Page 19 of The Awakening of Ivy Leavold
“Make what a lot harder?” I inquired.
Molly leaned forward, the lace trim around her bodice casting intricate shadows on her creamy breasts. “Why, Julian here put us all under strict instructions not to include you in our fun.”
He sighed.
“Fine,” she amended. “It was phrased more like:on pain of death, you are not allowed to corrupt her.”
“Corrupt me?” I thought he had brought them here to save mefromcorruption? And what kind of people were these, anyway, that could be capable of such a thing?
“I think,” Molly lowered her voice to a confidential whisper, “that our Julian here would like to corrupt you all by himself.”
“This is hardly dinnertime chat,” he said. “And besides, you’ll scare off Miss Leavold before she’s even had the chance to truly make your acquaintance.”
“If she’s going to be living here, I imagine she’ll want to know what kind of people you consort with, Jules.”
“Where did you meet?” I asked, hoping to bring the conversation back to territory I understood.
Molly’s mouth curved. “In Amsterdam, years ago. You should have seen him then, Miss Leavold, fresh from the death of his first wife, quite lost and ragged looking. A man running from his past, like Byron’s Giaour, returning to his old haunts from before his wedding. Of course, he was irresistible to all the women there. He could have had his pick of some of the finest ladies Europe had to offer, but our Julian isn’t the easily-married kind. He amused himself in other ways.”
Her provoking tone and his non-response made it clear what kind of amusements he’d found, and instead of being shocked or upset, I only found myself worrying that he’d amused himself with Molly O’Flaherty. What if, upon her staying here, they resumed that relationship? Jealousy flared up at the thought, and with it came a concurrent pain, sharp and unexpected. And foolish. Julian Markham wasn’t mine to be jealous of, for one thing, and that he might be attracted to the woman across from me was only understandable.
I felt something brush my leg, and I realized Mr. Markham was giving it a reassuring squeeze through my dress, under the table and out of sight. I looked up, our eyes met, and there was that lust again, the lust he’d so skillfully hidden. Something soft and thin was placed in my hand—the feather from upstairs. I twirled it under the tablecloth as the conversation continued around us, Molly’s keen eyes on me the entire time.
I learned the names of the guests. Adella, Charlotte, Ettie, Helene, Mercy, Rhoda, and Zona, along with Molly, comprised the women, while Gideon, Hugh, Ned, Owen, and Silas made up the male portion of the party. Although they were all English, save for Hugh and Adella, who were French, they were part of the same extended circle of friends that Mr. Markham had collected while abroad. And in the two hours that our meal lasted, I could detect something different and exotic about them—something of the amusements that Molly had so teasingly mentioned.
They frequently touched each other and lingering kisses were not uncommon. Stories were referenced in low voices, followed by giggles and gestures that made their subject matter quite possible to discern. Most unusually, they didn’t seem to be coupled in exclusive pairs. Blown kisses and caresses were shared by all, even by those of the same gender, so that by the time dinner was finished, I could have been forgiven for thinking that perhaps Europe was the haven of sin that the curate of my childhood parish had led me to believe.
But the old curate would have been horrified to learn that, instead of shock, I felt only curiosity. What would it be like to kiss and touch someone so openly? To press my lips against Molly’s plump, pink ones? Or to once again kiss Mr. Markham? I desperately wanted to try, but instead I kept hold of the feather like it was a promise, keeping it in my fist until it was time for the ladies to rise and go to the parlor.
When we entered, I made sure to take a low seat in back, out of the way and partially out of sight, hidden beyond an end table laden with flowers. I still felt unease around all these strangers, and that unease tripled as soon as I left Mr. Markham behind. I looked longingly at the window, which showed a welcoming velvet night outside.
“I’m already bored,” Helene declared, tossing herself onto the sofa. “Why must the men stay and talk forever when we are all ready to play?”
“We could find that cute servant boy,” Ettie suggested. “That would make the men wish they’d hurried up.”
“What shall we play?” Rhoda asked. She was the tallest of the women, with pale blond hair and strong features that made her look like a goddess from Norse myth. Zona, her fraternal twin, was much the same, although with hair more golden than white.
I knew it was typical for card games or parlor games to be played after dinner, so I wasn’t surprised when Molly declared that we would play charades once the men joined us.
“Although,” she said pointedly, “we will have to be more subdued than normal.”
This elicited a chorus of groans from the women, along with some pouting, which only served to make them look lovelier.
“But why?” Helene asked.
Molly threw a meaningful glance in my direction, and I wished I’d found an even more out of the way spot to sit. The others turned towards me, curious and irritated.
“Oh,” Ettie said. “That’s right. You’re Julian’s new pet.”
“I’m a relative of the late Mrs. Markham’s,” I said, hearing how defensive I sounded.
“Ettie,” Molly scolded, “you’ve quite put her out. Look at the poor girl—she looks like a wild animal backed into a corner.”
Truly, that’s how I felt. Though the women were nothing but intrigued—if condescendingly so—my body thrummed with energy and adrenaline, as if it thought I were under physical attack. The fantasy of running out of the room became blindingly sharp in my mind, and I even shifted my feet under my dress to stand.
“Well, I don’t see why we need to act any differently just forher,” Helene said.
“It’s not for her, it’s for Julian,” Rhoda said. She offered me a kind smile. I decided that I liked her.
