It did not help that Jem had not been at dinner. She had wanted so badly to speak to him today. After he had avoided her eyes at breakfast and then been “il ” at dinner, panic had twisted her stomach. Was he horrified by what had happened between them the night before—or worse, sickened? Maybe in his secret heart of hearts, he felt as Wil did, that warlocks were beneath him. Or maybe it had nothing to do with what she was.
Maybe he was simply repel ed by her wantonness; she had welcomed his embraces, not pushed him away, and hadn’t Aunt Harriet always said that men were weak where desire was concerned, and that women were the ones who had to exercise restraint?
She hadn’t exercised much last night. She remembered lying beside Jem, his gentle hands on her. She knew with a painful inner honesty that if things had continued, she would have done whatever he wanted. Even now, thinking about it, her body felt hot and restless; she shifted in bed, punching one of the pil ows. If she had destroyed the closeness she shared with Jem by al owing what had happened last night, she would never forgive herself.
She was about to bury her face in the pil ow, when she heard the noise. A soft rapping at the door. She froze. It came again, insistently. Jem. Her hands shaking, she leaped from the bed, ran to the door, and threw it open.
On the threshold stood Sophie. She wore her black housemaid’s dress, but her white cap had come askew and her dark curls were tumbling down. Her face was very white and there was a spot of blood on her col ar; she looked horrified and almost sick.
“Sophie.” Tessa’s voice betrayed her surprise. “Are you al right?”
Sophie looked around fearful y. “May I come in, miss?”
Tessa nodded and held the door open for her. When they were both safely inside, she bolted it and sat down on the edge of her bed, apprehension like a lead weight in her chest. Sophie remained standing, twisting her hands in front of her.
“Sophie, please, what is it?”
“It’s Miss Jessamine,” Sophie burst out.
“What about Jessamine?”
“She . . . It’s just to say, I’ve seen her . . .” She broke off, looking wretched. “She’s been slipping away in the nights, miss.”
“Has she? I saw her last night, in the corridor, dressed as a boy and looking quite furtive. . . .”
Sophie looked relieved. She didn’t like Jessamine, Tessa knew that wel enough, but she was a wel -trained maid, and a wel -trained maid did not tattle on her mistress. “Yes,” she said eagerly. “I’ve been noticing it for days now. Her bed sometimes not slept in at al , mud on the rugs in the mornings when it weren’t there the night before. I would’ve told Mrs. Branwel , but she’s had so dreadful much on her mind, I couldn’t bear to.”
“So why are you tel ing me?” Tessa asked. “It sounds as if Jessamine’s found herself a suitor. I can’t say I approve of her behavior, but”—she swal owed, thinking of her own behavior the night before—“neither of us is responsible for it. And perhaps there is some harmless explanation. . . .”
“Oh, but, miss.” Sophie plunged her hand into the pocket of her dress and drew it out with a stiff cream-colored card clamped between her fingers. “Tonight I found this. In the pocket of her new velvet jacket. You know, the one with the ecru stripe.”
Tessa did not care about the ecru stripe. Her eyes were fixed on the card. Slowly she reached out and took it, turning it over in her hand. It was an invitation to a bal .
July 20, 1878
Mr. BENEDICT LIGHTWOOD
presents his compliments
to MISS JESSA MINE LOVELA CE,
and requests the honor of her company
at a masquerade ball given on Tuesday next,
the 27th of July. RSVP.
The invitation went on to give details of the address and the time the bal would begin, but it was what was written on the back of the invitation that froze Tessa’s blood. In a casual hand, as familiar to her as her own, were scrawled the words: My Jessie. My very heart is bursting at the thought of seeing you tomorrow night at the “great affair.” However great it may be, I shall have eyes for nothing and no one but you. Do wear the white dress, darling, as you know how I like it—“in gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls,” as the poet said. Yours always, N.G.
“Nate,” Tessa said numbly, staring down at the letter. “Nate wrote this. And quoted Tennyson.”
Sophie drew her breath in sharply. “I feared—but I thought it couldn’t be. Not after al he did.”
“I know my brother’s handwriting.” Tessa’s voice was grim. “He’s planning to meet her tonight at this—this secret bal . Sophie, where is Jessamine? I must speak to her this instant.”
Sophie’s hands began to twist more rapidly. “See, that’s the thing, miss—”
“Oh, God, has she gone already? We’l have to get Charlotte. I don’t see another way—”
“She hasn’t gone. She’s in her room,” Sophie interrupted.
“So she doesn’t know you found this?” Tessa flapped the card.
Sophie swal owed visibly. “I—she found me with it in my hand, miss. I tried to hide it, but she’d already seen it. She had such a menacing look on her face when she came reaching for it, I couldn’t help myself. Al the training sessions I’ve done with Master Gideon, they just took over and, wel —”