should you marry, it will no longer be yours alone. You’ll be giving everything—your wealth, your wants, your power—to a man who will hold more influence and respect than you as a woman will ever be able to garner for yourself in this world.” Blythe’s lips were thin, hard lines. Her grip slackened after a moment, and though her energy was depleted enough that she had to lean against her pillows, there was a hardness in her stare.
Signa hadn’t been so naive as to dismiss such thoughts, yet they’d never seemed as important as Blythe made them sound. What use did she have for money when she was spending her days alone? Thus far in her life, what benefits had she gotten from her family’s fortune? What reason did she have to hoard it?
“I will not marry,” Blythe announced eventually, her voice a touch weaker. “I’ve enough money and status to do whatever I wish without sharing myself with a man.” Her chin was knife sharp, and although Signa had never heard such a claim before, she believed her cousin.
Drawing her legs beneath her, Signa settled into the bed and asked, “What will you do then, with all your time?”
“Whatever I wish.” A light sparked in Blythe’s glossy eyes. “I will paint, and travel, and wander the halls at night so that I may sleep until the afternoon should I desire. I will have a hound, or three, and I’ll spend my mornings riding horseback with no one to care for but myself. There are no limits to what I might do, for I will be wholly in charge.”
Signa supposed it would be grand to do whatever one wished, without any responsibilities. It was a marvelous freedom, and yet she wondered…“And you’ll do all these things alone?” The idea made her wilt a little.
Blythe looked affronted. “Of course not. I do have friends, you know. I’ll visit them when I get bored, and Percy, and… you, I suppose.” The last few words were spoken softly, as though they’d surprised even her. She looked away before she could see that Signa leaned back, struck by the weight of those words.
Since the day Signa had unknowingly saved her cousin, she’d been able to feel the bond that tethered them. Every day it grew beyond those confines, into something more tangible. A fragile flame that Signa wanted nothing more than to nurse. To protect and stoke, to warm herself as she watched it burn.
“I’m glad to hear it,” Signa whispered, still clutching her cousin’s hand in her lap. “Though I must admit that I met some friends of yours—and to be frank, the idea that you’d seek some of them out for company is astounding.”
It was in that moment Signa heard Blythe’s laugh for the first time. It was warm and rich, so unlike the cold and severe self she portrayed. The toll of wedding bells, or the very first trill of a piano. Blythe was difficult to look away from, beautiful and fascinating, someone who’d likely draw every eye in a room. Signa wondered what her cousin was like before the illness; what she had been like when her family was whole and she was healthy. If that laugh was any indicator, Signa very much wanted to meet that girl someday.
“Few are true friends,” Blythe said with mirth. “Most are unfortunate acquaintances.”
“What about Eliza and Diana? Are you not close with them?”
“When I fancy some gossip, they’re the first ones I seek. We’re not close, though. That’s the thing about society, cousin—there are vultures who will wait for the moment you stumble. And when you do, they’ll sooner pick the skin from your bones to serve themselves rather than help you back to your feet. It’s too easy to become prey.”
Signa averted her attention, focusing on her lap and on the deep lines on the palm of Blythe’s hand. She’d heard there were people who could tell your fortune from those lines, and she wondered what they might see in Blythe’s. Could a life like the one she spoke of—free but alone—truly be so fulfilling?
“What of Miss Killinger?” Signa asked eventually. “I knew her once, you know. Long ago, she and I were close friends. Is she a vulture, too?”
Blythe’s smile was small but bright. “Charlotte is wonderful. She’s the only one who’s bothered to visit me since I’ve been ill, and when my mother passed. We’ve been close for years, ever since she and her father took residence on some land across the woods so that she would have a better opportunity to find a husband. She’s kind and smart, and a fantastic cook. She makes all sorts of jams and marmalades and syrups from things she grows in her garden, and she brings them to us as gifts a few times each year.”
That kindness did indeed sound like the Charlotte she knew, and Signa was glad of it. Glad that if society truly was more like what Blythe warned of than what she’d envisioned all this time, there was still some good to be found within it.