Page 7 of Revenge

“Hobson?” said a voice. “Come and sit with us.”

Alice, one of Charlotte’s doppelgängers, sat with the scrawny boy with the thick glasses who had rejected me on my first day. With another sweep of the surrounding tables to check for signs of Rita, I crossed the room, hoping this wasn’t a trick. A few people turned back to their meals, but most tracked my movement across the dining room. Nobody hissed insults as I passed, and I wondered if that was related to all the sightings of me on Sergei’s arm at various functions.

“It’s good to see you looking so well.” Alice’s face split into a wide smile. “Won’t you join Duncan and me?”

I raised my brows at the bespectacled boy, hoping he would remember how he had refused to let me sit with him, claiming that there were no seats for Yanks. He cast a nervous glance at the head table, then nodded and stared into his bowl of tomato soup.

“Thanks,” I replied. “Did I miss anything while I was gone?”

Alice glared at the head table. “When you left, the boys invited us back to their table, and after dinner, Edward asked me back to his room. I gave him an ultimatum. Patricia or me.” Her gaze dropped down to the bread on her side-plate. “He chose Patricia.”

I sat. “That might not necessarily be a bad thing.”

Duncan’s head snapped up, making his thick glasses bounce on the bridge of his nose. “That’s what I keep telling her,” he said in an accent so thick and posh, I had to strain to listen. “Those toss-pots aren’t worth the effort.”

I gave him a hard look. “Yet you told me Yanks weren’t welcome at your table.”

“That was before I knew what you were like. You’re not nearly as bad as everyone said.”

“Thanks,” I muttered.

Alice nodded. “I was with Edward on and off for two years before he discarded me. All because I couldn’t share him any longer with my best friend.”

The server took my order and returned shortly after with a plate of asparagus and grilled trout. I glanced at Alice, whose features looked different. She wore her hair on her face instead of the usual ponytail, and her shoulders were no longer pushed back to emulate Charlotte’s ample chest. Maybe she did have a grudge against the triumvirate and the doppelgängers. It was hard to tell.

“Have you seen Bourneville?” asked Duncan. “I used to think he was a decent sort, but now he’s flashing his cash like a used car salesman. Underwood is milking him for what he’s worth.”

I swallowed hard. Now that Henry had nearly half a million pounds of spending money, he could afford to date a gold digger like Charlotte.

Alice leaned forward and fluttered her eyelashes. “I’ve read every society column about you. What’s Sergei Bachmann like? Does he have any single musician friends?”

My lips curled into a smile. Alice really was outcast, and she’d only invited me to use as a stepping stone to a more glamorous life. She had been part of the group who had organized that terrible gauntlet, and the least I could do was use her to exact my revenge.

“He does, but none are as handsome as Sergei,” I replied. “Sergei been invited to play at a singles party next month. I’ll see if he can wrangle you an invitation.”

Her eyes lit up. “If you can invite a few others, you’ll be even more popular than Charlotte.”

Chapter 4

Classes continued as usual, except that the triumvirate sat with each other or with Charlotte and the doppelgängers, and I sat alone, just as I had before the kidnapping. I’d thought that Blake, the usually flirtatious member of the trio, would break ranks and approach me, but even he acted as though I didn’t exist. Occasionally in the hallway, someone from one of the lower years would mutter a half-hearted ‘trollop’ as I passed, but the new version of myself followed after them to demand they repeat their insult and to explain what I’d done to warrant it. Their pasty faces would turn pink, they would stammer, and they would scurry out of sight like cowards.

Despite Rita’s entreaties to keep a low profile, I continued my regime of hair and subtle makeup and walked around the campus with my head high and my posture straight. Increasing amounts of students would greet me in the hallways, which was a welcome start. Alice explained that being in the British society pages made me an international celebrity rather than a common Yank, whatever that meant.

One Friday in English Lit, I felt the burn of someone’s stare on the side of my face. Without making it too obvious, I turned my head a fraction and found Henry looking at me. Perhaps he was the weakest link. We had become close during our supposed captivity with the stoners. Maybe he felt bad about framing me for his own crime.

Miss Oakley told us to get into pairs, and Henry twisted in his seat, head turned to me. I held my breath, waiting for him to call out my name.

Someone knocked on the door, and a fifth-year prefect who wore her hair in a long braid like Rita’s stepped inside. “Emilia Hobson has a visitor at reception.”

My eyes widened. “Who?”

“It’s something about a press conference.” She swept her braid over her shoulder and left.

Whispers sussurated through the room like a sudden wind. I swallowed. Was this something Jackie had set up without telling me? I’d been back at the academy for a week and still hadn’t produced anything she could use in her paper.

Miss Oakley clasped her hands to her chest. “You’d better go, Miss Hobson. It could be your handsome prince.”

Suppressing the urge to roll my eyes, I stuffed my books into my satchel. Ever since Charlotte had implied I was some kind of slut for pay, the old woman slipped references to Cinderella and Pretty Woman into our every conversation. The annoying part was that she wasn’t malicious, just a little addled.