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I swallow and nod.
“Thanks for the heads up,” I say, and then duck out of the hall, my phone beeping at me to tell me I’m going to be late if I don’t run.
I can’t exactly stay out of Wilder’s way. He’s a footman, and he’ll, along with Mr. Matthews and the other footmen, be serving drinks and attending to the house party guests for meals and parties. Where Maddie goes, I do too, and she’ll be around Wilder. The fact he’s mad at me that his idiot cousin made a huge mistake and was finally fired for it earlier in the week, upsets me. It feels like someone’s dragged their cold fingersdown my back.
There’s nothing I can do about it now though.
I’ve got Madeline into a blue print dress with tiny sailboats on it (“Daddy owns three yachts,” she tells me as I tug it over her head), and we’re waiting in the entrance hall. The sun is beating down already outside, and I’ve got a shady parasol to hold over our heads as soon as we get out into it.
Madeline swings her arms back and forth, hummingClair de Luneto herself as we wait.
“There they are,” Mrs. Harris says from the doorway, and the footmen, and Mr. Matthews, walk out first. Wilder gives me a side-eye, but I pretend not to notice him, instead fussing at the ties of Maddie’s dress where they’re already coming undone from her fidgeting.
It’s baking hot out, and I try to keep Maddie in the shade from the parasol as much as possible as we watch limousine after limousine arrive, pulling up in a long row on the curved driveway at the front of the house.
The first man out is Brighton. I’d recognize his red hair and rat face anywhere. My throat goes tight, Benedict walking out of the house and past me without a single look to greet his friend. Maddie’s bouncing on her heels and I put a gentle hand on her shoulder.
The less movement, the less attention. She is the duke’s daughter, of course, so she’ll have to say hello, but I want to stay in the shadows.
A woman is next, as Benedict goes to say hello, Brighton cranes his neck to look at all the stories of the great house, waiting forthe rest of the guests to arrive.
“Where’s the duke?” Asks the woman as she glides out of her limo, the driver holding the door for her. She’s icy-pick thin and tall, her blonde hair pinned up in a crown of messy braids that make her look like an Icelandic queen.
When she turns to smile at Benedict, her eyes are so blue they’re almost white. Madeline lets out a small gasp.
“She looks like a princess,” she murmurs, because the woman does. She’s dressed in an expensive silk suit jacket and matching skirt, and her driver hands her a purse that I’m fairly certain is worth more than a year of my wages.
I shrink down behind Madeline as much as I can without obviously moving.
More people arrive, greetings from Benedict, and then a throat clears behind me.
“So the zoo’s all here, hmm?” The duke brushes by me, shooting me a glance as he does. There’s a quirk in his eyebrow, a slight smirk on his face, but he looks tired. Like the week has worn on him, and he’s not ready to be receiving guests.
The expression melts in a moment though, and he holds out his arms.
“Welcome, friends, I’m glad you could join Benedict and me for this weekend. Your staff all arrived earlier today, and we’re ready to entertain you into next week if you last that long.”
The ice-queen coos at the duke, before turning to us.
“And this is Lady Madeline,” she says, holding out her hand. I didn’t catch her title, but Maddie knew what to do, kissing theback of the woman’s hand and curtseying. I try not to let my eyes widen. The party begins to make it’s way inside, the duke introduces Madeline.
Brighton sees me, eyes flickering over me for a moment, but that’s the only moment of recognition anyone has for me.
As I turn to go inside, Benedict’s hand brushes along my back. I freeze.
“Well played, invisible girl,” he murmurs into my ear, and then he’s gone, laughing with Countess Ice Queen, or Dramelia of Myrtle Beach, as I later find out is her name and title.
And just like that, we’re over-run. It feels like everywhere I turn, there arepeople, and while the great house is huge, massive, absolutely awe-inspiring, it’s no match for a group of very noisy, very titled, very entitled people and their entire staff that have come with them.
Maddie wants to be in the thick of it as well, much to my displeasure and the feeling of being watched only grows, making my skin prickle.
We’re in the drawing room, everyone settled and the duke is the only one missing from the party, having needed to take an important call. The late afternoon sun slides over the rugs and sets the glowing wood on fire. It’ll be dinner time soon, but for now, Madeline has gotten herself into the center of the crowd, talking and asking questions.
“Got your nose,” laughs one lordling, teasing her, pinching her nose until Maddie sneezes. He shakes his hand out and reaches for a handkerchief, which a footman hands to him immediately. I swear he muttersbratunder his breath, but I can’t quite hear him. Dramelia leans over from where she’s draped on a chaise.
“You know what I have in my pocket,” she says to Maddie, who’s curled on the floor as I stand near the wall and watch carefully.
“What’s that?” Maddie asks, edging closer.
