Every Exquisite Thing (Ghosts of the Shadow Market #3)

“Oh,” Anna said, not knowing what we Charles was talking about. “Yes. Thank you. I shall.”

Ariadne stepped out of the morning room. She wore a dress of fresh peony pink, and her hair was coiled on her head. On seeing Anna, her cheeks flushed. Charles Fairchild stepped ahead with Inquisitor Bridgestock, and Ariadne stepped up to her.

“I did not expect to see you so soon,” she said to Anna in a low voice.

“How could I keep away?” Anna replied. Ariadne was wearing her perfume again, and it wafted lightly through the air. Orange blossom was Anna’s favorite scent now.

“Perhaps we can meet later,” Ariadne said. “We are—”

“I will be back again in a year’s time,” Charles said, concluding whatever conversation he was having with Inquisitor Bridgestock. He returned to them, bowed, took Ariadne’s hand, and kissed it formally.

“I hope to see more of you when I next return,” he said. “It should not be more than a year.”

“Yes,” Ariadne replied. “I would like that very much.”

“Anna!” Mrs. Bridgestock said. “We have a parrot. You must see it. Come.”

Suddenly, Anna found that Mrs. Bridgestock had hooked her by the arm and was gently leading her into one of the other rooms, where there was a large multicolored parrot in a massive gold cage. The bird cawed loudly on their approach.

“It is a very nice bird,” Anna said, confused, as Mrs. Bridgestock shut the door behind them.

“I do apologize, Anna,” she said. “I just needed to give the two of them the chance to properly say their farewells. These things can be so delicate. I am sure you understand.”

Anna did not understand, but there was a creeping numbness coming over her.

“It is our hope that they might wed in a few years’ time,” Mrs. Bridgestock went on. “Nothing has been settled, but it is such a good match.”

The parrot screeched and Mrs. Bridgestock went on talking, but Anna heard only a ringing in her ears. She could still taste Ariadne’s kiss on her lips; she saw Ariadne’s dark hair spread out on the pillow. Those things had happened just hours before, and yet it was like a hundred years had passed and the world had grown cold and unfamiliar.

The door opened again, and a quiet Ariadne joined them.

“Has mother introduced you to Winston?” she said, looking at the parrot. “She dotes on him. Aren’t you a nasty beast, Winston?”

She said it warmly, and Winston the parrot danced along his rail and extended a foot to Ariadne.

“Did you have a fruitful discussion?” her mother asked.

“Mother!” Ariadne protested. She was a little pale, but her mother seemed not to notice. “Please, may I speak to Anna?”

“Yes, of course,” Mrs. Bridgestock said. “You girls have a good chat. I’ll have the cook make up some nice strawberry lemonade and some biscuits.”

When she left, Anna stared blankly at Ariadne.

“You are to be married?” she said, her voice gone dry. “You cannot marry him.”

“Charles is quite a good match,” Ariadne said as if she were discussing the quality of a piece of cloth. “Nothing has been settled, but we should reach an agreement soon. But come, Anna, come. Sit.”

Ariadne took Anna’s hand and led her over to one of the sofas.

“That won’t be for at least another year or more,” Ariadne said. “You heard Charles. It’s a year before I even see him again. All of that time, I will spend with you.”

She drew a small circle on the back of Anna’s hand with her finger, a gentle motion that took Anna’s breath away. Ariadne was so beautiful, so warm. Anna felt like she was being torn to pieces.

“Surely you cannot wish to marry Charles,” said Anna. “There is nothing wrong with him, but he is—do you love him?’

“No,” Ariadne said, clutching Anna’s hand tighter. “I do not love him that way, or any man that way. All my life, I have looked at women and known only they could pierce my heart. As you have pierced it, Anna.”

“Then why?” Anna said. “Why marry him? Because of your parents?”

“Because that is the way the world is,” Ariadne said, her voice shaking, the way it had when she had first asked Anna if she might kiss her. “If I were to tell my parents the truth about myself, if I were to reveal who I really am, they would despise me. I would be friendless, cast out, alone.”

Anna shook her head.

“They would not,” she said. “They would love you. You are their daughter.”

Ariadne drew her hand back from Anna’s. “I am adopted, Anna. My father is the Inquisitor. I do not have parents who are as understanding as yours must be.”

“But love is what matters,” said Anna. “I would have no one but you. You are all to me, Ariadne. I will not marry a man. I only want you.”

“And I want children,” Ariadne said, lowering her voice in case her mother was returning. “Anna, I have always wanted to be a mother, more than anything else in the world. If I had to bear Charles’s touch, it would be worth it for that.” She shuddered. “I shall never, never love him as I love you. I thought you understood—that this would be a bit of happiness we could snatch for ourselves before the world forced us apart. We can love each other for the next year, before Charles returns—we could have that time and always remember it, hold it close to ourselves—”

“But when Charles returned, it would be over,” Anna said coldly. “He would claim you. That is what you are saying.”

“I would not be unfaithful to him, no,” Ariadne said quietly. “I am not a liar.”

Anna stood up. “I think you are lying to yourself.”

Ariadne raised her lovely face. Tears poured down her cheeks; she wiped them away with shaking hands. “Oh, Anna, won’t you kiss me?” she said. “Oh, please, Anna. Do not leave me. Please kiss me.”

She looked at Anna pleadingly. Anna’s breaths were short, and her heart beat a wailing tattoo in her chest. The perfect world she had dreamed of was shattered into a million pieces, turned to dust, and blown away. What replaced it was something cruel and strange. There was not enough air to breathe. Hot tears stung her eyes.

“Good-bye, Ariadne,” she managed, and staggered from the room.





Anna sat on the edge of her bed and cried for a very long time. She cried until no tears came and her body heaved reflexively.

There was a soft knock on her door, and her brother peeked his head in.

“Anna?” he said, blinking his lavender eyes. “Are you all right? I thought I heard something.”

Oh, Christopher. Sweet Christopher. Anna roughly wiped her face.

“I’m fine, Christopher,” she said, clearing her throat.

“Are you sure?” Christopher asked. “Is there nothing I can do to help you? I could perform a saving act of science.”

“Christopher, get along with you.” It was Anna’s mother, appearing silently as a cat in the corridor behind her son. “Go and do something else. Something without explosives,” she added, shooing her second-born off down the hall.

Anna hastily scrubbed the last traces of tears from her eyes as her mother came into her room, carrying a long, beribboned box. She sat down on the bed and looked at her daughter placidly.

As always, Cecily was perfectly dressed and perfectly calm-looking, her dark hair in a smooth chignon at the back of her neck, her dress a becoming blue. Anna couldn’t help but think how ghastly she must look in her nightshirt with her face blotchy and red.

“Do you know why I named you Anna?” Cecily said.

Anna shook her head, puzzled.

“I was awfully ill during my pregnancy,” said Cecily. Anna blinked—she hadn’t known that. “I was worried all the time that you wouldn’t live to be born, or you would be sickly and ill. And then you were born, and you were the most beautiful, healthy, perfect child.” She smiled. “Anna means favor, as in God has favored me. I thought the Angel had favored me with you, and I would make sure you were always happy, always content.” She reached out to gently touch Anna’s cheek. “She broke your heart, didn’t she? Ariadne?”