Page 14

Let us eat, drink, and love, for tomorrow we die.

—Mary Wollstonecraft

My heart fluttered like a wild hummingbird caught behind my rib cage as my gaze settled on him while that patient, intense gaze of his remained on me. I should have been ecstatic, but according to my brother, Rafi was emphatically averse to anything resembling commitment, and yet here he was, asking for a chance to court me. I didn’t want to get hurt by being na?ve. Any girl who went into a relationship trying to change a person was doomed to failure.

But he’d said that things had already changed. Was I foolish to believe him?

He was known in the ton as an unapologetic rogue, and I was the studious only daughter of a duke.

He was two years older, and I was his best friend’s little sister.

We didn’t suit, but our first kiss had spoken volumes.

“Are you angry that I followed you?” I asked bluntly. “Is this you trying to keep me close so that I keep your secret? That I caught you painting in your studio?”

“Painting?” We both jumped at the interruption. “What studio?” Spittle flew from Viscount Hollis’s mouth, his face enraged.

Rafi went pale, his fists curling at his sides, and all I wanted to do was widen my stance and defend him against this despicable toad of a man.

“Viscount Hollis, how lovely to see you,” I said in my most angelic voice. “Art is a particular hobby of mine, and well, my papa, the Duke of Harbridge, ”—I cringed internally at the emphasis—“has always been one to indulge me. Mr. Nasser was just informing me of a studio he used to go to.”

I saw the viscount frown. “Painting is not—”

I could see where he was going, and I immediately nodded in fervent agreement, cutting him off mid-sentence. “It’s certainly not something anyone can do, considering the greats like Michelangelo and Rembrandt. ” I was laying it on thickly, but the man’s skull had to be as dense as rock. Would he even know who they were?

He grunted. “I suppose.”

“Harbridge would be most appreciative that your nephew was so kind to me.” My father would be nothing of the sort, but it wasn’t as though the viscount could confront my father, considering they weren’t acquainted. It would be an egregious faux pas for him to approach the duke without proper introduction. I might resent and loathe them, but the stringent rules of high society could be useful when one was in a pinch.

We both watched as he turned on his heel without another word and disappeared into the melee. My lip curled in distaste. “Why does he dislike you so much?” I asked.

“He hates my mother’s ancestry.” Rafi gestured to his person. “And by default, mine. He also begrudges the fact that his title will be mine someday, while I resent the promise I made to my mother to honor my father’s line by accepting the viscountcy.”

“He is truly appalling,” I murmured, and shook my head. “What a bigot! Honestly, he was one of our most deserving heists.” For a moment, I forgot who I was talking to, until Rafi started chuckling.

“You robbed him?” he asked, and then his eyes went round with delayed realization. “At Danforth’s when you came downstairs. He claimed his diamond stickpin was missing.”

My cheeks went hot. “Ah…no? Never seen a stickpin in my life.” I had to bite my tongue from retorting that the diamond was fake.

“Save your fibs, Firefly.” Rafi shook his head when I tried to look innocent and failed miserably, and then curiosity lit his gaze. “I am not cross about it, but are you going to tell me why you followed me the other day?”

“Are you going to tell me how you know my favorite flavor of cream ice?” I countered.

“You’re quite vocal when you like something,” he replied without prevarication, brows rising. “And I notice things. Now answer my question.”

A guilty flush heated my cheeks. “I wanted to know your secrets for once.”

“And?”

“From the little I saw, you’re quite good,” I said, peering up at him, watching the moonlight play over his sharp features. Lines of shadow and light cut into his face, making him have a stitched-together, eerie appearance. I wondered if I looked the same.

“You think so? That I’m…good?”

Splotches of ruddy color filled his cheekbones. Was the great Rafi Nasser actually blushing at my compliment? Surely, he must have some idea of his own skill? His painting made me think of my music—the creation that was unique to us and born of our own minds. Creative vision was a gift and not one to be squandered. Then again, if someone was consistently belittled for their passion as Rafi had been, self-doubt and insecurity might be second nature.

“I do,” I told him sincerely.

When Rafi offered me his arm to go back into the ballroom, it felt like the world as I knew it had monumentally shifted. I felt the press of every single pair of eyes boring into us as though there were an enormous sign above our heads that proclaimed we were now a couple. Perhaps I was the only one who thought a connection between us was untoward. Or not, as Sarah Peabody practically gored me with daggers in her eyes when we strolled past.

My fingers convulsed on his arm as he steered me once more to the ballroom floor instead of toward the refreshments room where my friends were, right into the thick of things. “What are we doing?” I asked.

His lip curled, the Rafi everyone knew back onstage. “Dancing.”

“Again?”

His hand slid down my arm in a deliberate stroke that had my head reeling. “I’ve heard that three times is enough to declare one’s intentions, so we better give the gossips something to chew on.” I exhaled in a huff; he wasn’t wrong.

“Very well.” We were doing this. Really doing this.

Rafi’s finger tipped my chin up. “Stop overthinking it.”

“I’m not,” I fibbed. My brain was whirling like a children’s top. “Everyone’s watching.”

“Let them.” He smirked with his brows raised. “Now act as if you like me.”

I almost burst into laughter. “I do like you when you’re not being an overbearing, bigheaded cad who thinks he’s God’s gift to the female population.”

“Can you blame perfection?”

“Such arrogance.” Snorting, I stared at him and shook my head. When the music started, he guided me into the first steps. I had a sneaking suspicion he’d reverted to his flirtatious default in order to distract me. My body was stiff, my spine snapped straight, and I forced myself to relax. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

“Rafi Nasser and regret don’t exist in the same sentence.”

“Oh, dear God.” I giggled. “Tell me you did not just refer to yourself in the third person, for mercy’s sake!”

“Alas, Mr. Nasser will not be taking any other questions at this time.”

By the time we twirled into the next measure, horrified laughter bubbling in my throat at his deadpan expression, I forgot all about being nervous or worrying about who was watching.

Miss Perkins always insisted that our last gathering for the spring school term be one part education and one part celebration before most of us committed to the season in earnest. The school remained open year-round, of course, but any progeny of peers, like Petal and I, as well as wealthy gentry like Lalita, Nori, and Sarah, were expected to be on pretty display, all in the hopes of catching a husband.

Blythe was the only one on the fringes of polite society, considering her father’s status as a lowborn gaming hell owner. Though he had more money than half the aristocracy put together, he lacked the proper breeding that the patronesses of the ton required for entry into their illustrious ranks. By default, Blythe did, too, despite the fact that her grace and faultless manners outshone most of the people in our set. She’d confided that, like me, she’d had governesses growing up and was instructed to death on etiquette as well as dancing, playing the harp, and needlepoint. Her father also had lofty dreams for her.

Did Blythe even want a rich, titled husband? A grin curved my lips as I caught one of the furtive, heated looks she and Nori exchanged while walking arm in arm behind me. Perhaps not. I was happy for them. Nori was one of my dearest friends, and she deserved to find someone who was as obsessed with horses as she was. I’d made the mistake of getting in the middle of a very frenetic discussion regarding champion bloodlines. I did worry that their relationship was growing a tad too fast, but who was I to judge? I was now practically engaged.

In a matter of days following the ball and the third dance we’d outrageously had, the gossip rags had gone wild with speculation over Rafi Nasser finally being off the marriage mart. This morning’s headline in the Times was particularly on the nose, leaving little room for speculation.

Has the uncatchable Mr. N finally been caught? Has the ton’s favorite rake been shined by last season’s diamond?

As we neared the schoolroom, I decided to broach the subject instead of tiptoeing around it. I wasn’t worried that my friends would question my choices, especially since they were already well aware of my father’s unreasonable demands for me to marry.

“Did any of you see the newssheets this morning?” I asked, stopping just before entering the west end of the building.

“You mean that scandalous piece about you and Rafi?” Greer teased.

I blushed. “That’s the one.”

“Is it true?” Nori asked.

I nodded, cheeks warming as she clapped me on the back with a loud whoop. “Then I’m happy for you, Zia!” she said as Greer beamed her agreement and Blythe shot me a small smile.

They sauntered into the building, Greer waggling her blond brows the way past and whispering, “I knew it.”

Lalita, however, paused on the stoop. She observed me quizzically and asked, “Why the sudden change of heart? I thought you didn’t like him.”

“It’s not that sudden,” I replied. “We’re just getting better acquainted, that’s all. I think maybe he might not be so bad.”

Her gaze turned curious. “Rafi the Rake ?”

The slightest measure of censure underscored her tone, and I bristled at the overt judgment. It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her to mind her own business, but it wasn’t as though she was wrong. I’d thought the same about Rafi until recently. He had a fast reputation. She just wasn’t privy to the real Rafi, the one I was only now getting to know.

Forcing a grin to my face, I tossed my head and gestured for her to follow the others. “Let’s just say I’m keeping an open mind. Everyone deserves a second chance, don’t they?”

“What did Lord Ridley say of your pairing?” she asked.

My brother didn’t have an opinion because I hadn’t exactly told him, though he probably would have seen the Times by now, and if he hadn’t, no doubt Ela had. “He’s fine with it,” I lied. “Rafi’s his best mate.”

Knowing me as well as she did, Lalita shot me a skeptical look, but thankfully she didn’t press the issue. I followed her into the classroom and took my seat. This wasn’t Keston’s life…it was mine.

“Ladies,” Miss Perkins said moments later when we were all settled. “I’m excited to see what each of you have come up with.” Her eyes met mine. “I am particularly eager for yours, Lady Zia.” With my hectic social schedule, we had only been able to meet once, and she’d been fascinated with my idea.

I smiled. “ Hear mine, you mean.” With that, the others also looked at me.

Miss Perkins gestured to the pianoforte in the corner of the room, but I shook my head. “Would it be acceptable if I went last?”

“Of course,” she said.

I knew Greer and Petal had been working on a toy built from scratch. I watched mesmerized as my talented friend showed off the miniature stage she and Petal had built, and the performance they enacted with the hand-painted paper scenes, each sliding across a grooved wooden base. “Our creation was this children’s toy theater,” Petal explained. “Miss Sorensen and I had our challenges with the construction of the set, and the story ideas, but we think our creation works.”

Per Miss Perkins’s instructions, the rest of us had to judge whether their experiment was a success or a failure. I gave them an enthusiastic nod. It was exceedingly original, and the “show” that they put on was a snippet of the scene where the monster was brought to life.

“Well done,” Miss Perkins said, and the rest of us clapped.

Next up was Lalita and Sarah. I hadn’t envied Lalita being paired with someone like Sarah, but to my surprise, she hadn’t said anything much about the partnership. I sat up eagerly as they carried a tray between them to the middle of the room. They had baked a creature that represented Shelley’s description of Frankenstein’s monster, with dark-veined sponge batter and cleverly placed flowing black ribbons for hair! It was a genius idea and played to Lalita’s baking strengths.

“Our idea for the creation was this cake,” she explained. “But Sarah came up with a little something extra.” She bumped the girl’s shoulder playfully, and I frowned. Since when had they become so friendly? Had I been so wrapped up in my own life that I hadn’t noticed? I shook it off—they were a team for this project—civility had to be enacted. “We each added ingredients, and well, it’s a surprise.” Lifting a knife, Sarah cut into the cake, severing the monster’s legs, arms, torso, and head. Then she cut those into six parts, one for each of the rest of us, including Miss Perkins. “Go on, taste,” Sarah said with an evil glint in her eyes. “Start at the legs.”

Tentatively, we each took a piece. It tasted like normal sweet cake, and Lalita’s were especially delicious. I ate the rest of mine with relish. Next up were the arms. My face twisted as the taste of salt overwhelmed me. It wasn’t bad, just unpleasant. Greer smacked her lips and pronounced it was good. We reached for the torso, and this time, I had to spit out the morsel, stomach curling at the overly sour lemon taste. Saliva filled my mouth, and I swallowed. One could only imagine what the head would entail. With trepidation, I bit into the tiniest crumb, expecting the worst. Bitterness coated my tongue as the overpowering taste of coffee crushed my senses.

“We put different tastes into each part,” Lalita said. “The sweetness was a sign of the creature’s first steps and innocence. The arms were when his self-doubt crept in, and the knowledge that he was different.”

She glanced at Sarah to continue. The girl nodded, pointing to the parts. “The torso represents how much his heart soured, and the bitterness of the head coincides with how bitter and hostile he became by the end.”

My jaw dropped. Their idea was absolutely brilliant. I clapped loudly, proud of my friend who had created something so deeply insightful.

Miss Perkins’s smile was wide. “I am proud of both of you, but particularly you, Miss Varma. I know you became a little concerned about the reading material.”

She had? That was news to me. Had I been too preoccupied to notice? Why wouldn’t she have said something? Lalita blushed as she and Sarah retook their seats. I leaned over to squeeze her shoulder. “Incredible effort,” I told her, and she grinned happily.

Nori and Blythe followed. “I’m afraid ours isn’t as good as theirs, but we tried our best,” Nori said as they carried what appeared to be some kind of metal sculpture to the center of the room. I stared curiously at the horse, or at least what resembled a horse—no surprise there considering their mutual love for the animals—impressed by the interconnected parts. “Ours is this piece, which is composed of different metals,” Blythe said shyly, and I saw Nori give her a reassuring nod. “We used iron, silver, copper, and paste as the varied facets of our monster. Each metal has its own properties, some harder and some softer, but we wanted to focus on the visual patchwork effect.”

She exhaled, and Nori stepped in. “Most of the creature’s limbs are iron, indicating its physical strength, and its body is copper and silver while its brain and heart are made of paste, demonstrating its weakest points.”

“It’s a work of art,” Miss Perkins commented thoughtfully. “Well done, girls.”

Though the thing was horrifying, with cameo pendants for eyes, something about it was admittedly mesmerizing. It was beautiful in a mismatched-hide kind of way, the colors merging in a metallic tapestry, even if those weird makeshift eyes were terribly off-putting. Beauty, no matter how small, could be found in something considered ugly on the surface, but perhaps that was part of the whole point of this exercise.

As Nori and Blythe went back to their seats, I sucked in a nervous breath. My project was very different in that it was a musical composition that went with an acrostic poem as opposed to something tangible as the rest of them had done. Since it was technically a performance, perhaps I needed to include a little ambience. Thank goodness it was a little overcast outside. I stood and closed the drapes, making the room instantly somber and gloomy.

Smoothing my damp palms on my skirts, I drew the three pieces of parchment from my pocket and handed one to Miss Perkins. “If I may beg your assistance to read, while I play.” I had messengered a final copy of the poem along with my intentions for the musical composition a few days before, so she knew what to expect. She’d offered a few small notes on the poem.

I watched her face as she scanned it anew, her eyes rounding with each line, a small smile playing over her lips. Green eyes lifted to mine, approval in them. “This is good, Lady Zenobia. Truly thoughtful work.”

“Thank you.” My cheeks warmed at the praise. I didn’t need the written poem since I’d memorized it, but I set the second piece of parchment with the sheet music on the stand. “My creation is a bit different,” I said to the other girls. “I made mine into a piano score.”

“Go, maestro!” Greer let out an enthusiastic whistle, and I grinned at my friend.

With a theatrical bow, I walked over to the pianoforte, but before I sat, I opened the lid to expose the strings. Taking the extra piece of parchment, I rested it on the middle set of strings and then secured a nut and bolt on the lower end. This was either going to be amazing or a dismal failure. Taking my seat, I rested my hands gently over the keys and breathed in a calming breath. I glanced at the teacher. “I’ll give you the signal.”

I didn’t wait before my fingers broke into the opening chords of the overture. The placement of the parchment made the strings vibrate differently when they were struck by the hammer. The expositional notes were fierce and powerful, telling the story of a man who had played God and given life to something beyond natural imaginings. When the tempo changed and went to a slower, more lyrical movement, it was to symbolize the birth of an innocent creature, one charmed by wonder.

As the progression softened, I nodded at Miss Perkins.

Then she began to read my poem aloud, her voice pitched perfectly to match the tones of the music, underscoring the creature’s growing despair. I played the abrupt harmonic shifts with each line, softness juxtaposed with discordant notes, made even more so by the metal on the bass E-flat string. By the time Miss Perkins reached the second section of the acrostic poem— or and The —the music had devolved into a rhythmic, melancholy pulsing, like a heartbeat…one that grew stronger and louder, driven by a dark compulsion.

The next part was echoed by a more turbulent theme, the brutal chord progressions flying from my fingers in cascading and rapid arpeggio, building, building, and building in more complex variations to something unsustainable…for the monster to finally break.

The G major chords became discordant with each forceful line, and the last was soft, a single repeating note the only sound in the room, giving the word mayhem its own distinctive gravitas. It signaled the entrance of the last theme in my piece. This was undoubtedly the softest, most regretful and tragic part of my composition. The ending was the swan song of a creature who had lost everything and all hope, and the music reflected that journey in a flowing, rich, transformational harmony, heightening the contrast of the creature’s chaotic emotions in the previous theme. The adagio was tender and heartfelt, a delicate treatment of the rhythms and harmonies, as it reduced to a melancholy finale.

And one of profound, everlasting regret.

There wasn’t a sound in the room when I finished playing, my fingers lifting off the keys, before it exploded into applause and screams. The latter were mostly from Greer and Nori, but everyone seemed staggered, wearing the same stunned expressions. I bit my lip shyly and stood. This was the music I wanted to compose. Raw, discordant, and real.

Unfortunately, it was also unprecedented and unconventional.

Which made it…unsuitable.

Miss Perkins had wonder and awe in her eyes. “I have never in all my years heard anything like that. What was the distortion on the strings? Intentional, correct?”

“Thank you, and yes,” I said, cheeks going hot with equal amounts embarrassment and pride as I retook my seat. “It’s a new technique to temporarily modify the sounds.”

“That was amazing,” Greer shouted. “I knew you were good, but honestly, Zia, that gave me goose pimples!”

Nori nodded, eyes glistening. “I was crying there toward the end. The music felt so sad and so sorrowful, like he’d just given up because there was nothing left for him but pain.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “It could be the score of a gothic opera.”

I blushed. It was hardly as good as all that.

“I found it peculiar.” To no one’s surprise, that was Sarah, and her minion Petal was vigorously on her side, but what really shocked me was Lalita’s infinitesimal nod of agreement. That struck like an arrow to the heart.