Chapter Twenty-Two
“Bram!” I shout, then throw myself onto his back in an attempt to pull him off.
“Ivy!” I turn to see Emmett sprinting across the room.
He pushes through the gathering crowd and lifts me off of Bram, then sets me down safely before pulling Bram off of Lord Hambleton.
“What is going on?” he pants, wild-eyed, in the middle of Bram and Lord Hambleton with his arms extended.
Lord Hambleton landed only one punch, but it split Bram’s lower lip open. He licks away the blood. “He called Ivy a bitch.”
Emmett’s eyes flash, and he punches Lord Hambleton squarely across the face. The man stumbles back, collapsing against the table.
A whistle blows, and the club manager, a portly man in his fifties, barrels into the room. “That’s enough!” he bellows. “I think you’d best be going, Your Highnesses.”
Bram pulls his coat from the back of his chair and wipes the blood from his knuckles. “Gladly.”
The three of us pile into a carriage. “You didn’t have to do that,” I say to both of them. “I’m perfectly capable of throwing my own punches.” I don’t add that the only person I’ve ever punched is Lydia, and not since I was ten, but I do feel confident I could do it.
“Hardly the first brawl we’ve gotten into,” Emmett says.
“Not even the first brawl in that room,” Bram adds. He licks his split bottom lip and it knits itself together, healing right before my eyes.
He notices my shocked expression and laughs. “One of my better party tricks.” He glances down at my dress. “Oh no, we’ve gotten blood on you.”
There’s a small splatter above my heart, probably from when I flung myself onto Bram’s back.
“Don’t trouble yourself,” I say. “I have so many now.”
Bram brushes my skirt with his index finger, and the stain disappears, my dress turning from a pale lilac to a deep burgundy. “This brings out your eyes
more.” He smiles.
Gas lamps flicker at the doors to the palace. Emmett walks directly inside, giving Bram and me a stolen moment alone.
“Thank you,” I say. “You didn’t have to defend my honor tonight. I was being a bit of a bitch.”
Bram laughs. “He deserved it, and I’ve been looking for an excuse to deck him for a while. You did me a favor.”
He takes a step closer, his face so perfect it still knocks me off my axis.t to pull him It’s like I’m always caught on the wrong foot with him. He looks at me, gaze flickering down to my lips. My eyes drop closed as he leans in, but his lips just barely brush the top of my cheekbone.am, then sets “Sleep well, Lady Ivy.”
I cross the lawn, my face burning with embarrassment.am and Lord I’m nearly to the cottage when I hear the sound of footsteps through damp grass behind me.m’s lower lip I turn, hopeful I’ll see Bram, ready to kiss me for real this time, but I deflate as Emmett comes into view. He’s probably just coming to Caledoniaely across the Cottage to wait for Faith, to finish what they started earlier.
I walk quickly, hoping he’ll give up, but he speeds into a jog behind me.ifties, barrels
“Slow down.”est be going, “Were you watching us?”
He slows as he catches up, falling into step beside me. “So what if Ie blood from was?”
“You shouldn’t have done that tonight,” I say.hat,” I say to Emmett laughs awkwardly. “Unfortunately, it’s always been punch first,hes.” I don’t think later with me.” But I’m not sure if I believe him. He thinks so muchce I was ten, about everything, it’s like I can see him constantly tying himself in knots.
I turn for the door, but Emmett reaches for my sleeve, brushing but not quite touching me. “You seem upset with me.”icks his split “I’m not upset.” I’m not. I have absolutely no reason to be upset with Emmett for kissing Faith tonight.y better party Emmett’s knuckles are bruising like violets. “Does that hurt?” I gesture to them, desperate to change the subject.when I flung He runs a thumb over the mottled skin. “I can have Bram fix them later.”
His eyes narrow, as if he hopes to see right through me. “You’re sure you’re not upset?”sappears, my I swing open the door to the cottage. I’d rather face the wrath of the otherout your eyes
girls—who, no doubt, are annoyed with me for stealing Bram away—than irectly inside,spend another second looking at Emmett De Vere’s face.
“Never, ever been better.” onight. I wasHe stops the door with his foot.
“Good. Because everything is going according to plan. Up until now, the an excuse toonly person he’d ever thrown a punch for was me.”
off my axis.The next two days are absolute chaos. We’re rushed to the modiste for last- s at me, gazeminute alterations to our hunting wardrobes, Viscountess Bolingboke calls an , but his lipsemergency etiquette class on how to conduct ourselves while on the road, and all the while the queen’s new terms loom like storm clouds over our heads.
That night, the memory of Emmett at the ball comes back to me. I sleep fitfully, imagining the way Emmett held Faith’s waist as he kissed her. hrough dampI think of my parents, who married for love and doomed us to a life of instability; of Olive, who moons after Bram so openly I’m humiliated on her s time, but Ibehalf; of Faith and the crystal goblet she threw at Emmett’s head. Love can’t to Caledoniaexist for me. I refuse to be made so foolish.
My mother sends a note, as promised, with news of Lydia. It reads only Your sister’s health is much improved. She misses you and we all wish you the very best of luck. Most sincerely, your devoted mother.
She also sends a newspaper cutting, an article titled PRINCES BRAWL So what if IAT KENDALL’S CLUB. It’s a sensationalized account of events, but it does mention my presence and speculates whether this means that Prince Bram has already introduced his favorite suitor to his friends at the club. In the margins n punch first,she’s written Well done! nks so muchIt’s perfect, just enough intrigue to make me interesting, but it falls short of a full-fledged scandal. shing but notI tuck the letter and the article away in the back of Faeries of the British Isles alongside the maps I stole from the books in the sitting room. I tore be upset withthem out of atlases when everyone else was asleep.
I pore over them by moonlight, planning the best routes. I learned my ” I gesture tolesson the night I went out to search for Lydia, and I don’t plan on making the same mistake twice. x them later.”I read the book too, rediscovering the magic I felt as a child within its e sure you’repages. It transports me back to Mrs. Osbourne’s warm hearth. The book was printed over two hundred years into Queen Mor’s reign, long after h of the otherinformation of her kind was banned. She’s not mentioned at all, as if the
away—thanauthor was hoping that by not acknowledging her, its contents would be less incriminating. Every piece of information is hidden in children’s stories. I’m reading a passage I must have heard one hundred times as a child—about a fae revel on the summer solstice and the human girl lured there—when a line ntil now, thecatches my eye: Though faerie wine was sweet, there was none so sweet as the love of a mortal.
Emmett would likely be furious with me if he knew what I was plotting, diste for last-but if all goes according to plan, he’ll never find out. boke calls anOn Tuesday night Olive returns from her private meal with Bram like the road, andshe’s walking on air. She floats into the sitting room, where we’re all engaged in a half-hearted game of whist, and flops down onto the love seat. o me. I sleep“He kissed me!” She giggles and kicks her feet. “I can’t believe he actually kissed me.” s to a life ofWe fall silent. Greer’s cards crumple as she grips them too hard. I burn iliated on herwith something akin to embarrassment. Was I naive enough to believe that d. Love can’tthe moment with Bram in the garden meant that I was special? Bram may be a prince, but he is also just a boy.
It reads only“I’ll let you be my ladies-in-waiting when I win,” Olive says. all wish you“Screw you, Olive,” Faith says.
Marion nods in agreement. Greer puts her cards down and marches up the CES BRAWLstairs, the rest of us following. ts, but it does Bram hasThe road to Hampshire is long and muddy. We’re piled into post chaises n the marginspulled by teams of four horses for a day’s journey southeast of London, and I’m jittery with nerves the whole way. it falls shortWe play I-spy games out the window but see little other than trees and thatched-roof villages. Emmy falls asleep against the window, and Marion of the Britishand I pull out sketchbooks and little nubs of charcoal to pass the time. room. I toreI find myself drawing Pig and his ridiculous little face.
“What is that?” Marion peers at my paper from across the carriage.
I learned my“A dog,” I answer. n on making“It’s hideous,” Marion replies. I crumple it up and throw it at her, both of us laughing. ild within itsThe sun sinks golden behind the trees by the time we arrive at the hunting The book wascamp. , long afterPalace staff have transformed the Hampshire wilderness into a small city all, as if theovernight. Elegant canvas tents have been built on wooden risers. There is
would be lesscheery red and white bunting hung all over the camp, an impressive firepit, s stories. I’mstables for the horses and the dogs. hild—about aThe footmen take us to our tent, comfortably set up with seven beds. —when a lineViscountess Bolingbroke is already there when we arrive, laying a baby e so sweet aspink duvet, five different-size pillows, and a lacy doily on top of her bed.
“How do they expect us to live in these conditions?” she huffs. The hem was plotting,of her traveling dress is caked with dust, and her normally pristine white bouffant is looking deflated. th Bram likePalace staff carry in our trunks, complete with everything we’ll need for a re we’re allweekend hunting party. We’ve all been outfitted with sporting dresses. Mine has a smart overcoat made of spring-green tweed, with gold buttons that pin ’t believe hein my waist. Greer chooses the bed next to mine. She’s been particularly quiet since the queen’s visit. I look over and give her a small smile. She gives hard. I burnme one in return, and it feels like ice thawing. It takes so much energy to be believe thatmad at her, I don’t know if I have it in me anymore.
Bram may beA bugle horn blows, and we poke our heads outside the tent to see the hunting party arrive. Bram and Emmett cut through the center of camp atop their horses. I recognize some of the sons of dukes and barons among their group of friends, familiar faces from this season’s parties and their rowing arches up theteammates.
I catch both Emmett’s and Bram’s gazes as they pass our tent. Bram has a wide smile on his face, infectious and warm. Emmett’s expression is post chaisespredictably unreadable, his mouth in a tight line.
London, andWe dress in gowns and meet for dinner at long tables that wind through the trees. As the young, unmarried girls of the party, we’re set at the very han trees andend, under Viscountess Bolingbroke’s ever-watchful eye. and MarionThis whole trip is in celebration of Bram’s nineteenth birthday, coming in just a few days.
He stands up halfway through dinner, a crystal glass raised in his hand.
“If you would all indulge me in a toast. Each and every one of you has welcomed me and embraced me as one of your own, but tonight we revel the t her, both ofway we do back home. Cheers!”
He raises his hands, and a few dozen globes of light, each a pale shade of at the huntingshimmering gold, float into the air, casting the forest in sparkles. A cheery tune floats in on a breeze, and someone pulls out a fiddle to play along. o a small cityEveryone cheers, their drinks sloshing over the table. “To Bram!” ers. There isAfter dessert is served, Bram walks along the table, greeting his guests
essive firepit,with a ready smile and clapping his friends on their shoulders. Emmett stays close to his side, silent and sullen, his brother’s foil, as usual.
“Thank you all for attending my birthday celebration. How lucky I am to a babycount you among my blessings this year,” Bram says once he reaches us.
Olive looks up to him, grinning, like he’s hung the moon single-handedly. ffs. The hemI catch a subtle eye roll passing between Faith and Marion. Something has ristine whiteshifted since the queen’s rule change, the veneer slowly chipping away from us all. ’ll need for aI lean over to Bram. “Happy birthday. Any good gifts this year?”
dresses. MineHe smiles at me. “This.” ttons that pin“The party?” n particularlyHe shakes his head. “You. Here.” I smack his shoulder, taking it as a She givesjoke, but it still sends a riot of butterflies through me. energy to beThe party rages until dawn, but we turn in for bed long before that, when Viscountess Bolingbroke declares it unladylike to stay up past midnight. nt to see theReally, I think she just wants to go to sleep, but no one protests, exhausted of camp atopafter our long journey. among theirWe can hear Bram’s friends outside our tent, talking and dancing for their rowinghours.
I sleep fitfully, going over my plan for tomorrow. Again and again, I walk t. Bram has athe route in my mind. xpression isThe next morning, a lady’s maid dresses me in my green velvet hunting dress. As the others get ready, I swoon back onto my cot and declare myself wind throughtoo weak for the day’s festivities. It isn’t proper for the girls to join the stag t at the veryhunt, but they will follow the party on horseback for a field lunch and then a celebratory dinner back at camp. ay, coming inViscountess Bolingbroke places a bony hand on my forehead and tuts her tongue. “You do feel warm.” in his hand.“Please don’t miss the fun on my behalf,” I reply weakly. “There are of you hasplenty of staff at camp to look after me.” we revel theThe viscountess looks at me and then at the other girls waiting impatiently by the mouth of our tent. She does the calculation; it is preferable pale shade ofto leave one girl on her own than five. es. A cheery“Please call for them if you need anything,” she replies hesitantly. “We’ll be back by sunset.”
I salute her in reply, which she doesn’t find funny at all. ng his guestsFrom outside the tent come the sounds of jingling horse reins and barking
Emmett staysdogs eager for a hunt. Then the camp goes quiet and still, and everyone but me and a skeleton crew of staff are left. ucky I am toI jump out of bed, hastily lace my boots, and grab the book and the maps from where I’ve hidden them at the bottom of my trunk. I need to be quick if gle-handedly.I’m to be back before sunset. omething hasThe back entrance is closer to the horses, so I sneak out the rear of my g away fromtent and creep quietly to the paddock.
Most of the horses have been taken on the hunt, but there’s an old cart horse that will do just fine. I take his reins in my hand. “Hi there,” I whisper.
A twig snaps behind me, and I whirl around.
“Going somewhere?” Emmett stands there with a half smile, wearing aking it as ahunting breeches, his wavy hair a mess. He’s got a basket in one hand, like we’ve arranged to go on a picnic. re that, when“Don’t do that!” I hiss. “You scared me half to death.” ast midnight.“What are you doing?” he asks. ts, exhausted“I’m sick.”
He reaches out, touches my forehead. I recoil from his touch. “I’m happy dancing forto inform you of a miracle. You seem to be completely healed.”
“What are you doing? Shouldn’t you be leading the charge?” again, I walk“Never had much of a stomach for hunting. We must have come down with the same thing because I was feeling ill this morning, but I appear to be
elvet huntingcured.” eclare myself“Please leave me alone.” join the stag“So you are cross with me.” ch and then aI’m not cross with him. I’m cross with myself. “I’m not cross! I’m late.”
Emmett takes the horse’s reins and begins to hook him up to a cart. “I’m d and tuts hernot letting you travel alone, so you might as well tell me while we ride.”
“I can’t convince you to let this go?” y. “There are“It’s go with me or not at all, I’m afraid. Chivalry and all that.”
I sigh, annoyed. “What’s in the basket?” girls waiting“I’m not skipping lunch no matter what mad adventure you have is preferableplanned.”
I hop in beside him, and we’re off, out of the camp, rambling down a antly. “We’lldusty country road.
I pass him the map, and he takes a long look. “What is this?”
I hand him the book next. He traces his finger over the cover. “‘Faeries of s and barkingthe British Isles,’” he reads. “Where did this come from?”
everyone but“Bram.” I explain everything about our cook, about Bram gifting me the book, and then, about the idea it gave me. “Your theory about the May Queen and the mapsis good, but completely uncorroborated. If we’re going to stake everything on to be quick ifit, I need to talk to a second source,” I say.
What I don’t say is the part that keeps me up at night. If I’m going to e rear of mymanipulate someone as kind as Bram into running away with me, it needs to be for a good reason. s an old cartI’ve thought about writing to Ethel about it, but I’m pretty sure the footmen are reading the letters we send out, and I couldn’t risk it.
When Bram gave me the book and said it was from “a friend,” the idea mile, wearingtook hold. The original owner is surely long dead, but there’s a chance that ne hand, likethis friend of Bram’s still lives at the address inked on the inside of the front cover, or perhaps more books remain.
“When were you going to tell me?” Emmett asks.
“I was going to tell you the other night, but you seemed rather tied up with Faith.” It’s too petty, I shouldn’t have said it. It does me no good, and he . “I’m happydoesn’t deserve my vitriol. He’s allowed to kiss whomever he pleases.
Emmett presses his lips together as he thinks, then understanding dawns on him. “At Count Doncaster’s horrible excuse for a party? When did you—” e come down“I went searching for you and found you . . . otherwise occupied.” appear to beThere’s that horrible feeling again, the one where my skin is hot all over and I can’t quite catch my breath.
“Oh,” Emmett breathes. “It’s not what you think.”
“I don’t think anything. It’s none of my business.”
“Faith loves someone else.” Emmett sighs. o a cart. “I’m“Oh, of course. Let me guess. She tripped, and her mouth fell into yours.”
Emmett casts a sidelong glance at me. “Faith kissed me to make sure it felt different. You don’t have to believe me, but I promise you, it meant nothing.”
“All right.” I hate how petulant I sound. re you have“I’ve never lied to you. I’m not starting now.”
The old cart horse clomps along. bling down aWe reach the outskirts of the market town well before lunch and stop along the roadside to water the horse and eat half a loaf of the bread Emmett smuggled from breakfast.
Faeries ofThe paths become increasingly narrow as we journey farther into the woods, where the trees grow so thick they block out the light, and the world
ifting me theturns a few shades darker. e May QueenOn and on we go, deep into the depths of the old-growth forest. There’s everything onsomething eerie about these woods, off in a way that makes my skin crawl.
“No birdsong,” Emmett says, realizing it at the same moment I do.
I’m going toIt’s gone completely quiet save for the trudging of our old horse down the
e, it needs toroad.
“Not a great sign,” I say. etty sure the“I don’t believe in signs,” Emmett replies, but his knuckles are white where they grip the horse’s reins. nd,” the ideaWe come to a sharp hook turn in the road, and the horse whinnies and a chance thatdigs his hooves into the soft ground, grinding to a halt. Emmett hops out of e of the frontthe carriage and lays a comforting hand on his neck. “Shh, what’s wrong?”
He tugs on the reins, offers an apple, tugs again. But the horse will go no farther. ather tied upHe doesn’t use a whip. My heart feels strangely warm. good, and he“I think we’re on our own from here,” he declares.
I hike up my skirts and hop down from the cart, refusing the hand he nding dawnsextends. “Believe in signs yet?” I ask. n did you—”We walk in nervous silence for about ten minutes before we come to a e occupied.”stone house deep in the darkest part of the wood. House is a generous term. It t all over andwas probably once a grand dwelling, but the forest is doing its best to reclaim it. It’s covered all over with a green-gray moss so damp it appears to be dripping off the stones. What once was the garden is now an angry tangle of thorns and half-dead holly crawling like a desperate animal upon what used to be an intricate mosaic of flower beds. l into yours.”Cautiously we approach the rotting fence, flecks of paint barely visible make sure italong the weathered wood. Emmett reaches for the gate and the whole thing ou, it meantcomes apart under his hand, collapsing to the ground like it was held together with dust.
He turns around, and I offer him nothing but an arched brow.
“Good afternoon,” Emmett calls. In the crook of his elbow he carries a basket of fresh jams left over from our field lunch. It would be rude to show nch and stopup without a gift, he said. read EmmettNo answer comes from the house, but up on the rotting thatched roof a chimney is puffing black smoke into the sky. A shadow flits by the dust- ther into thecaked window. Someone is home. nd the world
orest. There’s y skin crawl.
orse down the
es are white
whinnies and t hops out of
se will go no
the hand he
we come to a
erous term. It
est to reclaim
ppears to be
of on what used
barely visible
whole thing held together
he carries a rude to show
atched roof a by the dust-
