Our first kiss worried me.
I’d expected fireworks and shooting stars, effervescent bubbles and delight.
Not…
That.
I’d spent the entire trip into town only half listening to Dauphine while I compiled a mental list of things I’d once been bad at but, with practice, had improved upon.
Drawing.
Sailing.
Embroidery.
My penmanship.
Surely I would one day be able to add kissing to this list.
There were reasons, plenty of reasons, for it not to have gone right. It was a decidedly awkward act—pressing your face to another’s with the expectation of it being miraculously pleasant.
With time, it was certain to become more agreeable.
I hoped.
What worried me most was Alex’s read on the matter.
If he’d felt the kiss to be lackluster as well, would he account for how new to this I was? Had he considered that I could be an apt pupil and would seek to improve? What if he wrote me off before giving me another chance?
As I pinched my cheeks, drawing spots of color into them, there was a short tap on the sitting room door and I felt as though I might become ill. Our next conversation could determine the rest of my life. Would I remain at Chauntilalie or be tossed out, never to be kissed again?
“Coming,” I called out, certain it was Alexander. Just before turning the glass doorknob, I took a deep, steadying breath.
But when I opened the door, there was no one in the hall.
Puzzled, I stepped out, nearly crushing a small parcel left on the threshold.
A bouquet!
I swooped down to pick up the little nosegay, admiring the clusters of snowy white and pink spectacled blooms. A small card was tucked into the ribbon tying the flowers together.
Sometimes words are not needed. （Rock-roses and gardenias）， it read in Alex’s bold, jagged print.
Smiling, I brought them into my bedroom, to add to one of the large vases on my nightstand, before turning to Gerard’s stack of books.
I looked up the gardenia first, remembering Alex had mentioned them the night I’d first arrived at the manor.
“？‘Gardenia jasminoides,’？” I read aloud. It had several possible meanings. “？‘You are so lovely,’？” it began. “？‘I too am happy, joy, a most tender love.’？”
I pressed my nose to the creamy blooms, breathing in their sweet scent before flipping to the rock-rose.
The book offered only one definition.
“？‘Cistaceae,’？” I said, and traced its phrase, a smile growing deep in my heart. “？‘Of this I am most certain.’？”
Certain.
He was certain.
I felt all of the anxieties that had spent the afternoon building within me drop away, like racing water falling over the edge of a cliff.
He was certain.
Our courtship would continue. There was still hope for a secure future.
With Alex.
He was certain.
A tiny dark thought pushed its way into my mind but I batted it from me before it could take root.
He is certain, but are you?
Dear Mercy,
There’s simply so much I need to catch you up upon.
Dearest Mercy,
Thank you, thank you, thank you the world over, darling sister of mine! I’ve been at Chauntilalie for nearly three weeks now and imagine I might remain here for quite a longer while yet.
Alexander Laurent has asked to court me and I’ve said yes.
Dear Sister,
Thank you so much for recommending me to Lady Laurent. I’ve begun work on Alexander’s portrait and
Mercy,
I so wish you were here. There’s so much I need to tell you and…I just really wish you were here.
Camille—
Why is it that no matter what I do, everything always comes back to you?
The clock on the desk of the study ticked softly, announcing the passing seconds with a mocking persistence. I fiddled with the order of paints laid upon the side table, then lined up the brushes, nudging them about until they ran perfectly parallel to each other.
I studied the portrait before me. Alexander’s form popped from the white canvas, half finished. His body, shown from the chest up, was nearly done. I’d need to add in little strokes of highlights over his fingers and the folds of fabric gathered across his sleeves, but was pleased with its current state.
Still, the clock ticked.
With a forceful exhale, I stood and paced the room, fluffing out the curtains to create a different effect, plumping pillows on the short settee, all the while listening to the incessant ticks go by.
Where was Alex?
It wasn’t like him to be late.
Usually, he joined Dauphine and me at the end of breakfast and we headed to the second floor for our first session together. But I’d eaten alone this morning after Dauphine sent word of a migraine. The footman who had delivered the message had offered Dauphine’s condolences in an unworried tone, saying the duchess was often prone to the headaches.
First Dauphine, now Alexander.
More ticks.
At a quarter past the hour, spun into agitation by all my pacing, I left the study, making my way deeper into the south wing. I had a vague approximation of where Alex’s bedroom was and when I heard a sudden moan, echoing in a familiar baritone, I knew I was heading in the right direction.
The door was ajar.
“Alex?” I asked, stepping inside the parlor.
Thrashing sounds came from the bedroom beyond, cries of pain and torment. A voice I recognized as Frederick’s ordered for a valise to be brought in.
That door swung open.
“Miss Thaumas, what are you doing here?” Johann asked, eyes wide with surprise.
I’d never seen him look so unkempt. His jacket had been removed and shirtsleeves rolled up. His vest was left undone and hung askew, as if something—or someone—had been tugging on it. His blond locks, usually so carefully pomaded back, fell into his eyes and he breathed through an open mouth.
“Alexander and I were supposed to have a session this morning but he never arrived. I thought I’d come check on him.” In the room beyond, Alex’s voice rose into a howl that pierced my chest. “What happened?”
“Pains in his legs,” Johann explained, his eyes darting about the room. “He gets this way sometimes.”
“I thought he couldn’t feel anything—”
“Where’s that damn valise?” Frederick shouted over a fresh volley of Alex’s struggles.
“Make it stop, please, Arina, make it stop,” he wept.
Johann dove forward, snatching the black bag from beneath a side table. “Master Laurent won’t be able to see you today.”
“Is that Verity?” Alex called out, panicked. “No. No. I don’t want her to see—” His words broke off, dropping into a groan. “Don’t let her see…see me…”
Heavy footsteps approached the parlor. Frederick peered through the gap, face splotched and eyes dark. “You have to go,” he stated firmly.
I didn’t want to disobey but I couldn’t just leave either. “If I could just see him for a moment, please? Wish him w—”
“No,” Frederick insisted. “Go.”
The door clicked shut with decisive resolution.
For a moment, I lingered in the parlor, listening to the horrible noises as my gaze drifted about the room. This was Alexander’s private retreat from the rest of Chauntilalie, a space wholly his own.