Page 91 of Immortal Rose

“It would indeed,” I said. And it would be worth sacrificing a few hours of blending the other oils in the dark. After all, I couldn’t complete Immortal Rose until we found a source for the nectar, and speaking to the captain might turn up just the lead we needed.

“Isn’t it considered bad luck for a woman to turn up on the docks?” Foxcourt asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“It’s bad luck for them to be on ships,” I corrected. “Otherwise the markets and half the brothels in Riverside would shutter.”

“It’s dangerous for a woman regardless,” Foxcourt countered. “These sailors are a rough sort—”

“I was born in Riverside,” I told him. “I am a rough sort.”

That stilled his tongue, at least. Reddy’s grin deepened. “What do you say, Lockwood? Are you up for a bit of mischief tonight?”

“Are you up for a bit of mischief, my lady,” I corrected in a crisp, refined tone I’d heard countless Patricians affect. “I suppose it’s for my jailer to decide.”

Foxcourt made a noise of protest as we both turned to him. The question in my heart was reflected in his troubled eyes: Why would I ever want to do this?

Not for him, certainly. But perhaps to restore the balance between us, after his unexpected kindness. To ease that strange feeling of vertigo I had looking at him now.

Foxcourt took a deep breath. “We cannot delay more than a few minutes—”

I spun toward a smirking Reddy. “I need only one. Restrain him, if it comes to it.”

Reddy gave a mock salute with the last bite of cheese.

I undressed and redressed as hastily as I could, retrieving the finer, claret-colored silk dress from the wardrobe. My usual dresses were simply constructed, designed to be donned without the help of a maid, sister, or partner, but Madame Audette’s were altogether more elegant beasts, with frills and laces and delicate constitutions. Twisting and tugging, I managed to get my tapes knotted without tearing the dress.

Fastening my stocking garters and ankle boots, I turned back to the wardrobe, tugging out a suitable hooded velvet evening cloak that hopefully conveyed disgustingly wealthy woman without the good sense to wear a humble disguise.

I was breathless by the time I burst back into the kitchen.

Reddy stood near the door, staring at Foxcourt in bewilderment. He must have been out in the garden a moment before; the smell of fresh, damp flowers brightened the kitchen’s herbal notes.

“I’ll pin my hair up in the coach,” I said, gesturing to my braid.

Foxcourt snipped a length of twine and turned, holding something out to me: a small posy of flowers—a rose, lavender, and a sprig of honeysuckle had been bound and placed in a silver pin. Such little bundles and bouquets had been used for hundreds of years to drive away the foul odors of cities, but it wasn’t until he took a step toward me that I understood.

The flowers were for me.

The gentle halo of scent caressed us as he gently shifted my braid, affixing the posy to the cloak, just above my heart.

“There we are,” he said, stepping back to assess his work.

“What?” I could scarcely find enough breath to ask. The world was shifting beneath me, turning upside down and inside out.

“An abundance of caution, given how odorous the Temese can be,” Foxcourt explained, his face cool and beautiful in the dim light. “Now, shall we?”

Chapter Nineteen

Foxcourt hadn’t been entirely wrong to worry about the effect the smell of the Riverside dockyard would have on me. It was only for the wrong reason.

Old ghosts stirred as the first waves of the distinct stench of the wharves reached us. It was the perfume I would blend to capture man’s ambition—tea, gunpowder, cloth, sugar, rum, and tobacco, layered with the sweat of the lightermen and quayside laborers, and the salted breath of the waiting sea.

As a little girl, I would sometimes slip away from Mrs. Rhodes, who was meant to be watching me, and make my way down to the docks to see the newly moored vessels. Each yearned to tell their story, of the battles survived and storms weathered. Even furled, the sails carried tantalizing hints of faraway lands and unfamiliar seas. Of an endless sky.

Now, the scent didn’t bring with it the possibility of escape, but the prison of the past.

A desolate feeling spread through me as we rolled by the worn faces of lodging houses and pubs and market squares. Memories, agonizing and gray, eddied around me as we approached the entrance to the dockyard, trying to stake their claim on my heart.

The River Temese was as black as an underworld river, throwing off even the moon’s light as it crawled slowly by. It was calmer than I had seen in some time, as if wanting to have a look back at me. To welcome Riverside’s lost daughter home.