Blythe clutched the tapestry against her chest a moment longer before she moved to the desk, confident in what she had to do as she took up a pen and parchment and wrote Aris a letter.
On June the first, Miss Farrow will be holding a ball at Foxglove. I will be there with the tapestry and hope that you will accompany me.
She copied down the details, then tucked the letter into an envelope, sealed it with wax, and sent William to take it to Wisteria at once.
He returned three hours later with Aris’s response.
I would not miss it for the world.
THIRTY-SIX
IT WAS REMARKABLE HOW QUICKLY FOXGLOVE TOOK SHAPE, SHEDDING its dusty drabness in favor of a poised and proper seaside manor. Signa had hired more help than she knew what to do with, and they’d been working around the clock to scrub every wall and floor panel until the water bucket ran clear. The once dreary curtains were shaken out, brightening into a lighter color than she ever would have guessed them to be. The furniture had been dusted, and the piano tuned and polished. Gone were any hints of cobwebs or the skeletal remains of rats, and as Signa ran a white-gloved finger along a bookcase in the parlor, not even a speck of dust made it onto the fabric.
It’d taken even more elbow grease than she’d anticipated, but the Foxglove she stood in now was a home to take pride in, one all who entered would respect. With the ball mere hours away, they’d made it so just in time.
“Everything looks fabulous,” Signa told the staff, all standing at attention as she paced from the parlor to the entryway, checking that everything was in place. “You’ve all done a better job than I could have hoped for.” There was a quiet, collective sigh of relief within the group. Signa’s eyes found Elaine’s at once, and the young woman shot her an apologetic look. The staff had been in a tizzy since the night of Fate’s visit, likely never having imagined their new mistress would be hosting company so prestigious as a prince, especially in a house that—until now—had looked a disaster. She didn’t doubt that word had gotten out of how she’d refused to offer the prince any refreshments, and she heard whispers of how strange it was that Signa hadn’t wanted to swap out the strange macabre art in favor of something livelier.
She waited for the staff to scurry off to give everything one final pass before she turned her attention to the trio of spirits that stared up at her from the couch. She’d learned their names in these past weeks—Tilly was the daughter, Victoria the mother, and Oliver the bespectacled father who observed everything with a keen eye. He had, Signa learned, spent years working with her father in architecture.
“What dress will you wear tonight? Will it be marvelous?” Tilly asked with a note of longing. “You should choose carefully in case you die. Imagine being stuck in a corset every moment for the rest of your life.”
“There are far more important things to worry about tonight. Though, if you must know, yes. My dress will be marvelous.” Though Signa admittedly hadn’t considered the potential tragedy of dying in it, she certainly was now. “And if I die, it will hardly matter because I would never remain here with all of you. The afterlife isn’t so bad, you know.”
“You’ve seen it?” Tilly’s eyes bulged so wide that Signa feared they might burst from her skull. If that was a possibility with spirits, she had no desire to find out.
“Only the entrance, but it’s beautiful.” Signa had grown used to keeping her voice low for the spirits, but she glanced cautiously around all the same before she added, “Unless you want to see it tonight, I need you all to be on your best behavior.”
They only rolled their eyes. Had it not been for the fact that this was likely the twentieth time Signa had warned them to behave—as well as the fact that she still needed to get dressed for the evening—she might have lingered to ensure they were planning to listen.
As it was, Amity was waiting as Signa hurried up the stairs. The spirit hovered over Signa’s bed, where a gilded gown was spread across the mattress. Signa ran her hand along the gold fabric, her fingertips buzzing.
Back at Thorn Grove she had worn a crimson dress as bold as blood to conquer Death. And now at Foxglove—to conquer Fate and put an end to this mess with Elijah once and for all—it only made sense that she wore a burnished gold befitting the royalty he played.
Elaine didn’t linger after fastening her into the gown, instead heading out to check that everything was prepared for the guests’ arrival and giving Signa time to inspect herself. The gown hugged her body tight, sweeping up to ensnare her throat with the most luxurious collar. It was heavier than she was used to, embroidered with gorgeous floral detailing along the bodice and bustle. Her hair was pulled back to show off as much of the dress as possible, pinned in loose waves.