“Not the first peasant girl who’s attempted to crash the ball. We are at maximum capacity. Only the ladies and one chaperone may attend.”
The messenger’s haughty words sear through my entire being. In the kitchen, I close the door but for a tiny crack and peer through it.
“Should Lady Scinder return with her virtue intact, see that she receives this.” The footman glances at my hiding spot. I flinch away, keeping out of sight. “King’s orders.”
Tremaine ushers the royal messenger out the front door.
Hurt like crushed glass in my lungs makes me bold. He’s already takeneverythingfrom me. I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to attend the ball for fun; I want to go because it’s my right and obligation as a lady. He has no right to deny me that privilege.
“That wasn’t fair, Tremaine.” Inwardly, I wince at how much I sound like Stacia, who constantly complains about unfairness whenever she doesn’t get her way. Yet I hold my ground.
He stalks over to me and looms menacingly. I have to peer up, and up. I am not especially short. My stepfather, however, is very tall.
“Fair,” he echoes.
I gulp, but anger makes me brave.
“The invitation belongs to me,” I whisper. Emotions I can scarcely name close my throat, making it difficult to speak.
“Life is not fair, Elinor. Ever. Your father ruined this house with his supposed brilliance, yet he failed to patent his invention. Another man profits from his ideas. Do you think that is fair?”
“N-no,” I stammer.
“My wife dying in childbirth with my son. Was thatfair?” he demands.
I shake my head, thinkingshe was my mother, not only your wife. I lost my brother, too.But the words won’t come. I’m trembling with fury at this selfish man, who has taken out his disappointments on me instead of helping a child cope with the loss of her natural parents. Who has violated me and denied me any chance of escape.
I’m not the one who used grief as an excuse to become a monster.
For years, I have held onto the love my parents showed me. I have tried to show this horrible man that there is another way. Kindness is a choice. I have shown Tremaine and his daughters compassion every single day no matter how they treated me—because I choose not to let grief and anger twist me into someone I am not.
But I could scream into his face and I would still remain unheard. He isn’t interested, and I remain trapped.
Tremaine taps the wax-sealed envelope on his palm, mimicking the messenger with a cunning expression creeping over his face. My blood goes from volcanic to frigid in a few racing heartbeats.
Fear congeals in the pit of my stomach when he turns abruptly, goes to his study and takes down the metal chest containing my dowry. He slams it down on his desk with a thud.
“If you want the invitation, Elinor, give me the key to this box.”
My throat works. I don’t trust him. Tremaine places the invitation on top of my inheritance. An evil grin spreads across his lips.
If I give him the key, my one chance at starting a new life will be gone in the blink of an eye. Frittered away on new gowns for my sisters, illegal magic potions, and liquor.
“I have to cook dinner,” I blurt out, and flee.
* * *
That night,I stare up at the cobwebs bathed in moonlight where they hang between the wooden rafters. A water spot mars the rotting wood in the corner. In winter, the wind whips through the gap and freezes me even beneath my pile of thin, patched blankets.
Tom leaps onto the bed and kneads my stomach. I roll over with a huff and drag him close. His rumbling purr is a balm to my aching soul.
“What should I do?” I whisper between his ears. The cat yowls, then settles into my embrace. He doesn’t like to be held. He’s tolerating my touch, just barely.
If I go to the ball, I have a chance at changing my entire life.
Or I could lose my only chance of escape.
By dawn, I’ve made my decision.
