The Blood Spell (Ravenspire, #4)(34)
Satisfied with her explanation, he leaned forward, his eyes on the sisters. “It was unforgivably rude of me not to offer my personal condolences on the death of your father the moment I walked into the room. I apologize. I was caught up in my own grief over Pierre de la Cour’s death and in my concern over his family, but that’s no excuse for my discourtesy.”
Halette sniffed and looked away, but Jacinthe arched a brow at him. “You’ll just have to make it up to me with an extra dance at the Marcels’ upcoming ball.”
He was well and truly trapped. To refuse her now would be the height of discourtesy, but to accept would send a message to the rest of the head families that he preferred Jacinthe over their daughters. If he sent that message before his betrothal ball, he could have violence on his hands as other families sought to remove girls they thought might get the throne instead.
Dinah frowned at Jacinthe and said quietly, “The prince cannot afford to do that, darling. Not so early in the betrothal season. But I’m sure he could at least give you the first dance.” She looked at Kellan as if to confirm that her request would be honored. “Especially since I’m sure he’s well aware that I sit at the queen’s right hand because our family’s wealth and influence is second to none. A first dance with one of the Chauveau girls would be practically expected.”
He smiled and winked at Jacinthe to mask his surprise that Dinah had offered him a way out. The other mothers would’ve leaped at the chance to secure an extra dance for their daughters. Perhaps Dinah was attempting to make up for her earlier resistance to his requests. Or perhaps she was gambling that showing an understanding of the prince’s delicate position would make her family a more desirable choice in the end. Either way, he’d take the reprieve. Holding Jacinthe’s gaze, he said, “Giving you my first dance would be an honor.”
Blue entered the room with a derisive little sniff, a tray balanced in her arms. Pepperell hurried in behind her, twined around her legs as she carefully set the tray on the little table that stood between the sofa and Kellan’s chair, and then hopped into Kellan’s lap, purring loudly.
As Halette began to pour tea for the four of them, Kellan met Blue’s eyes and grinned.
“Excellent judge of character,” he mouthed softly, his hands buried in the cat’s soft fur.
Blue rolled her eyes and left the room, but he caught the faint smile playing around the edge of her lips as she went.
FOURTEEN
IT HAD BEEN a week since the Chauveaus had come to live at the farmhouse. Blue was miserable. It wasn’t because she’d been kicked out of her room and relegated to an old mattress and quilt in the attic so that Halette, Dinah’s youngest daughter, could have her bedroom, though Blue did resent that. It wasn’t because Dinah stopped by the shop most days, though Blue was sick of her hovering about. It wasn’t even that she hadn’t seen Grand-mère, though the older woman came to the door every day only to be turned away by Dinah, who said Blue needed time to bond with her new family members.
No, Blue was miserable because she knew Papa had died because of her.
It was the thought that sank into her bones every day, brittle and sharp. The accusation that chased its way into her nightmares until she woke choking on sobs.
If she had told him the burglar took the almost-gold experiment, Papa wouldn’t have allowed her to stay late at the shop. He would never have been on the road to come and fetch her. He’d still be waking her each morning with hot spiced chicory and cream. Still be chastising her to clean her work area between each potion. Still be here, instead of gone.
Blue couldn’t bear the thought that he was gone.
She also couldn’t bear the thought of trying to make gold again. Her pressurized pot sat gathering dust on the shelf by the stove, chunks of lead resting cold in its belly. She couldn’t stand to look at it.
She nudged Pepperell off her stomach and slowly rose from her mattress in the attic to start yet another miserable day but paused as the glint of sunlight off the glassy surface of the sea caught her eye. Moving to the attic’s garret window, she pushed the dusty curtains aside and stared at the distant water.
Mama had taught her how to swim. They’d spent hours playing in the foamy waves while Papa swam out, strong and sure, to harvest the sea vines Mama wanted to use in her potions. They’d swim, build elaborate castles in the sand, and then snuggle close as the sun sank beneath the horizon. Blue would fight to keep her eyes open for as long as possible, but Mama would wrap her in a quilt and sing the lullaby she’d written when her daughter was born.
Pain shot through Blue’s chest, and she wrapped her arms around herself as she closed her eyes and imagined the sound of Mama’s voice singing. The sound of Papa’s gentle laughter. The feeling of belonging to people who loved her.
Tears burned her eyes, and she turned away from the window.
She still belonged to Mama and Papa, but she couldn’t spend all day reminiscing. She couldn’t spend all day blaming herself, either. Not if she wanted to survive Dinah’s scrutiny and the strangers who were under her roof. Jacinthe never spoke to Blue unless she wanted something. Her dress washed and pressed. Food prepared. Someone to open the curtains for her because apparently wealthy girls couldn’t lift a finger to do basic tasks.
Blue drew in a deep breath before anger could take root. Jacinthe might be difficult, but Halette wasn’t so bad. She never treated Blue like a servant, and where Jacinthe behaved as if taking over Blue’s guest room was an irritating inconvenience for her, Halette seemed genuinely sorry to be intruding on Blue’s grief. In different circumstances, Blue imagined they might be friends.