Page 47 of Chasing Eternity (Stealing Infinity #3)
Much like the last time I was here, we arrive in the gardens of the expansive English estate. The air is filled with the scent of blooming flowers, mingling with the distant hum of polite conversation and the occasional trill of laughter.
“Well,” Elodie says, smoothing her dress with a sweep of her hand, “whatever the hell this is, let’s get it over with already, so I can get back to Gray Wolf.” Her tone is unusually terse, her movements stiff.
Since when isn’t Elodie up for a fancy party? She was practically molded and made for events like this. Not to mention that she has, as she once put it, a serious male suitor , who hails from this era and will most likely be here.
“Don’t you want to see Nash?” I ask, remembering how excited she was last time over the prospect of reuniting with the handsome earl.
Elodie shuts her eyes, shaking her head. When she opens them, she says, “Don’t you mean Nash and his new fiancée?” Her voice is thick, eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “This party is one year later, Nat. He couldn’t exactly put his life on pause. I can’t believe Arthur did this to me. He knows I avoid coming here in 1814 or any time after. Made that mistake once, thought I’d never have to make it again. And yet, here I am. Yay, me.”
I watch as her face crumbles, and my heart swells with empathy. Which I guess explains why I find myself saying, “Okay, Nash is engaged. So what? Last I checked, a fiancée wasn’t a wife. Not yet anyway.”
Elodie crosses her arms and quickly averts her gaze.
Still, I know she’s listening, so I go on to say, “If what you and Nash have is real, then it’s not too late. There’s still time to make it work.”
“I have no family here, no home, and no immediate means of support. Do you honestly think I could build a life for myself in this place?” She gestures around the expansive lawns. Her brow is furrowed, and her mouth pulled into a frown, but in her gaze, I detect a slim thread of hope, and it’s just enough to pull on.
Despite the urgency of the task before me, there’s an opportunity here that I don’t want to miss. After everything we’ve been through, I really do want to see Elodie happy. She deserves a chance to finally break free of the iron grip Arthur has on her life.
“Honestly,” I say, “I’m convinced you could thrive just about anywhere, especially here. I saw it with my own eyes, El; Nash is completely awed by you. Whoever this fiancée is, I’m sure she’s a concession to societal pressures. Marriages here are more about alliances than affection.”
“Do you really believe that?” Her eyes widen, making her look like a much younger version of herself in search of encouragement.
“I really, truly do,” I tell her.
Our moment of connection is abruptly shattered by Killian’s loud, obnoxious groan. “Bloody hell,” he says, his English accent roaring back. But it’s not like I can complain, seeing as how, for once, it’s actually the appropriate time and place. “Can we dispense with the dramatics and get on with it already?”
Elodie shoots Killian a withering look. “Shut it,” she snaps. “No one asked your opinion.”
“Oh, honey, you haven’t even begun to hear what I think about you,” Killian barks. “Is this how you—”
Leaving them locked in their mutual standoff, I dart across the gardens and step inside the grand ballroom, instantly captivated by its grandeur.
The room is vast, bathed in a soft, luminous glow, with crystal chandeliers suspended overhead, their flickering candles twinkling like distant stars. The gentle hum of an orchestra fills the air, promising a night filled with music and dance. But those pleasures are reserved for the guests; I have more pressing concerns to address.
I move through the room, immersed in the rich scent of roses and peonies, their delicate fragrances intermingling with the warm, honeyed aroma of beeswax candles in elegant silver candelabras. Though I keep to the perimeter, steering clear of the dance floor, it’s hard not to get caught up in the buzz of conversation, the sudden bursts of laughter.
The atmosphere is electric, brimming with the thrill of social maneuvering and the whispers of romantic intrigue. Everyone is dressed in their Regency finery—the men in sharp coats and neatly tied cravats, the women in flowing, empire-waist gowns that mirror my own. And as I thread my way through them, it’s like being immersed in a kaleidoscope—a vibrant swirl of color and movement that spins all around me.
When I sneak a glance at the dancing couples, it occurs to me that this lavish ballet of intricate social exchange is exactly the life Braxton was born into. If it weren’t for Arthur’s interference, he would’ve eventually found his way here, in search of a wife—some lucky girl from his own timeline.
It’s because of Arthur that two souls born centuries apart managed to find their way to each other. And now, the responsibility falls to Braxton and me to prevent Arthur from reuniting with his beloved. A cruel irony that could easily fill me with sorrow, were it not for the grave consequences if he succeeds.
But here, in this moment, transfixed by this extravagant tableau, I feel like I walked into the pages of my favorite Jane Austen novel. Though it’s not long before the brush of my gown against my skin, the heft of my hair pinned atop my head, and the subtle weight of Roxane’s envelope in my grasp, anchors me to the reality of the role I must play.
Just as I start to pick up the pace, Elodie comes up from behind me and seizes my arm. “Oh, great,” she mutters. “He’s here, right over there.”
I follow her gaze to see Nash. His dark curls, piercing green eyes, and distinctly rugged features all contribute to a charisma that’s impossible to miss. Unfortunately for Elodie, he’s dancing with a pretty brunette.
“I think I might throw up,” she says, her grip tightening to the point where I’m sure I’ll be left with bruises in the shape of her fingers.
“Listen.” I turn to face her. “You are Elodie Fucking Blue. You’re stunning, possibly the most beautiful girl in this room, and you’re damn smart, too. Also, you’ve never failed to capture the heart of anyone you’ve ever set your sights on.”
Elodie turns to me, her expression shifting, eyes clouding over. “Seems like that’s not always the case,” she says, clearly alluding to Braxton.
I study the dueling emotions playing across her face, the eternal conflict of hope and despair. This girl has played the roles of both ally and adversary in my life, but I’m done holding grudges. My only aim now is to help her get past this crisis of confidence so I can free myself to pursue my own task.
“Perhaps Braxton wasn’t the right one for you,” I gently suggest. “But this one, Nash, could be. So, El—I guess the only question left is: what’re you going to do about it?”
To my relief, she responds to the challenge, physically transforming before me. Her spine straightens, her shoulders square, and there’s a defiant tilt to her chin when she turns to Killian, who’s busy cursing under his breath and rolling his eyes. Grasping his arm, she says, “Dance with me, you fucking buffoon. And make it look like you can’t get enough.”
Killian turns to me, his face etched with irritation and disbelief.
“One step toward redemption,” I tell him, watching as he scowls but reluctantly escorts Elodie onto the dance floor.
Seizing the moment, I make my way to the study at the end of the hall, a location I’ve visited before. Slipping inside, I shut the door behind me and let out a sigh of relief, grateful for the moment of solitude.
The room is just as I remember it—spacious, crowned with high, vaulted ceilings, with walls bathed in a deep emerald hue. Portraits of finely dressed people are displayed all around, their gazes fixed from within elaborate gold frames.
Who might they be? The question echoes in my mind as I briefly take them in, searching for any familial resemblance to Braxton.
Is it possible the much younger version of him is here? Maybe tucked away somewhere with a governess?
Crossing the thick woven rug, I navigate past an inviting array of plush sofas and armchairs to stand before a window that offers a commanding view of the lush gardens below.
Shifting my attention to the envelope Roxane handed me, I lift the flap to find a single tarot card—the Star—waiting inside.
Only this isn’t the same tarot card from before. This one is from the ancient Visconti-Sforza Tarocchi deck that Arthur usually favors.
Last time, Arthur had sent me here with only a folded bit of paper with a star etched upon it. When I failed to secure the Get, his indifference struck me as odd. You’ll have another chance soon enough , he’d said.
In hindsight, it’s clear that earlier Trip was merely a pop quiz.
This one is the final exam.
Dismissing the whirlwind of thoughts clouding my mind, I set my focus on the tarot card in my hand, wondering if there’s more to locating the Star than I initially thought.
In this Visconti-Sforza version, the Star features eight pointed rays and portrays a woman with blond hair, clad in a blue dress, donned with a…
A red cape…
A sudden realization tightens my chest as a rush of memories come flooding back. In my mind’s eye, I can see the figure in the red cape, vanishing and reemerging inside the labyrinth that once sprawled beneath my window at Gray Wolf—a figure who bore an uncanny resemblance to me.
Does the fact that I’m dressed in blue have any relation to this?
Or perhaps this is the kind of coincidence that, according to my dad, doesn’t exist.
Everything is connected.
When I catch my reflection in the window, I suddenly realize that, despite my hair not being blond, the gold dust Charlotte applied earlier now lends it a similar hue.
Is this tarot card meant to be a clue, or some sort of message from Arthur?
I’m so engrossed in my thoughts, I completely overlook the creak of a door opening, then shutting softly. I miss the muted footsteps that traverse the rug, crossing the room to where I now stand.
You have seen this, done this before.
This time, I know it’s true.
Turning away from the window, my gaze settles on the tall, handsome man looming before me.
“Hello, Mr. Braxton,” I say. “It’s good to see you again.”