Page 60 of All Saints: Pledge

“Would it work for us to support swimming or tennis in the app? There are already several members who row each morning, I could get you started rowing or punting.”

I’m not good at organized sports in general, and swimming at Oxford usually means frigid water. “Maybe. Too bad Oxford doesn’t have an equestrian team,” I joke.

Kendall’s father frowns, considering it. “True, we should be supporting all appropriate activities. We could find a stable or a hunting club for you to ride with.”

Though it sounds wonderful to me, I don’t want special attention. I have enough going on. “No, seriously, that’s a lot. It’s okay. The workouts are fine.”

Next is an exhaustive list of questions about my classes and my plans in life. I feel like it’s my scholarship interview all over again, only this time I’m more aware of my answers given what Kendall told me the other night.

“Tell me about your community service.”

“Choir?”

He nods, turning to lean his shoulder against the fence post. He reminds me so strongly of Kendall in the moment, I take a step back and brush my hands down my arms. Goosebumps rise again, despite my efforts.

“I love it? I think it’s my favorite part of being here. Something that’s bigger than the sum of its parts. It’s magical.”

I look down, realizing that maybe be the wrong answer, but when I look back up, Kendall’s father has an intensity in his gaze that says I’ve piqued his interest. “We are proud of the candidate you have become. Honestly, I expected uncultured American youth at its finest given the location you were raised in. You continue to surprise me,” he admits as if it’s not some sort of backhanded insult.

I bristle. First off, Kendall—his own son—was raised in the same plebeian location, so that’s some bullshit. Second off, it’s the same way Kendall speaks of me—to me—like it’s the 18thcentury and it’s a foregone conclusion that I’m a woman in want to connections. I cross my arms across my chest. “And I expected you to be civil and cultured. I guess we’re both wrong.”

With audible click, I snap my mouth shut because,shit. I just insulted theheadof mysecret society. My meal ticket if I want to stay on this crazy train.

He looks briefly taken aback and then he throws his head back andlaughs. A surprised, jovial sound that is completely at odds with his serious and sour demeanor. “Ah, Helena. You are a treat. I have to say, I now see why my son is so enamored with you.”

That takes me even further aback. I blink rapidly. “Wh—what?”

Kendall’s father gives the barest of winks. “Oh, I know teenage hormones when I see them. I assumed they would run their course after high school, but I can see why he continues to be charmed.”

I’m flummoxed, and so off kilter I parrot my old mantra, wielding it like a weapon. “Kendall hates me. I hate him.”

The look Augustine St. Claire levels at me is one you’d give a student if you suspected them of throwing a test on purpose. I can practically hear the “does he?” that he doesn’t say. “It doesn’t matter now though. Now we’re all on the same team. We’re allfamily, just as it should have been. I’ve set something right, and you do your family credit. Now.” He stands, and wipes his hands on a handkerchief he produces from his inside pocket. “You must accompany me to my Opera box some time, now that I know music is a passion of yours. We can bring Clara along if you’d like. We must nurture all of the culture we can for you, since you were willfully deprived of it until now.”

What anasshole. My parents didn’t deprive me of culture. Just because I wasn’t brought up on Irish estates, or with million-dollar wardrobes. I have more class than the rich, pompous ass in front of me. “Didn’t you let Kendall grow up in the same town, and in the same school as me? Aren’t you concerned he’s uncultured swine?”

Augustine’s mouth becomes a thin line. “That arrangement was not altogether my idea. My ex-wife and I don’t see eye to eye on what was is best for Kendall. I’m glad to see that he had quality peerage, though I was unaware of your existence until very recently. It seems fate has a sense of humor.”

“Hmmmm,” I manage, noncommittally, not sure what the joke is that he’s referring to.

His eyes flick over me, scrutinizing, as his self-righteous expression returns. “I need to meet with other candidates, but keep up the good work, Helena. I do hope you continue to be a presence within our organization.”

I manage to paste a false smile on my face. “Thank you, sir. And yes, I have to get back up to the main house. I told Clara I’d meet her.” Anything to get away from this man.

“Ah, perfect. We can walk up together.”

Well, shit. That’s not going to work for me. And yet…I don’t have a choice because I just said I needed to go up there. Can I fake a broken shoe lace? A sudden foot cramp? Instantaneous headache? Maybe a horse will bolt through a fence and I’ll be forced to help rescue it.

No dice, the Gods apparently hate me.

“Ah. Um, great.” I cross my hands over my chest. “Oh, you know what? I guess I’m not sure if I’m done with the tour. I’ve only seen the barn.” I look around wildly, just in case there’s another place I can claim to be on my way to.

“What, on foot?”

“I love walking. Required workout and everything, got to stay on track.” I don’t even look down at my less-than-ideal shoes. I know he notices.

Augustine throws me a bemused look. “You Americans are so plucky. You realize this estate is over a thousand square kilometers?”

I pretend to know how much space that is. It sounds huge.

---