Charlotte rol ed her eyes skyward. “Wil iam, this wil be either on my terms or not at al .”
Wil took a deep breath, and looked at Jem, who grinned at him; Wil let the air out of his lungs with a defeated sigh and said, “Al right, then, Charlotte. Do you intend for al of us to go?”
“You and Tessa, certainly. We need you as witnesses regarding the party. Jem, Henry, there is no need for you to go, and we require at least one of you to remain and guard the Institute.”
“Darling . . .” Henry touched Charlotte’s arm with a quizzical look on his face.
She looked up at him in surprise. “Yes?”
“You’re sure you don’t want me to come with you?”
Charlotte smiled at him, a smile that transformed her tired, pinched face. “Quite sure, Henry; Jem isn’t technical y an adult, and to leave him here alone—not that he isn’t capable—wil only add fuel to Benedict’s fire of complaints. But thank you.”
Tessa looked at Jem; he gave her a regretful smile and, hidden behind the spread of her skirts, pressed her hand with his. His touch sent a warm rush of reassurance through her, and she rose to her feet, amid Wil rising to go, while Charlotte sought for a pen to scribble a note to Benedict on the back of a flossed cal ing card, which Cyril would deliver while they waited in the carriage.
“I’d best fetch my hat and gloves,” Tessa whispered to Jem, and made her way to the door. Wil was just behind her, and a moment later, the drawing room door swinging shut behind them, they found themselves alone in the corridor. Tessa was about to hurry down the hal toward her room, when she heard Wil ’s footsteps behind her.
“Tessa!” he cal ed, and she swung around. “Tessa, I need to speak with you.”
“Now?” she said, surprised. “I gathered from Charlotte that she wanted us to hurry—”
“Damn hurrying,” said Wil , coming closer to her. “Damn Benedict Lightwood and the Institute and al this business. I want to talk to you.” He grinned at her. There had always been a reckless energy to him, but this was different—the difference between the recklessness of despair and the abandonment of happiness. But what an odd time to be happy!
“Have you gone quite mad?” she asked him. “You say ‘demon pox’ the way someone else might say ‘massive surprise inheritance.’ Are you real y that pleased?”
“Vindicated, not happy, and anyway, this isn’t about the demon pox. This is about you and me—”
The drawing room door opened, and Henry emerged, Charlotte just behind him. Knowing Jem would be next, Tessa stepped away from Wil hastily, though nothing improper had transpired between them at al . Except in your thoughts, said a little voice in the back of her mind, which she ignored. “Wil , not now,” she said under her breath. “I believe I know what it is you want to say, and you’re quite right to wish to say it, but this isn’t the time or place, is it? Believe me, I am as eager for the talk as you, for it has been weighing heavily on my mind—”
“You are? It has?” Wil looked dazed, as if she had hit him with a rock.
“Wel —yes,” said Tessa, looking up to see Jem coming toward them. “But not now.”
Wil fol owed her gaze, swal owed, and nodded reluctantly. “Then, when?”
“Later, after we go to the Lightwoods’. Meet me in the drawing room.”
“In the drawing room?”
She frowned at him. “Real y, Wil ,” she said. “Are you going to repeat everything I say?”
Jem had reached them, and heard this last remark; he grinned. “Tessa, do let poor Wil gather his wits about him; he’s been out al night and looks as if he can barely remember his own name.” He put his hand on his parabatai’s arm. “Come along, Herondale. You seem as if you need an energy rune—or two or three.”
Wil tore his eyes away from Tessa’s and let Jem lead him off down the corridor. Tessa watched them, shaking her head. Boys, she thought. She would never understand them.
Tessa had gone only a few steps into her bedroom when she stopped in surprise, staring at what was on the bed. A stylish walking suit of cream and gray striped India silk, trimmed with delicate braid and silver buttons. Gray velvet gloves lay beside it, figured with a pattern of leaves in silver thread. At the foot of the bed were bone-colored buttoned boots, and fashionable patterned stockings.
The door opened, and Sophie came in, holding a pale gray hat with trimmings of silver berries. She was very pale, and her eyes were swol en and red. She avoided Tessa’s gaze. “New clothing, miss,” Sophie said. “The fabric was part of Mrs. Branwel ’s trousseau, and, wel , a few weeks ago she thought of having it made into a dress for you. I think she thought you ought to have some clothes that Miss Jessamine didn’t buy for you.