Brightly Burning(42)
The drawing room boasted a collection of fine couches, chairs, and tables, plus Hugo’s promised pianoforte. You couldn’t miss Hugo, who was the center of attention as he sat in an armchair surrounded by a trifecta of couches filled to the brim with ladies. I found myself pulled along behind Jessa, who eagerly charged inside and headed straight for him. As usual, she launched herself at her brother, shouting his name, and while he hugged her, he did so more stiffly than I had ever seen him do. A sea of judgmental eyes turned on the reuniting siblings; I watched them as they watched, passing my own sort of judgment in kind.
The overwhelming theme of the party was blond and haughty. Everyone was painfully overdressed in evening gowns of taffeta and silk and horribly impractical high-heeled shoes, which poked out from underneath their gowns. I skimmed them, identifying the likely culprit of the captain’s wife—?in her forties, straw-colored hair piled high on her head, culminating in a tiara. Only a captain’s wife would be so stupidly audacious. And to her right and left were two young facsimiles, their golden hair tumbling down their backs freely over elegantly boned bodices of magenta and royal blue. No one had to tell me that the more beautiful of the two?—her features more delicate, her hair that much glossier?—was Bianca. I could tell from her primary position closest to Hugo, and the way she leaned toward him with purpose. She lit up the room like a star.
“My, she’s only grown more precious with time, hasn’t she?” Bianca said of Jessa, her lips set in a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. I could see Jessa in profile, and her expression echoed my thoughts exactly: what kind of pandering orbit junk was this?
“Do you remember me?” Jessa shook her head no. “Well, you were only four last time I saw you, so I’m not surprised.” Bianca sat back on the lounge, her direct attention for Jessa having ebbed; now she regaled her audience like the headliner that she was. “You know, we used to think she might be a bit slow! She didn’t talk until she was nearly four, and even then could barely string sentences together.”
I saw Jessa flinch, caught the tightening of Hugo’s jaw—?the first time I’d allowed myself to look at him since entering the room—?and was spurred into action before I could think.
“Jessa is quite bright, actually.” I stepped forward into the light and saw the way the party peered at me with genuine surprise. They’d not seen me until now, though I’d been standing not even five feet behind Jessa the whole time. “She excels in all her subjects, including but certainly not limited to extemporaneous speech and debate.” Or, at least, she would as soon as I started teaching her in those subjects, which I resolved to do starting the next day, just to show Bianca Ingram.
“Now, who is this bold creature?” Bianca said, that forced smile back on her face, her outrage leaking through in the way she spat the word “bold” like it was a curse.
“This is Stella Ainsley, our new governess,” Hugo said, his voice like an electric current running through me. He acknowledged me, our eyes met, there was the briefest spark—?of happiness to see me, of pride—?but in a second it was gone, and everything that followed served to convince me I’d imagined the moment, a trick of the light and shadows. “She comes to us from the Stalwart.”
“Ugh, a governess.” Bianca moaned with exaggerated force. “I think we can all agree that governesses are the absolute worst. Lucy and I used to play the most delightful tricks on ours. She’d squawk bloody murder at us, and we’d just laugh ourselves silly.”
Lucy, the blond doily in magenta, tittered in agreement. “But this one is so much younger than ours were. How old are you?”
“Seventeen,” I responded.
“Just seventeen and from the Stalwart to boot,” Bianca scoffed. “She can hardly be qualified to teach, Hugo. I heard they teach only farming aboard that old bucket.”
“I was raised and educated aboard the Empire,” I defended myself, feeling my whole body go hot from both adrenaline and embarrassment. All eyes were on me, including Hugo’s, whose expression was unreadable. “And I’m well qualified to teach Jessa in a variety of subjects, including literature, history, mathematics, science, and art.”
“No foreign language?” That was Bianca’s mother, voice dripping with condescension. “It would be such a shame for Jessa to miss out on a good, classical education. French, German, music. We can recommend someone if you like.” She addressed Hugo like I wasn’t even there. I realized they were all doing it—?speaking about me, and Jessa for that matter, in the third person. We were conversation pieces, not people.
“That won’t be necessary,” Hugo said. “Xiao has been teaching her Mandarin, and I can relay passable French and music instruction.”
“Oh, yes, I had nearly forgotten!” Bianca leaned forward, running her fingers over Hugo’s arm. “You were always my piano man. Shall we again, for old times’ sake?”
Jessa and I were promptly forgotten as Hugo and Bianca got up to put on a show, so I found an empty love seat by the door for us.
“I don’t like him with these people,” Jessa muttered to me as the chords of an old fleet anthem rose above the din.
I had to agree, but for Jessa’s sake, I made excuses. “I’m sure he’ll be back to himself in a day or so. I could tell he was really excited to see you.” Jessa tossed me a skeptical look but didn’t argue. We both turned to watch the performance. Hugo’s playing was passable but unpracticed, the opposite of Bianca’s song. Her talent was annoyingly superior—?tone clear as a bell chime, each note strong and unwavering. I’d bet my tablet she practiced every day, likely after years of learning from masters.