Neferet's Curse (House of Night Novellas #3)(17)

I’d started toward the stairs, meaning to secret myself in my bedchamber so that I would be well out of sight when Father, thoroughly drunk, stumbled to his bed. I’d even told Mary, who was chattering nonstop about what a success I’d been, to give me just a few moments to myself, but then I’d be ready for her to come to my room and help me out of the intricacies of Mother’s gown so that I may change into my nightgown for bed.

As I consider back on it, tonight it seemed as if my body was completely in control of my actions, and my mind could do nothing except to follow its lead.

My feet had detoured around the wide staircase and I’d slipped quietly down the servants’ hall and out the rear door where my hands had lifted my mother’s skirts and I’d almost flown to the quiet bench under the willow tree that I had made my own.

Once I reached the dark security of my special place, my mind had begun to reason once again. Yes, Father should be smoking and drinking with the other men for hours, so it was logical that I could hide safely away there for most of the night. But I’d understood it would be too dangerous to stay but a few moments. What if the moment I chose to slip upstairs was the same moment Father stumbled from his library to relieve himself or to bellow for the cook to bring him something to satisfy his insatiable appetite? No. No. I would not chance that. And, of course, there was Mary. She would look for me if she didn’t find me in my bedchamber, and I did not want even Mary to discover my sanctuary.

Still, I’d breathed a deep, satisfied breath, taking in the cool night air and feeling the comfort lent to me by the concealing shadows. I’d wanted to steal just a few moments for myself—a few moments here, in my special place, to think about Arthur Simpton.

He’d shown me such special kindness! It had been so long since I’d laughed, and even though I’d had to stifle my giggles, I had still felt them! Arthur Simpton had transformed the evening I had so dreaded from a strange and frightening event to the most magical dinner I had ever experienced.

I hadn’t wanted it to end. I still do not want it to end.

I remember that I could not contain myself for another moment. I stood, and holding wide my arms I twirled around in the darkness within the curtain of willow boughs and laughed joyously until, exhausted by the unaccustomed rush of emotion, I sank to the young grass, breathing hard and brushing from my face the thick fall of hair that had escaped my chignon.

“You should never stop laughing. When you do, your beauty changes from extraordinary to divine and you look like a goddess come to earth to tempt us with your untouchable loveliness.”

I’d scrambled to my feet, more thrilled than shocked as Arthur Simpton parted the willow boughs and stepped within.

“Mr. Simpton! I-I did not realize anyone was—”

“Mr. Simpton?” He’d cut me off with a warm, contagious smile. “Surely even your father would agree we need not be so formal here.”

My heart had been pounding so loudly that I believe it drowned out the sound of my good sense that was shouting at me to hold my words, smile, and return quickly inside, because instead of doing any of those three reasonable things, I’d blurted, “My father would not agree to us being alone in the garden together, no matter what I call you.”

Arthur’s smile had instantly dimmed. “Does your father disapprove of me?”

I shook my head. “No, no, it is nothing like that—or at least I don’t believe so. It is just that since Mother’s death, Father seems to disapprove of everything.”

“I am sure that is because he has so recently lost his wife.”

“As I have so recently lost my mother!” I’d had enough sense remaining to me to press my lips together in a tight line and stop my outburst. Beginning to feel nervous, and incredibly clumsy, I’d walked to the marble bench and sat, trying to tidy my escaping hair, as I’d continued, “Forgive me, Mr. Simpton. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”

“Why ever not! Can we not be friends, Emily?” He’d followed me to the bench, but did not sit beside me.

“Yes,” I’d said softly, glad my errant hair hid my face. “I would like us to be friends.”

“Then you must call me Arthur and feel free to speak to me as you would a friend, and I will have to be certain your father finds nothing at all to disapprove of about me. I won’t even mention to him that I discovered you in the garden.”

My hands had instantly stilled and dropped from my hair. “Please, Arthur. If you are my friend, promise me you will not mention that you saw me after I left the dining room.”

I thought I saw what might have been surprise in his deep blue eyes, but it was replaced too soon by a kind, reassuring smile for me to have been sure. “Emily, I will say nothing of tonight to your father except to repeat what a lovely hostess his daughter was.”

“Thank you, Arthur.”

He did sit beside me then. Not close, but his scent came to me—cigars and something that was almost sweet. Thinking back I realize that was foolish. How could a man smell of sweetness? But I didn’t know him well enough yet to understand that the absence of strong spirits and cigars on his breath seemed sweet after Father’s foul odor.

“Do you come here often?” His question had seemed such an easy one to answer.

“Yes, I do.”

“And your father doesn’t know you do?”