“—could get a drink. We could continue by the bar,” Esme says with the same smile she used to convince our precalc teacher to give her an A in our junior year.
“Aunt Leighton,” I say before she can agree.
Leighton stands taller and looks briefly at Esme and Hawthorne once. “You may get me a drink,” she says, and the dismissal is so loud and ringing, both girls melt backward, stunned. I come forward. “I knew you would look exquisite in this gown. Doesn’t she look gorgeous?”
I’m not sure who she’s asking. But both Third and Pierce turn from their own conversations. Penthesilea watches me with phoenix eyes, pleasant and even engaging, like she’s unbothered by my interruption.
“Yes,” Pierce agrees. I meet his gaze over Leighton’s shoulder, ignoring Jacqueline’s furious glare, and he flashes a boyish smile that I’m compelled to return.
Third’s gaze is sharp and narrow on me, like he still finds me lacking. I remember what he and Graham said in that room, in a conversation half overheard. That I am an inadequate choice.
“Adina Walker, I’m told by my sister-in-law to expect great things from you,” he says slowly, his lips curling. “A former acceptance to Yale. Anywhere else?”
“UChicago, Amherst, Bowdoin, Tufts. But Yale was my first choice,” I admit, gaze sliding downward. I can feel his amusement; he knows that Yale isn’t a choice any longer.
“And your acceptance to Yale was rescinded due to… violence at Edgewater. Correct?”
He knows the answer. He just wants me to say it. So I smile and through bared teeth I do. “My acceptance everywhere was rescinded. Sir.”
“I see,” Third says. “Well, maybe you do have the stomach for this.”
I nod at this small, unkind victory, my head bobbing up and down. Saint carefully extracts herself from me.
“Mr. Remington,” she says, “my father has always spoken so highly of you, and I can see why now. Thank you for your continued hospitality…”
“You’ve been doing divinely, Adina,” Leighton murmurs, keeping her voice low. “I knew you would. Continue doing so, and you will reap the benefits. I can feel it.” This close I can see that her eyes are dark and rich, nearly mahogany in color, like even they have learned to blend in with their surroundings. “Miss Alderidge seems unsettled this evening.”
“Does she? I hadn’t noticed,” I simper.
Leighton chuckles and another flash of pleasure rushes through me. I stand taller, lifting my chin just so, and Leighton pats my cheek. I beam up at her, basking in the pride in her voice.
“Penthesilea, did you know Miss Walker very well in school?” Third interrupts.
It’s like a wash of cold water over me. Saint looks alarmed at the sudden shift in conversation—away from her father, their business, the secrets she means to tease out, and back to me. Penthesilea looks surprised too. She darts a look at Pierce as he tries to extricate himself from Jacqueline and the Hannahs, like she expects him to save her. From me or Third’s line of questioning, I’m unsure, but neither seems to make sense.
“Not as well as I’d have liked to,” Penthesilea says.
“Do you believe she would be a good fit?” Third asks.
A good fit for what? I want to ask. I’m right here, I want to say. But I don’t.
Penthesilea stares at me for a long time before she says, “Better than she’d like to believe.” She says it like she’s been watching me. Not just for this evening, but for a long time, and I just never noticed.
Third smiles, letting his hand fall on her shoulder. “Penthesilea?”
“Yes, Third?”
“Go start a game,” he says. Penthesilea’s eyes go wide, but Third is already ignoring her reaction, arms stretched up like a grand ringmaster. “Yes, why don’t we all play games. Isn’t that what the Repartee is about?”
And we all laugh, as if we find him clever, when he is the least clever person in the room.
We don’t move, though. None of us knows how or where to start. Not even Penthesilea.
Or maybe Jacqueline does. She breaks away from where Pierce isn’t giving her attention, his gaze caught on Penthesilea and me, and she very deliberately steps into his line of sight, flashing a wide smile.
“Let’s play a game, Penthesilea. We never did get to play the other day.”
Jacqueline isn’t shouting, but her words cut through the parlor like she is. She wants everyone’s attention. I look over at the bar, at Esme, and I know this is part of her scheme. She’d never outright challenge Penthesilea herself, at least not this early on. Penthesilea is powerful, the front-runner considering she’s already dating Pierce. She’s the better equestrian, too, and it’s not hard to presume that she’ll win the Ride. Esme would find it safer for someone else to test her. And here, at a night of cards, of course, Jacqueline is the obvious choice.
“You want to play a game?” Penthesilea repeats. Her eyes are wide but her tone rings false suddenly. There’s a playfulness to it that Jacqueline doesn’t seem to hear. “With me?”
Jacqueline nods. “Yes, I want to play with you.”
Penthesilea hums and she strokes the jut of her freckled chin for just a moment before she nods. “Yes, all right. Let’s play a game.”
Penthesilea crooks a finger at Jacqueline, and the two girls walk toward the coffee table. Neither of them sits in the offered chairs, choosing to kneel in front of the mess of card decks and the stacks of chips. Esme approaches, Hawthorne in tow, and they converge around Jacqueline.
“Gather round,” Leighton commands, herding the rest of us forward to form a circle around the two of them “Miss Moriarty, as you challenged Miss Bonavich, she will be allowed to select the game.”
Jacqueline nods. “So. What’ll it be? Texas Hold ’Em? Omaha? Five-Card Draw? Five-Card Stud? I know the uncommon variants too.”
Penthesilea picks up a deck and shuffles the fifty-two cards quickly, as if counting them.
“What do you want to play for?” Penthesilea asks instead of answering, in her soft, baby-queen voice. She leans forward as she does one of those complicated shuffles, the kind dealers do in movies set in casinos.
“Play for?” Jacqueline asks.
Penthesilea smiles. “Winners win things, Jacqueline. What do you want to win?”
“Your room, remember,” Jacqueline says firmly. “I hate sharing.”
Penthesilea laughs. “Well, all right,” she agrees. “But… what do I get? If I win?”
Jacqueline rolls her eyes and cuts a glance back at the alliance of girls. They laugh at the very idea of Penthesilea winning. “I don’t know. What do you want?” she asks, humoring her.
Penthesilea shrugs. “I’m not sure yet. We’ll see,” she declares. And Jacqueline is so confident, she doesn’t object.
But then Penthesilea leans forward. “Let’s play War.”
Jacqueline blanches. “I… I don’t know that poker variant.”
“It’s not poker. It’s a card game,” Penthesilea says.
“The kids’ game?” Jacqueline blurts.