The Sweet Far Thing (Gemma Doyle #3)

The Sweet Far Thing (Gemma Doyle #3) Page 58

“I’ve arrangements to make. For the wedding,” she says with a happy sigh.

“You must tell us simply everything,” Felicity insists, and we badger her with questions. Will she carry a fan? Will there be lace? A veil? Will she have orange blossoms embroidered on her dress for luck as Queen Victoria did?

“Oh, no, nothing so grand.” She demurs, glancing down at her plump hands resting in her ample lap. “It will be a simple country wedding in the Spence chapel.”

“Will you stay on at Spence?” Ann asks. “After you’re married?”

“That rather depends on Mr. Kent,” she answers, as if that settles it.

“Would you want to stay on?” Felicity presses.

“I should like a new life once I am married. In fact, the inspector has begun to ask my thoughts on his cases, to have a woman’s perspective. I know it’s out of the ordinary for a wife’s duties, but I confess I find it quite thrilling.”

“That is lovely,” Ann says. She’s smiling in that romantic way of hers, and I know that in her head she’s conjured images of herself bustling about a kitchen, sending her husband off to work with a kiss. I try to imagine myself in such a life. Would I like it? Would I grow bored? Would it be a comfort or a curse?

My thoughts turn to Kartik—his lips, his hands, the way he once kissed me. In my mind I see myself running my fingers across those lips, feeling his hands at the nape of my neck. A warm ache settles below my belly. It ignites something deep inside me that I cannot name, and suddenly, it’s as if I am inside a vision. Kartik and I stand in a garden. My hands are tattooed with henna, like an Indian bride’s. He takes me into his arms and kisses me under a steady rain of falling petals. He gently lowers the edges of my sari, baring my shoulders, his lips trailing down my bare skin, and I sense that everything between us is about to change.

I come back to myself suddenly. My breathing is labored and I feel flushed from head to toe. No one seems to notice my discomfort, and I do my best to regain my composure.

“I shall never marry,” Felicity announces with a wicked smile. “I shall live in Paris and become an artist’s model.”

She’s trying to shock, and Mademoiselle LeFarge supplies the requisite admonishment—“Really, Miss Worthington”—but then she changes course.

“Have you no desire for a husband and children, Miss Worthington?” she asks plainly, as if on this train we have ridden from girls to young ladies who might be trusted to hold a different sort of conversation. It is nearly as powerful as the magic, this trust.

“No, I don’t,” Felicity says.

“And why not?” LeFarge presses.

“I…I wish to live for myself. I should never want to be trapped.”

“One needn’t be trapped. One’s life can be made so rich by sharing burdens and joys.”

“I’ve not seen it to be so,” Fee mumbles.

Mademoiselle LeFarge nods, considering. “It takes the right sort of husband, I suppose, the sort who’ll be a friend and not a master. A husband who will care for his wife with small, everyday kindnesses and trust her with his confidences. And a wife must be such a friend in return.”

“I’d not make a good wife,” Felicity says so softly it is nearly drowned out by the clacking of the train.

“What sorts of goodies will you shop for today?” Ann asks, abandoning the sophisticated Nan for a moment with a single girlish question.

“Oh, me, this and that. Nothing so nice as your necklace, I’m afraid.”

Ann takes the pearls from her neck and holds them out. “I should like you to have this.”

Mademoiselle LeFarge pushes them away. “Oh, no, you are far too kind.”

“No,” Ann says, blushing. “I’m not. You must have something borrowed, yes?”

“I couldn’t possibly,” Mademoiselle LeFarge insists.

I take Mademoiselle LeFarge’s hand and imagine her in her wedding dress, the pearls at her neck. “Take them,” I murmur, and my wish, borne on the wings of magic, travels quickly between us and nests inside her.

Mademoiselle LeFarge blinks. “You’re certain?”

“Oh, yes. Nothing would make me happier.” Ann smiles.

Mademoiselle LeFarge secures the clasp around her own neck. “How do they look?”

“Beautiful,” we all say as one.

Ann, Felicity, and Mademoiselle LeFarge fall into easy conversation. I stare out the train’s windows at the hills rolling by. I want to ask them if they know what my future holds: Will my father’s health be restored and my family healed? Will I survive my debut? Can I prove myself within the realms and live up to expectations, especially my own?