Winterly (Dark Creatures Book 1), стр. 40
“Milli, what did she say?”
“She said, ‘the rose will not long bear such pretty petals.’” Milli’s hands tightened in her sister’s. “Emma, how did she know my name?”
“You’re wearing your rose pendant, it was only a lucky guess.”
“Of course.” Relieved by her sister’s logic, Milli sighed. “A lucky guess, that’s all.”
“Ay, don’t worry so, you shall give yourself unsightly wrinkles.”
Milli gasped and instantly becalmed her brow with fretful prodding, hoping to iron out the creases before they embedded themselves forever. “And to think I nearly let that silly crone spoil my night with her sinister thoughts.”
“Then let that serve to remind you in future not to pay pennies for thoughts.” Emma pushed her spectacles higher up her nose with an emphatic nod.
“Yes, yes,” Milli grumbled. With that hateful penny prediction far behind her, Milli promised herself that she would soon do away with those blasted bluestocking spectacles of Emma’s. Now that was a prognostication worth more than a penny!
Chapter Twenty
The Full Moon Ball
My Dear Emma,—I wish you would tell me more about this mysterious Lord Winterly. He sounds devilishly handsome. Do proceed with caution. And do return that book you borrowed. Yours affectionately,
Mary.
Postscript:—What on earth is the book about that you could not possibly do without it?
Emma sat by the bay window, staring blankly at the carriages in the street and the interminable procession of caps, hats, and bonnets passing below, footslogging from one end of her periphery to the other. Featureless multitudes, moving like chaotic little insects.
The strand of hair was still securely wound around the iron hasp like a lock, its only office to warn of demons. It was no guard against nightmares, so the night terrors had come freely. Last night’s was even more vague than the first. She recalled only achromatic shadows—the faceless creature and the woman from before—painted in shades of grey and lurid red. So much slaughterous red.
Emma’s hand was resting over her breast where she felt the lingering pang of fangs plunging into her heart. The scream of horror and agony that had awoken her with a dreadful start was still ringing in her ears. The tears that had blinded her as she’d lit a candle had not been for herself. It had been a troubling dream as if recalled from some forgotten lifetime—an unknown woman’s agony and the unquenchable torment of her lover. A foggy landscape of faceless lovers, so unlike a dream and more like a strange, heart-piercing memory. But strange, it seemed, was fast becoming her unwelcome watchword.
Without glancing from the view outside, she ran her hand along the watch chain hooked at her bodice, down to the enameled face of her silver pocket watch. She stroked the glass with a trembling thumb as the minute hand kept its faithful pace. Would that she was as faithful and steady of mind. Or that the springs and cogs that controlled her life could be as easily moved by the watch key on her chatelaine.
The doorbell rang exactly as her watch pronounced the midday hour. Seeing as it never rang for her, she paid it no mind. It was like as not just another one of those ridiculous petits-maîtres chasing after Milli’s skirts. Why did she not curry the favor of any sensible young men, for heaven’s sake?
Not a moment later, Milli burst upon her solitude, eyes glazed with rapture. “Emma, you will never believe who is at the door! I can scarcely believe it myself.” She threw herself onto Emma’s bed.
“I am sure I don’t know,” Emma muttered.
“Faith, what’s put you out of countenance today?” There was no need, however, to form a reply, nor was there time sufficient to open her mouth, for Milli continued in the next breath. “Never mind, I know just the thing to cheer you up. Victoria has sent her seamstress to us—it was she at the door with an entourage of helpers—they are even now waiting below with two of the most beautiful ballgowns I have ever seen. You must come at once.”
“But why should Victoria have sent us gowns? I had planned to wear my blue gauze sarcenet with the—”
“You cannot just wear any old thing to the Full Moon Ball tonight,” said Milli, wrinkling her nose. “And I can assure you that there is not one gown in your wardrobe suited to the occasion or the theme.”
“Theme?”
Milli threw up her hands. “Really, Emma, what would you do without me?” She got up from the bed and aimed a particularly withering glance at her sister. “Which brings me to my next point: I forbid you to wear those ghastly spectacles.” With that she flew out Emma’s chamber as hastily as she’d entered, but not before issuing another summons to the drawing room.
Emma sat a moment, stunned. “What theme?”
“La, don’t you look exquisite, Emma.” Milli paused in the drawing room doorway, her countenance wavering somewhere between surprise and delight.
She was already dressed for the evening, for her dress, unlike Emma’s, had not needed the hem let out or the bodice taken in. Milli’s evening gown was an ivory muslin confection, beneath which peeked a silver trimmed petticoat, and the whole was spangled with silver gems that caught every wink of candlelight. A large pearl drop hung from each ear and a matching necklace of silvery pearls lay resting across the fine bones of her chest. White kid gloves, an ivory fan, and silver slippers completed her ensemble.
“I wish I too could admire the dress,” said Emma with a teasing wink, “but you will not allow me to wear my eyes.” Emma glanced at her blurry self in the cheval mirror that had been brought down from Milli’s room. The seamstress was also examining her work, fluffing the train out and picking lint from the skirt wherever she imagined she saw it; her hirelings had already departed now that the gowns were both altered and pressed