Read Online Neferet's Curse: A House of Night Novella (House of Night Novellas) by P. C. Cast - Free Book Online
Authors: P. C. Cast
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architect, Mr. Frederick Law Olmsted, joined the conversation, adding even more passion to the argument. Arthur stayed out of much of the conversation. At first the other men joked that he was a poor stand-in for his gout-ridden father, but he laughed and agreed; then when they returned to their battle of words, Arthur returned his attention to me.
No one seemed to notice, not even Father, at least not after I called for the fifth bottle of our good cabernet to be opened and liberally poured—though he did send me a sharp look if I laughed at one of Arthur’s witticisms. I learned quickly to stifle my laughter and instead smile shyly at my plate.
I did look up, though, as often as I dared. I wanted to look into Arthur’s beautiful blue eyes and see the sparkle and the kindness with which they watched me.
But I did not want Father to see, nor did I want Mr. Elcott to see.
Mr. Elcott’s gaze did not have my father’s intensity, but I did find it on me often that night. It reminded me that Mrs. Elcott, as well as Camille, expected that Arthur Simpton was close to declaring his serious affections for their daughter, though in complete honesty I will admit that I did not need a reminder.
As I write this I do feel a measure of sadness, or perhaps pity is the more sincere emotion, for poor Camille. But she should not have deluded herself. The truth is the truth. That night I took nothing from her that she hadn’t attempted to first take from me.
I also took nothing that was not freely, joyfully, given.
The dinner that I had dreaded seemed to last but a fleeting moment. Too soon, Father, his face flushed and his words slurred, pushed back from the table, stood, and announced, “Let us retire to my library for brandy and cigars.”
I’d stood when Father did, and the other five men got instantly to their feet.
“Let us first have a toast,” Mr. Pullman had said. He’d lifted his mostly empty wineglass, and the rest of the men had followed suit. “To Miss Emily Wheiler for a delightful dinner. You are a credit to your mother.”
“To Miss Wheiler!” the men said, raising their glasses to me.
I am not ashamed to admit that I’d felt a rush of pride and of happiness. “Thank you, gentlemen. You are all most kind.” As they all bowed to me I managed to sneak a look at Arthur, who winked quickly and flashed a handsome, white-toothed smile at me.
“My dear, you were a picture tonight—a picture,” Father slurred. “Have brandy and cigars sent to my library.”
“Thank you, Father,” I’d said softly. “And I already arranged for George to be waiting in your library with both brandy and cigars.”
He’d taken my hand in his. His was large and moist, as it always was, and he lifted mine to his lips. “You have done well tonight. I bid you a good night, my dear.”
The other men had echoed his good-night wishes, as I hurried from the room, wiping the back of my hand on my voluminous velvet skirts. I’d felt my father’s gaze burning me the whole way and I did not dare look back, even for one last glimpse of Arthur Simpton.
I’d started toward the stairs, meaning to secret myself in my bedchamber so that I would be well out of sight when Father, thoroughly drunk, stumbled to his bed. I’d even told Mary, who was chattering nonstop about what a success I’d been, to give me just a few moments to myself, but then I’d be ready for her to come to my room and help me out of the intricacies of Mother’s gown so that I may change into my nightgown for bed.
As I consider back on it, tonight it seemed as if my body was completely in control of my actions, and my mind could do nothing except to follow its lead.
My feet had detoured around the wide staircase and I’d slipped quietly down the servants’ hall and out the rear door where my hands had lifted my mother’s skirts and I’d almost flown to the quiet bench under the willow tree that I had made my own.
Once I reached the dark security of my
No one seemed to notice, not even Father, at least not after I called for the fifth bottle of our good cabernet to be opened and liberally poured—though he did send me a sharp look if I laughed at one of Arthur’s witticisms. I learned quickly to stifle my laughter and instead smile shyly at my plate.
I did look up, though, as often as I dared. I wanted to look into Arthur’s beautiful blue eyes and see the sparkle and the kindness with which they watched me.
But I did not want Father to see, nor did I want Mr. Elcott to see.
Mr. Elcott’s gaze did not have my father’s intensity, but I did find it on me often that night. It reminded me that Mrs. Elcott, as well as Camille, expected that Arthur Simpton was close to declaring his serious affections for their daughter, though in complete honesty I will admit that I did not need a reminder.
As I write this I do feel a measure of sadness, or perhaps pity is the more sincere emotion, for poor Camille. But she should not have deluded herself. The truth is the truth. That night I took nothing from her that she hadn’t attempted to first take from me.
I also took nothing that was not freely, joyfully, given.
The dinner that I had dreaded seemed to last but a fleeting moment. Too soon, Father, his face flushed and his words slurred, pushed back from the table, stood, and announced, “Let us retire to my library for brandy and cigars.”
I’d stood when Father did, and the other five men got instantly to their feet.
“Let us first have a toast,” Mr. Pullman had said. He’d lifted his mostly empty wineglass, and the rest of the men had followed suit. “To Miss Emily Wheiler for a delightful dinner. You are a credit to your mother.”
“To Miss Wheiler!” the men said, raising their glasses to me.
I am not ashamed to admit that I’d felt a rush of pride and of happiness. “Thank you, gentlemen. You are all most kind.” As they all bowed to me I managed to sneak a look at Arthur, who winked quickly and flashed a handsome, white-toothed smile at me.
“My dear, you were a picture tonight—a picture,” Father slurred. “Have brandy and cigars sent to my library.”
“Thank you, Father,” I’d said softly. “And I already arranged for George to be waiting in your library with both brandy and cigars.”
He’d taken my hand in his. His was large and moist, as it always was, and he lifted mine to his lips. “You have done well tonight. I bid you a good night, my dear.”
The other men had echoed his good-night wishes, as I hurried from the room, wiping the back of my hand on my voluminous velvet skirts. I’d felt my father’s gaze burning me the whole way and I did not dare look back, even for one last glimpse of Arthur Simpton.
I’d started toward the stairs, meaning to secret myself in my bedchamber so that I would be well out of sight when Father, thoroughly drunk, stumbled to his bed. I’d even told Mary, who was chattering nonstop about what a success I’d been, to give me just a few moments to myself, but then I’d be ready for her to come to my room and help me out of the intricacies of Mother’s gown so that I may change into my nightgown for bed.
As I consider back on it, tonight it seemed as if my body was completely in control of my actions, and my mind could do nothing except to follow its lead.
My feet had detoured around the wide staircase and I’d slipped quietly down the servants’ hall and out the rear door where my hands had lifted my mother’s skirts and I’d almost flown to the quiet bench under the willow tree that I had made my own.
Once I reached the dark security of my
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