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“I am so sorry. I do hope she will recover.”
He nodded, a half-smile showing gold-capped molars. “Thank you, my dear, but at this stage recovery would be a miracle. What we can hope for, and what I pray for every morning and night, is that her condition doesn’t deteriorate any further. It was just unfortunate that today was one of her worse days, she so wished to meet you.”
“I’m sure we will get along quite well.” I gave a polite bow of my head.
My father had filled me in on the family enough to know that Mrs. Greengallow, Petre’s mother, was unwell.
A weak heart, the result of a fever that had spread through the region the year I was born. I glanced up at the ornately-plastered ceiling, past the glimmering crystal chandelier, and wondered if she was right there above me somewhere, for all purposes confined to her own sort of prison. There was a place set to the right of the older Mr. Greengallow, the place of honor, which I guessed was for his other son, Vasile.
I saw a look pass between Petre and his father as we sat awaiting our first course that seemed tense. But then, could I blame a man for resenting his newly-returned brother’s place of preference at a dinner meant to honor his own engagement? As well, from what I’d heard it was Petre who worked with his father running the family business, not this Vasile who’d spent most of his adult years living with an uncle somewhere to the east.
The house itself, and the meal, were unlike anything I’d experienced in my life—such luxury and finery and good taste. As our dinner went on, I began to think that perhaps all the rumors had been just that. Rumors.
Though I had only just met him, and though I knew that things are never precisely what they seem, it was so difficult for me to believe that this man was capable of such aggression and violence.
As I stared at the empty place setting where Vasile should have been, I thought that maybe, just maybe, this would all turn out alright. Maybe I wouldn’t need this missing brother’s help after all. I felt no desire toward Petre, but I didn’t feel the dread and worry about marrying into this family that had plagued me for so long.
Until Francis Greengallow turned and addressed my father.
“So, Prince Hugo. After dinner, I was thinking I could tempt you to a game of poker.”
I sucked in a breath and gripped my napkin in my lap so hard that I thought I might rip it apart. I turned to my father, funneling foul words and insults at him through my eyes.
But my father didn’t notice. The magic word had been spoken. Poker. Like the abracadabra that opened the door to hell itself.
“Certainly!” my father said, all sloppy now with red wine and good food. “Would be a pleasure!”
I gripped my clutch in my hand hard enough to make the clasp dig into my flesh.
“Would you excuse me?” I said, rising. “I just need to powder my nose.”
Petre stood as I did, the model of politeness, and one of the servants rushed to pull my chair back. Fuming with anger at my father, I slapped a smile on my face and turned away.
As soon as my back was turned, I let my veneer drop and ground my teeth until my jaw ached. Gambling was the worst of the vices for this very reason—it never stopped.
Ever.
There was always another game, another round, another polite after-dinner hand that ended in personal catastrophe. And I knew full well that it could get worse for my family. Though I’d already been put up as collateral with no more care than my father had gambled off all of our art collection, our family still needed what little money it had in order to provide care for my mother.
My mother, who I loved with my whole heart, was entirely dependent on my father for everything. Brain fever had turned her from a vibrant, wonderful, lively jewel of a woman into a shadow of herself. Wheelchair bound and frail. And in need of constant nursing, which didn’t come cheap.
There was a common thread there between Petre and myself which gave me a glimmer of hope that this may not be as much a catastrophe after all. Both our mothers were alive, but unwell, and I hoped he would see that as something to draw us together.
Even with that thought, powdering my nose was not calming me in the least. I’d have preferred to go find a quiet corner of the house to sit down for a moment alone, but I didn’t know my way around at all.
There were rumors about this house—about dungeons and dark secrets. And though I was starting to believe less and less of what I heard, it still made me nervous. So I traced my way back to the front entrance.
