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And the more I thought of it, the more I became sure it was the way forward.
I would adopt a child, make him or her my heir. Mason’s will had been an exacting, exhausting thing, leaving it all to me, every last cent, every stick of furniture. At the time, I thought it was about preserving the fortune, that he didn’t want to see it divvied up into smaller shares, and that he trusted me to take care of Nelle and hers.
Now I wonder if it wasn’t his own form of penance, or else some sort of delusion? Maybe he’d convinced himself IwasRuby, and that the whole sordid business with the Darnells had never happened. Maybe leaving everything his family had built over three hundred years to me made that lie feel real in his own heart.
In any case, once this idea took hold, I couldn’t think of anything else.
But it couldn’t be just any child. I would have tofeelit was the right one.
And of course, I’d keep an eye on them through the years. If their soul showed any signs of curdling under the influence of all our largesse, then I’d rethink the plan.
I know this must sound insane to you, but you have to understand, the sins of my family—my sins included—were too great for reasonable measures.
The rot had to be cut out, and this was the only way I could think to do it.
Took ages, though.
I became convinced that I’d know the right child when Isaw him (and I knew it would be a boy by then. I can never decide if that was intuition or some sort of internalized sexism, but there you have it. I was born in 1940, I do the best I can).
I’d almost given up until the adoption agency I’d hired called. Until I looked into a pair of eyes, one blue, one brown. Sad eyes, like Andrew’s.
Camden. My beautiful boy. The one good thing I’ve ever done.
Oh, my darling.
I can’t wait for you to meet him.
-R
CHAPTER FOURTEENJules
I’m at the top of the stairs, staring up at Ruby’s portrait.
It’s dark, the house quiet, and I’m still in that fancy dress, the crystal beading digging into the skin of my collarbone. Those crystals glitter in the dim light from the sconces lining the wall, but Ruby’s eyes are shining brighter, and as I watch, they begin to move.
She’s looking directly at me now, and her painted lips curve up even more, a smile that reminds me of Camden, and I know I should be scared—paintings aren’t supposed to come to life—but all I feel is relieved because she’s here now, because I can finally talk to her.
I need her help.
“Tell me what to do,” I whisper, but she doesn’t answer. Instead, the painting shifts, color bleeding away from her dark hair, her green dress, and now I’m the one in the portrait, still wearing this dress, my hands folded just like hers had been.
No, not like hers. Hers were pale and elegant, a discreet emerald ring on one finger, and mine, mine are red.
Dark crimson drops fall from my painted hands, soaking into the skirt of my dress, and I look down at my bare feet on the carpet to see that the blood is seeping out of the frame now, snaking along in a viscous river, warm when it reaches my skin.
I stumble back in horror, but the stairs are there, and I’m falling until fingers wrap around my wrist, pulling me up short.
Camden looks at me with those eyes, the eyes I love, one blue, one brown, both cold as he says, “I told you we shouldn’t have come here. Why did you make me come back here?”
I look over his shoulder at the painting, and it’s Ruby again, she’s laughing, and then Cam is letting me go, and I’m falling again, falling into nothingness, falling—
I startle awake to arms wrapped around me, to a voice in my ear and warm breath at my temple.
“Jules. Jules, wake up.”
For one dazed and horrified moment, I struggle in Cam’s arms, pushing him away, remembering that cold look, the feel of his fingers slipping from my wrist, but when I look into his face, there’s only concern.
His palm rests against my cheek, warm and real, and the last bits of the nightmare finally let go of me, making me sag, exhausted, against his chest.
