Page 36 of A Single Thread of Moonlight

I felt a pang of sympathy for him. I could only imagine the scenes that followed him wherever he went. Many mothers would go to great lengths to make their daughter a princess.

Stefan cleared his throat. “I am – not yet attached,” he said, rather haltingly. He lifted his eyes to mine. “But I hope, soon, that I may be. My grandmother has her own plans for me, but I would like to find a bride with whom I can share my life, one where there is love as well as duty. I would like to be a good husband, to one day be a good father.”

The look he gave me was steady and I did not have to feign any reaction to it. I felt a blush rise to my cheeks, and I dropped my own gaze to my hands.

“Will you ride with me tomorrow morning?” he asked.

I started. For some reason, I hadn’t thought about riding. “I-I can’t,” I stuttered. “I have made plans with Miss Cassandra.”

This was true, while they had been out the room, Cassie had agreed that she would give me my first cycling lesson, but it was also a relief to have an excuse ready.

It had been a long time since I was on a horse. I had grieved that as I had grieved the loss of everything else. My first memories were of riding with my father, and I simply could not imagine life before then.

But to ride again … here. It was too much. Was my father’s horse, Hercules, still in the stables? Was my own? I hadn’t let myself think about Asteria for a long time. Father had bought her for me for my eleventh birthday, and I had loved her with all of my battered, broken heart. Leaving her behind had been the hardest decision I had ever made. I knew that neither my stepsisters nor Helena had been enthusiastic about riding. Had they sold the horses once my father and I were gone?

I realized that Stefan was talking, and I forced myself to pay attention.

“—but perhaps another day?” he asked.

I nodded. “Yes, perhaps.”

Stefan’s brow furrowed. “Miss Fox,” he said earnestly. “I hope I haven’t made you feel uncomfortable. If I have been too forward…”

“Oh, no!” I exclaimed, impulsively resting my hand on his arm. “No, I have enjoyed our conversation … very much.”

Stefan covered my hand briefly with his own. “I’m glad.”

His hand dropped and so did mine, but I felt his touch linger. I flexed my fingers as if to dispel the sensation.

After that, we didn’t get much chance to speak again. Lady Bell practically pushed Lord Percy over towards me, while simultaneously engaging Stefan in conversation, earning herself a smile from Helena.

Percy was shy and stammering and I felt sorry for him. It seemed I was not about to escape being the victim of a matchmaking mama either. The dangers of being an heiress, I suppose.

After we had struggled through some painful small talk, I leaned forward. “Do you know this is the first one of these things I’ve been to?” I said. “I’m feeling quite nervous about it. It’s all a bit like being under a microscope.”

There was a moment of hesitation, then, with a relieved sigh, he said, “Well, you’re certainly better at hiding it than I am!”

“Perhaps we can muddle through together,” I replied.

The smile Percy gave me then was not a bit shy, it was wide and adorable, and made me want to take him under my wing. A boy like that wouldn’t last two days in my world.

Stop it.

The words echoed through my brain. I’d barely been here five minutes and I could feel this soft, comfortable life thawing my icy shell. It would be so easy to slip back into it, I realized with a jolt, to let myself become Serena Fox – untroubled and trusting and raised to privilege.

The thought was horrifying. I had left my home, this home, as a child. The woman I was now was no sheltered miss. She was hard edges, she was knives drawn in alleys, she was moonlight and shadows and London fog.

She did not belong.

I needed to remember that. I could feel my spine stiffening. Stefan was not my friend. Percy was not my friend. Cassie was not my friend. I just had to pretend to like them, because that’s what Serena would do. She was a character, nothing more. I could not allow myself to be picked apart at seams that I had stitched together so carefully.

I was pleased to escape to my room as early as possible. Matilda was there, waiting to help me out of my jewels and gown and into a soft white linen nightgown. She had tamped down the fire so that the room was just the right temperature, and pulled back my bed covers, as if my own ladylike fingers shouldn’t have to do anything so strenuous. She brushed my hair until it shone. I said little and examined my face in the mirror for any sign of weakness. I didn’t know precisely what that would look like, but I did look pale and tired.

And the night wasn’t over yet.

I thanked her distantly, and Matilda left. I sat on the edge of the bed, sinking into the crisp white sheets. I fought the urge to moan. I had forgotten that a bed could feel like this. I knew that if I lay down then it would envelop me, a light cloud of down and cotton. But I couldn’t let myself sleep. There was still one thing that I had to do.

I don’t know how long I sat there in the end. Long enough to be sure that everyone was in bed, long enough to hear the house settle into a thick, unbroken silence.