Neferet's Curse (House of Night Novellas #3)(29)

“After we are married!” I’d said the words happily, mentally tossing away the rest of his sentence. “That sounds so wonderful!”

“Mother will be pleased,” he’d said.

That had touched my heart and true tears had come to my eyes. “I’ll have a mother again.”

Arthur had embraced me, and this time I did not offer my lips to him. This time I’d only clung happily to him.

Too soon, he took his arms from around me. “Emily, I do not wish to leave you, but I am worried about the passing time. Father will not entertain long—his health will not allow it.”

I was already standing before he’d finished speaking. Taking his arm I’d guided him to the edge of the shielding darkness of my willow. “You are absolutely right. You must leave before Father returns.” And I had to rush to barricade myself within my bedchamber!

He’d turned to me. “Tell me how I can see you between now and next week. I must know that you are truly safe and well.”

“Here—you may come here, but only at night. If it is safe, and if I am able to escape to the gardens I will pick a lily and place it in the latch of the garden gate. When you see the lily, you will know I’m waiting for you, my love.”

He’d kissed me quickly and said, “Be safe, my dearest one.” And then he’d hurried away into the darkness.

I’d been giddy with happiness and breathless with worry as I ran as swiftly and silently as possible back through the house and up the long flights of stairs. It had only been minutes after I’d pushed the chest of drawers before my door that, watching from within the curtains of my third-floor balcony, I saw Father stumble drunkenly from our carriage.

If he lurked outside my bedchamber, that night I did not know it. That night I slept soundly, door barricaded, content that my escape had been secured and that my future would be safe and happy.

* * *

Avoiding Father over the next week proved much easier than I’d anticipated, thanks to the financial travails of the Columbian Exposition. Father’s bank was in turmoil regarding last-minute funding that Mr. Burnham was insisting the Exposition Committee approve. Tuesday and Wednesday he’d rushed through dinner and then left immediately afterward, muttering darkly about architects and unrealistic expectations. Though he did not return home until well after moonrise, I did not escape to my garden. I did not pick a lily and chance being discovered. But on Thursday evening, when Carson announced that Father had come home only long enough to change into more formal attire and then depart for dinner and a board meeting at the University Club, I knew I would have hours of solitude before he returned.

I took dinner in my private parlor and dismissed Mary hours before usual, encouraging her to take the evening for herself and to visit her sister who lived across town in the meatpacking district. She had been grateful for the free time and, as I knew it would, word that the master and mistress of the Wheiler House were otherwise occupied spread through the servants. The house was silent as death before the sun had fully left the sky, and it had been ever so difficult for me to wait for true darkness and the concealing shadows of night. I’d paced and fretted until the moon, almost completely full, had lifted into the sky. Then I crept from my room, moving much more slowly than my heart had wanted my feet to go—but I understood I must be more careful now than ever. My freedom was in sight. Being discovered now, even were it only by one of our servants, could put everything I had worked so hard to orchestrate at risk.

Perhaps I should have remained in my room and trusted that Arthur would not forsake his word to me, but the truth was that I needed to see him. I longed to be touched by his kindness and his strength, and through his touch feel warmer, gentler emotions again. The tension within me had been building each day, and as Monday drew nearer and nearer, even though Father had largely been absent, I had begun to feel an increasing sense of foreboding. Monday should bring an end to my fear and suffering, but I could not shake the presentiment that something so terrible that even my imagination could not give it name, was waiting to happen to me.

Trying to put aside my foreboding and focus on the things I could control—the events I could understand—I’d dressed carefully, fully aware that I must draw Arthur to me and make him irretrievably my own. I’d chosen my finest chemise, a nightgown made of blush colored linen so soft that it felt like silk against my na**d skin. From Mother’s wardrobe I borrowed her finest dressing gown. It was, of course, made of velvet the exact color of our eyes. I’d stood before my looking glass as I wrapped it snuggly around my body, using the gold tasseled sash to belt it tightly so that the slimness of my waist contrasted beautifully with the generous curves of my bosom and my hips. But I’d been quite sure that the belted sash was tied in a bow, and one that could easily be loosened, as if on accident. I’d left my hair unadorned and free, combed it to a lustrous shine so that it tumbled in a thick auburn wave down my back.

I’d plucked a fragrant lily in full bloom from beside the garden path. Before I’d threaded it through the latch on the outward side of the gate I pulled one petal free and rubbed it behind my neck, between my bosoms, and on my wrists. Then, covered in the sweet scent of lily and the welcoming shadows of the night, I’d sat on my bench and waited.

Looking back I realize I couldn’t have waited long. The moon, white and luminous, was still hanging low in the sky when I’d heard the garden gate squeak open and shoes crunch hurriedly on the gravel path.