Page 52 of Now Comes the Mist

“I would prefer to show you around town. The heat is beastly up here, and I want you to see the streets of Whitby at their best.” I take his hand in both of mine and lead him away. He is silent as we walk, still looking wounded and confused, so I whisper, “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Are you?” he asks and does not speak all the way back down.

That night, Mamma, Mina, and I enter the Wilcoxes’ beautiful home, escorted by Arthur. The heat of the day has vanished, and a cool wind is blowing in off the sea, prompting us to bring wraps. We are greeted at the door by Amelia Wilcox, a cheerful, energetic girl about my age who just married this spring. Her husband, Edgar, is a loud, boisterous, and jovialman who is thirty years older than she and whose normal speech is almost always a shout.

“Glad to see you, Audrey!” he bellows at Mamma. “Don’t stand on ceremony! Give your wraps to Desmond. Desmond, don’t make these ladies carry their own things! Miss Murray, a pleasure! And little Lucy, of course! Though not so little anymore.” He scans me appreciatively in my white dress with silver embroidery, the neckline just low enough to tempt the imagination.

Meanwhile, his wife is gazing admiringly at Arthur. “You must be Mr. Holmwood. How coy Lucy is! She didn’t say you werethistall and handsome. Have you chosen a wedding day?”

“The twenty-eighth of September,” Arthur says, blushing.

The ballroom spans the width of the house and boasts ocean-blue walls and mother-of-pearl floors. The musicians play a merry waltz, though not many are dancing yet, preferring instead to mingle or partake in the refreshments. Everyone is dressed in their finest, and my vain heart—not to be quenched even in my almost-married state—rejoices to see that most women have chosen jewel-toned gowns, making my white one stand out to anyone looking for me.

My ever-popular mamma is swept away into a group of gossiping ladies, and Arthur finds chairs for Mina and me before going off in search of champagne for us.

“What a dreadful crowd,” Mina says, smoothing the skirt of her forest-green gown. “I would have much rather stayed home and waited for the mail. Sometimes letters come late.”

I have been scanning the faces without finding the one I seek, but at her words, I turn to her and take her hand. “I am certain Jonathan will write soon,” I say with a twinge of guilt for having been so absorbed in my own affairs that I had all but forgotten hers. “But I know he loves you very much and would want you to laugh and dance, not stay at home all alone.”

Mina laughs. “Who would ask me to dance?”

“I would,” says a deep voice.

Vlad is standing in front of us. All the other men are wearing black tonight, but he is dressed in crimson velvet, drawing admiring glances from everyone in the room. He gives an elegant bow and extends a hand to Mina. Even though he is ignoring me once again, I can feel how aware of me he is, especially after our evening of playing music in the dark.

“Miss Murray, may I have the honor of your first dance?” he asks.

Mina turns red. “You are very kind, Count, but—”

“Forgive me. I understand you are engaged to a fortunate man, and if he were here, I would ask his permission,” Vlad says gently. “This would be a dance between friends only.”

She smiles at his charming, old-fashioned courtesy. “You are very thoughtful, but—”

Arthur returns at that moment with champagne, and he and Vlad look at each other. I cannot help fidgeting in my chair at how amusing and embarrassing it is to see them together. They are almost of an equal height, but Arthur resembles a young and gangly calf beside a powerful bull, standing next to the imposing older man.

The men bow and introduce themselves, Vlad delivering the names and titles he had given Mina and me that day in town. “I met Miss Murray and your lovely bride-to-be the other day, and as I hope to continue the conversation, I am asking Miss Murray to dance.”

“Ah, Miss Murray! I see,” Arthur says, looking relieved.

But Mina shakes her head. “I’m very sorry, but I do not wish to dance with anyone but my fiancé. Tonight or any other night.”

“Of course. I understand completely.” Vlad looks at Arthur. “Well, here is a fiancé whose permission I may ask, though I daresay your Lucy will have the same misgivings.”

Arthur looks taken aback, and I know it is not lost on him that Mina isMiss Murraywhile I amLucy. “It’s her decision to make,” he says uneasily, and they both look at me, him with apprehension and Vlad with an ironic smile. They have put me in the position of openly choosing between them and having to be disloyal either to one or the other.

But I have never liked the games men make us play.

“My first dance,” I say archly, “will be given to he who amuses me the most. So I suggest you each think of something clever to say or do. A joke, perhaps, or a little jig?”

Mina utters a shocked laugh. “Lucy, they are gentlemen. Not dancing monkeys!”

Arthur looks bewildered, but Vlad says at once, his lips twitching, “I know a secret about two people in this room. One has lived for far too long and the other has not lived nearly enough, yet they are as alike as petals on the same porcelain rose.”

“Is this a riddle, Count?” Mina asks, intrigued. “Why aporcelainrose and not fresh?”

“Because a porcelain rose lasts much, much longer,” I say, and Vlad’s eyes flash at me with humor and approval. “Arthur, my dear, the count haspresented a riddle as his way of amusing me. What do you have to offer this evening?”

But Arthur is not in the mood. He looks down at his shoes, frustrated by a conversation he does not understand. “I have nothing clever enough. She is yours, Count.”

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