ON THE WAY HOME I couldn’t help but notice Montgomery’s tense hold on the reins and Balthazar’s wide-eyed scan of the jungle. They were on alert. Something bad had happened, regardless of what Father said. Ever since that native had accidentally been killed, they’d all been uneasy.
Alice fetched me for dinner that evening, saying Father expected proper dining attire. I dug through Mother’s trunk until I found a suitable white blouse and lavender skirt. Elegant clothes didn’t fit such a savage place, but this wasn’t just any island. It was my father’s island.
I paused outside the French doors leading to the well-lit salon. Inside Father and Edward talked over a brandy, surprisingly amicable, while Montgomery looked out the windows, arms folded, watching the dark jungle. The dinner table was set with all the finery of a London salon, out of place on the primitive island.
When I entered, all eyes turned to me. Edward straightened. The conversation died between him and Father. Apparently Mother’s elegant clothing was something of a sight. Montgomery gave me one long, speechless look and went to the side table to pour himself a brandy.
Edward wore a fine suit borrowed from Father, with a dark-gray vest that would have been at home in any London drawing room. He smiled, though the muscle in his jaw twitched. “You look beautiful. Like one of the angels Milton wrote about.”
“A fallen one, maybe,” I said.
Montgomery watched us from across the room in his worn riding trousers and loose linen shirt. He’d washed his hands and face but little else. He wasn’t a gentleman like Edward. He belonged in the wild.
“Please take a seat,” Father said, pulling out my chair. “I’m afraid Montgomery and I have grown lax in our manners. Now that we’ve guests, it’s time we remind ourselves that we’re not animals.”
Montgomery sat down across from me, fidgeting with the silverware. I wondered if he often thought about that moment when our lips had been so close. If so, he’d said nothing. Could that attraction have been only my imagination?
Alice came in and filled our wineglasses, followed by Balthazar with a soup bowl. She kept her head to the side and wouldn’t look at anyone but Montgomery. She positively turned white when she had to serve Edward, with his fine suit and elegant manners.
For a while we ate in silence. I think the sudden sophistication and elegant attire took us all by surprise, and we didn’t quite know what to do with ourselves. The clock ticked away the seconds on the mantel. I stole glances at my father, wondering about what he’d meant when he’d said I should get to know Edward better. Wondering what had made Balthazar and Puck interrupt the picnic with so many guns.
“Well, Prince, it seems you are now somewhat familiar with us. We have the disadvantage, however, of knowing next to nothing about you.” Father tapped absently against the base of his wineglass and slid me a look. “Juliet, in particular, is curious about you.”
I studied the curve of my spoon in detail. Wished Father didn’t have to be so obvious about whatever plans he was making for Edward and me.
“You come from a good family, I assume?” Father asked him.
“My father is a general.”
“A high post. Strange you would turn your back on him.”
My soup spoon paused halfway to my mouth. I was intrigued by Edward’s story, even without Father pushing me toward him. Edward had given me only glimmers. I had never directly asked him what had made him leave England in such a rush, but then again, he’d never asked me to lay bare my history so he could dissect it, either. It felt like an unspoken agreement. He could have his secrets and I could have mine. Though it didn’t make me any less curious.
Edward rubbed the silk napkin between his fingers, clearing his throat. I absently wondered what his hands would feel like against my skin. Strong, yet smooth. Like they had in my dream. The spoon slipped from my fingers into the bowl with an embarrassing clatter.
“We didn’t agree on many things,” Edward said.
“Still, one must obey one’s father, don’t you agree?” Father ran his middle finger along the rim of his wineglass. It hummed with a shrill and unnerving pitch.
“There comes a point when one must make one’s own decisions. Live one’s own life.”
The hum of the wineglass grew louder and louder. And then, suddenly, he stopped. “I hope for your sake, Mr. Prince, that your father comes to forgive you. I, for one, am glad to have an obedient child,” he said, giving me a tight smile.
He was waiting for me to smile back. Obediently. I’d seen him work his spell on my mother, his colleagues, his students. He had a way of swaying people’s emotions like a hypnotist. I so badly wanted to believe that everything was fine on the island. And that pushing Edward off the dock had been a joke, nothing more. But the thing was, I wasn’t swayed by my emotions. I was analytical. Logical.