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Benedict stays still, Brighton nearby, and Dramelia further beyond that. The two of them are talking, ignoring Benedict, for the moment at least.
"You overplayed," I mutter to Benedict as I walk by, "she's his daughter."
His hand shoots out, snapping around my wrist, and for a moment I wonder if Brighton and Dramelia will see this,hearthis. My eyes swing up to look at Benedict's face, panicked.
His gaze is in shadow.
"He can have her for now," he breathes, fury in every word. "But she will love me as a daughter would, in time."
"Not if you murder her father, she won't," I snap back. I twist my wrist in his arm, breaking his grip, almost staggering to get away from him. I march toward the open doors, and as I pass Brighton and Dramelia, she watches me go, her expression carefully neutral. Let her think what she wants to think. She's ahorrible, evil person, and I have no time for her at all.
I'm not sure what's prettier; the stars above or the lights that trace along the tree branches that the party eats under. They're lit by strings of bulbs, purple and blue, surrounded by clusters of soft tissue fabric that flutters in the breeze. The beautiful lights hang above the diners, although they don't seem to notice all the effort that's gone into making this look gorgeous for them, with the way they carry on talking to each other.
I stand off in the shadows between two trees, waiting for some sign from Madeline that she's tired and ready for bed.
There's already been five courses, and I know her little stomach must be full to bursting. I glance at my phone, burying it back in my pocket. It's about time for the dessert course, and then there'll be wine and cheese for the adults, and it'll be time for me to usher Madeline back to the big house and get her into bed.
So far, the conversation has been light, most of them discussing the day's ride, and a plan for a polo match that one of the other local estates has on for the end of the weekend.
My eyes slide shut, the night's breeze washing over me. Dinner'll be waiting for me in the servant's hall when Madeline is tucked into bed, and my stomach rumbles, ready for whatever it is Cook and her minions have prepared.
A whisper of noise off to my right has me looking, into the trees beyond the clearing where the table is set and the diners sit.
The moon is coming up, enough that even beyond the lights I can see two figures standing.
My mouth drops open, and I freeze.
It's Lady Dramelia.
And…
Wilder?
I go still. Feet from me on either side are footmen, waiting to serve the next course as it comes out from a tent pitched on the other side of the dining table and clearing.
Dramelia had slipped away for personal reasons, with a softexcuse me, because noble-born women never debased themselves as to say they needed to powder their nose. That was for the middle classes.
But she'd left minutes ago… long enough to be relieving herself, but not so long as to be raising suspicions.
I shift my weight and recede further between the tall trees, brush on either side me as I duck down, unseen. I creep toward where Dramelia stands, close to Wilder, closer than she should be to a manservant who isn't hers. How have they not noticed he's missing?
"And can you imagine, they're trying it again?" Loud, semi-drunken words behind me explode into the night's air, shocking my system and making me freeze.
"A democracy, think on it, the lay and peasants allowed to vote," someone else, exuberant and male, joins in with a laugh.
I'm hidden by a large, thick bush, but I can still see Dramelia, and Wilder. They were talking, but now she pulls away from him, walking down a path that'll take her back to the outside rest-rooms, built for the exact purpose of hosted parties.
And Wilder… he stands there, silhouetted by the moon. Whatever they were doing, some kind of assignation, I'm shocked by it, but maybe not that surprised.
It's not… unheard of. Absolutely inappropriate but not unheard of. My heartbeat is thudding in my mouth, in the back of my throat, as I sneak back to the dinner table.
Dessert has already been served in the minutes I was away. Madeline's eyes search along the edge of the clearing, along the tree-line, for me. I gulp and move toward her, someone nearly bumping into me as I do.
Angry eyes under a dark shag of hair greet me. It's Wilder, moving with a tray of drinks.
"Watch it," he mutters to me, as I skirt around him, trying to shake off the shiver that rolls down my spine. What was he doing with Dramelia? Had they been really…
Ugh. It's too gross and horrible to even think about.
