settle into the cushions, smoothing the folds of my blue satin skirt close to my legs, wishing I’d worn wool hose today instead of silk stockings. Then I pull the cord of the tall floor lamp next to me, igniting a warm, subtle glow that lights my pages.
We may not have leading-edge technology for heating, but at least we have electricity for light—or a form of it, I should say. Unlike Bretton, where light is generated by traditional means, here it comes from strange fae magic, traveling along ley lines, or some such.
I flip past the title page of my book, which reads The Governess and the Rake, to page one. The familiar words set my nerves at ease as I begin to read. But as I make it to page three, I find my mind beginning to wander. As much as I love my book, I’ve already read it three times. I want something new. Need something new.
I slam the cover shut and return it to the table. Bringing my thumbnail between my teeth, I make my way back to the window to look out at the streets that have grown even busier in my short absence from my post.
My heart races as the bodies that swarm the streets grow denser, the chatter of excited pedestrians compounding with horse hooves, carriage wheels, and the rare automobile until it becomes an audible roar of sound.
I’m transported to a similar street in recent memory, one crowded with sneers and whispers. Eyes that burn with hate and scorn. All directed at me, as barbed as if they were lashes upon my flesh.
I bite the inside of my cheek, which helps me recover my bearings.
Just breathe. This is here. This is now.
Damn it all to hell, I really need a new book. Otherwise, my mind will be the death of me. But new books mean leaving this room. Walking in the saintsforsaken snow…amongst all those people.
I swallow hard.
We’ve been living in Vernon for three weeks now. The first week was almost a respite. Being a newly opened resort town near the mountains of the Winter Court, Vernon welcomed us as one of the first families to take up residence. The shops were new and stocked to the brim with untouched goods, which thankfully included a bookshop. That became my immediate haven, and I confess, I spent my weekly allowance during my first trip there. The second week brought more new families settling into the empty homes, including the nosy Mrs. Aston. Still, I continued to escape into my books and replenish my wares as soon as one story was finished. The start of this week, however, brought a flood of residents, some permanent, others visitors. All bursting with anticipation for what is considered a momentous event—the start of the Winter Court’s social season.
I once was excited by social seasons, but now I dread them. Dread with a capital D and a string of colorful curses. The kind a lady should never say. Shit. Damn. Hell.
I really, really need a new book.
Clenching my fingers into fists, I stare out at the streets one more time and give myself to the count of five to feel afraid.
One.
The bookshop is just a few blocks away.
Two.
No one here knows my past.
Three.
They don’t know me at all.
Four.
And if I have anything to do about it, no one ever will.
Five.
With a deep inhale, I straighten my posture, swallowing my fear. Then I suck in my stomach, aided by my tight-laced corset, and throw back my shoulders. I pat my black tresses, ensuring every wavy strand is secured in its fashionable twist at the nape of my neck. Lifting my chin, I press my lips into a haughty smile, the first ingredient that makes up the mask I must wear. The persona I present to the world. The kind that keeps me strong. Confident. Impervious to pain.
A lie, yes.
But one that I, Gemma Bellefleur, wear so well.
2
Head held high, I exit through my front door. The chilly air immediately strikes me, teasing the warmth from my thick wool coat. My sable collar brushes my cheeks as I pull it higher, wishing it were tall enough to cover my ears. At least my wide hat protects me from the falling snowflakes that continue to float down from the sky.
Sound is amplified tenfold from what it had been behind the safety of my parlor window, sending my pulse pounding. And yet, my smile doesn’t slip. I give way to not a single