Though Signa was used to such behavior, it never stung any less, especially considering that she’d believed herself finally free of it. Blythe, too, kept her jaw tipped high and her expression flat, refusing to mark herself as prey before ravenous vultures. It was she who had warned Signa all those months ago of just how willing society was to pluck the skin from one’s bones to worsen any wound. And if there was one thing that Signa had learned about society, it was that people loved little more than watching those above them fall from grace.
“Come.” Signa steered her cousin forward. “I’d like to see the inside. I imagine it must be even more grand.”
Oh, how right she was. If the exterior of Wisteria was opulent, the interior was decadently lavish. Like the exterior, the walls inside Wisteria were bright and pristine, decorated with extravagant ivory wallpaper and gold flourishes. It would seem Fate had a taste for the color, for the mirrors and paintings were also plated in a matching gold.
“Oh, it’s magnificent!” Blythe craned her neck to gaze three stories up to the ceiling—which was painted a brilliant shade of red—and beheld the most intricate floral designs swirled throughout. Ahead were two grand staircases that met in the middle of the second story. They were covered in a thick red-and-gold rug, and the girls followed suit as guests climbed the stairs. They slowed their steps for Byron, and Signa used the time to take in every inch of the decor.
Strung along the walls were the wildest assortment of oil paintings, each one depicting strange and nonsensical things. One showcased a garden full of fairies that danced around overgrown mushrooms, while another portrayed two women dancing in a candlelit ballroom, their dresses igniting into flames behind them. Tucked into every corner were the most elaborately carved vases or sculptures. Most were tame, while others elicited blushes and concerned gasps, such as the statue of three people in the heat of passion, and another of a man brushing his hand along his lover’s cheek with more tenderness than Signa knew was possible to impart into a piece of stone.
Each painting conveyed a story with such richness that the art felt alive. She wasn’t convinced that, if she glanced away, they wouldn’t spring to life and continue their stories.
“His lordship is quite the collector,” said someone ahead, and Signa recognized the sharp voice as belonging to Diana Blackwater, a mousy and uncivilized girl who could often be found attached to the hip of Eliza Wakefield. She was perhaps one of the worst vultures Signa had met thus far, and Signa made sure to stay quiet, trying to keep from Diana’s view.
“A collector, indeed.” Byron’s scowl grew in severity with every piece of art they passed. “At the very least, they should have had these pieces temporarily moved. Avert your eyes, girls. You shouldn’t see such atrocities.”
Arms still linked, Blythe leaned toward her cousin and whispered, “It would seem he hasn’t the faintest idea what’s in half the books that end up on our nightstands.”
Signa pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. Though she ducked her head and pretended to follow Byron’s instructions, her eyes remained lifted to inspect every inch of the palace and its art.
As much as she hated to admit it, Wisteria was beautiful. Even so, there was a sense of oddness to the palace. A looming heaviness that permeated the air and had her wishing that Death could be at her side. Signa’s palms ached with the absence of his touch as she forced herself up every step, feeling as though she were treading water. When she squinted, a strange golden haze blanketed everything. Yet no one else said a word about it, and soon enough, they were at the top floor, in what was, regrettably, the most gorgeous ballroom she had ever seen.
Unlike the rest of the palace, the ballroom was not bright and crisp but made up of ornate panels backed with gold leaf. There was no part of the walls that went bare; all were either mirrored or featured gilded carvings of foxes climbing trees or rolling among the flowers, lit by sconces that set the room ablaze in warm, rich amber.
“What I wouldn’t give to live here.” Blythe’s words were breathy and wondrous. Everyone seemed to agree with her; the guests were all chattering and whispering, twirling around the room to take in its extravagance. While the rest of the palace was decorated with art, this exquisite room was the art.
Byron straightened beneath the amber glow and whispered to the girls, “Tonight is not the night to overindulge. Mingle, but keep your wits sharp and your tongues soft, understood?”
“Understood,” Blythe echoed dismissively. “But I daresay, Uncle, that Signa and I won’t ever manage to draw the prince’s eye with you looming over us. Surely we may walk about the room ourselves?”