And then I turn on my heel and march off, snatching a glass from the tray of a passing server as I go, draining it, and replacing it before he’s even noticed me. If my father is so keen on telling everyone what a rake I am, I’m happy to live up to my reputation. Wouldn’t want to disappoint him.
It’s an impressive performance as far as dramatic storm-offs go, but as soon as I’ve left Worthington I realize I’ve got nowhere to storm off to. I look around for Percy—I’m ready to surrender our standoff just for the sake of company and perhaps a bit of sympathy as well. I spot him over near the dance floor, and start to weave through the crowd, but then I realize he’s talking to someone—a lad in a blond wig who looks a bit older than us, with such stark freckles I can see them under his powder. He’s got on a fine suit of ribbed gray silk with ruffles at the collar that swing when he leans in to Percy so that whatever he’s saying can be heard over the music. Percy says something in return and the lad laughs, openmouthed, with his head thrown back. Percy gives him a shy smile, and the freckled little shit touches him on the arm and then leaves his damn hand there for far longer than is really necessary. I’ve never wanted so badly to knock someone’s teeth in as I do right then. Knock those stupid freckles straight off his face.
The freckled buck flags one of the servers for champagne—one for him and Percy each—and I whip around and go in the opposite direction.
Felicity is on the veranda, valiantly holding up a wall between two Venetian windows, and I swallow my pride and join her, snagging another coupe along the way.
“You’re looking jaded,” I say as I lean in to the stone.
“And you’re looking angry. Are you and Percy still quarreling?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“Well, considering that you’re barely looking at each other, it seemed logical. Where’s the ambassador got to?”
“Don’t know. I’m hiding from him.”
“And I’m hiding from his wife. Cheers to being no good at parties.”
“I’m usually very good at parties. I think it’s the party’s fault.”
A knot of people pushes past us, the woman in the lead carrying a wineglass in one hand and a chocolate entremets aloft in the other. The train of her dress scrapes over our feet as she passes, and Felicity and I both press closer to the wall. “Who were you and he speaking to?” she asks. “The solid fellow.”
“The Duke of Bourbon, I think his title is. He’s the charm of an aging Genghis Khan.”
To my great surprise, Felicity gives a rather genuine snort of laughter. It catches us both off guard—her hand flies to her mouth and we go wide-eyed at each other. Then she shakes her head, with a rueful chuckle. “Aging Genghis Khan. You do make me laugh sometimes.”
I swallow a mouthful of champagne. The bubbles are making my tongue feel like woven cloth. “Former prime minister to the king, though apparently that former part is still touchy, so don’t go bringing it up. Learned that the hard way.”
“Is the king here? Isn’t this his party?”
“He’s ill. Nearly perpetually, from the sound of it.” It strikes me suddenly how very backward it feels to be skirting the edges of a party with my sister while Percy is somewhere on the other side. I take another drink, then ask, just for something to say, “So, where were you sneaking off to the other night?”
Felicity tips her head back to the wall so she’s staring up at the scrollwork overhanging us. “Nowhere.”
“You were meeting a boy, weren’t you?”
“When would I have had time to meet a boy? I’ve hardly been allowed to leave the apartments since we arrived. Lockwood makes me sit still and stitch and play the harpsichord all day and night while you and Percy are traipsing around the city.”
“Oh, traipse is hardly the word I’d use. Shuffle like prisoners, perhaps?”
“Well, you’re seeing far more of Paris than I’ve been permitted to.”
“So, is that where you were? Seeing the sights in the dead of night?”
“If you must know, I was at that lecture.”
“What lecture?”
“The alchemical one. The one you told Lockwood you attended.”
“Oh.” I had forgotten everything that happened that night except the kiss. I almost look around for Percy again. “Are you . . . interested in alchemy?”
“Not particularly. I’m disinclined to superstition on the whole, but the idea of creating synthetic panaceas from existing organic substances by altering their resting chemical state . . . I’m sorry, am I boring you?”
“No, I stopped listening a while ago.” I mean for it to be glib and silly, something that might make her laugh again, but instead a look of rather sincere hurt flits across her face before she covers it with a frown.
I’m about to apologize, but then she snaps, “If you aren’t interested, don’t ask.”
My own temper, still raw from Worthington’s telling-off, flares again. “Fine. In future, I’ll refrain.” I raise my glass, which is somehow empty. “Have a good time here by yourself.”
“Enjoy avoiding the ambassador,” she replies, and I wander off before I can decide whether she was being mean.
As much as I like crowds and champagne and dancing, I feel like I’m starting to sink into this party and be swallowed by it. A strange panic spawned from all the filigree is sitting right at the edge of my mind. It’s the sort of feeling I would usually combat by sneaking away with Percy and a bottle of gin. But Percy is off somewhere having his arm touched by that lad whose freckles look like a pox, so instead I wander along the veranda, losing tally of how much I’ve had to drink. I stop and rest my elbows upon the rail, surrounded on all sides by rustling satin and a language I can hardly speak and feeling very, very alone.
Then, from beside me, someone says, “You look lost.”
I turn. A startlingly pretty young woman is standing behind me, her wide skirt fanned between us like the pages of a book. She has large, dark eyes with a patch in one corner, and skin powdered almost white but for the poppy of rouge upon each cheek. Her stiff blond wig is arranged around sprigs of juniper and an ornament in the likeness of a fox, its ears tipped in the same inky black that lines her lashes. She’s got the most incredible neck I’ve ever seen, and directly below it a truly fantastic set of breasts.
“Not at all,” I reply, ruffling my hair on instinct. “Simply making a careful choice of the best company. Though I think the search is ended now that you’re here.”
She laughs, a tiny, pretty sound like a bell that doesn’t strike me as entirely genuine but I’m quite certain I don’t care. “I come highly recommended. Are you on your Tour?”
“And here I thought I was blending in rather well.”
“Your scholarly study of the party sets you apart, my lord. Your thinking face is very handsome.”
And then she touches my arm lightly, same as that lad put his hand on Percy. I fight a sudden urge to look around for him in the crowd, and instead shift my weight along the rail so the entirety of my attention is devoted to this lovely creature who seems very interested in me.