Page 7 of Enthralled

“It’s . . .” I cannot summon the words. I know what I should be feeling in this moment, a bride on the brink of new life. But I’m numb. “Thank you,” I finish lamely and offer her a smile.

Kitty’s brow knits. She doesn’t pressure me, however, for which I am grateful. Instead she simply strips me out of the gown, buttons up my simple day frock, and sets me down in the comfortable, overstuffed armchair before the parlor fire. Dinner is already long past, and the hour is late. I’m weary and would love to make my escape to bed, but Kitty presses a handkerchief into my hands and bids me finish the lace trim. I obey listlessly, barely seeing my own stitches, all while Kitty chatters on, keeping up a steady stream of enthusiasm.

Danny doesn’t join us until later. When he finally enters the parlor, I find it difficult to look at him. Memory of that kiss we shared sears my brain and stirs strange feelings in my heart. Not the feelings a bride should be experiencing on the eve of her wedding—neither anticipation nor excitement. Certainly not lust. No, it’s guilt that churns in my breast. Guilt because I know it wasn’t Danny with whom I shared that kiss. I don’t know who it was, only that there was someone else, someone standing between us. Someone who inspires fire in my veins.

I really shouldn’t be thinking about that kiss. Not now. Not tonight.

“Clara!” Kitty exclaims, dragging my attention sharply back to the present. “You’ll mangle it!”

I look down in my hands to find I’ve crushed the little handkerchief into a ball. Kitty hastily snatches it away along with the needle. “You’re going to stab yourself and ruin all your good work in the process.” She shakes out the handkerchief and tuts over my awkward stitches. “It’ll have to be redone.” Lowering the little bit of linen, she looks at me sternly. “Bed,” she says with finality. “Take yourself up to bed at once, my dear, and get a full night’s sleep. You must be fresh for tomorrow, you know. None of this listlessness.”

I nod in mute agreement and rise, avoiding both Kitty’s gaze and Danny’s. “I am a little tired,” I murmur before stepping away from the fire into the shadows across the room.

“Clara, wait a moment.” I stop as Kitty hastens to me, catches my hand, and kisses my cheek. “Tomorrow we shall be sisters at last,” she says, smiling. “You’ll see. We will take care of you, just as you’re always taking care of everyone else. Then we’ll forget all this darkness and focus only on joy.”

Tears prick my eyes. I gaze into my dear friend’s face, see the truth limned with determination shining there. As though Kitty can, by sheer force of will, make all this goodness come into being. And maybe she can. Maybe this wedding really is what all of us need. A fresh start. A new life.

“Good night, Kitty,” I say softly. I send a swift, half-glance Danny’s way but cannot bring myself to speak. So I duck from the room into the unlit hall beyond the parlor’s warmth. I take two quick steps for the stairs, my heart inexplicably pounding. Behind me Kitty hisses something sharp. The next moment footsteps pursue me into the hall.

“Clara.”

I pause at the base of the stairway, my hand resting on the newel post. Turning, I look back to where Danny stands, a brass candleholder in one hand. Light from the little flame illuminates the lower half of his face. My heart quickens. I wish I could pick up my skirts and flee upstairs to my room. But that would be foolish, ridiculous. And unkind. So I stand my ground, my fingers tightening around the post.

Danny approaches slowly. He smiles, teeth flashing in the candlelight. A low chuckle rumbles in his chest. “I think Kitty is more excited about this wedding than any of the rest of us.”

There’s hurt in his voice. I hear it loud and clear. When he reaches out and rests his hand on top of mine, I don’t pull away. “I’m sorry, Danny,” I say, dropping my voice so that Kitty cannot eavesdrop through the cracked parlor door. “It’s just . . . I keep thinking about . . . Oscar.” It’s a lie. But not completely. And it slips out so naturally, it might as well be the truth. “I don’t think he’ll come tomorrow. To the wedding, I mean. I just . . .” I drop my gaze to our hands, resting together on the polished newel. “I never thought I’d marry without him there.”

Danny’s fingers close around mine, squeezing gently. “What Kitty said is true. We’re going to build a new life. A life without Oscar.”

“What?” My eyes flash to meet Danny’s gaze. He looks so strange by candlelight. Strange and unnatural and a little dangerous.

“It’s for the best,” he persists. “You’ll see. Oscar doesn’t need you anymore. He doesn’t want you. It’s better to let him go, better to live your life. With me.”

I shake my head. “Oscar is . . . Oscar iseverythingto me.” Desperation whirls in my breast, a destructive storm, ready to decimate all in its path. I stand in the center of it, clinging to my anchor with white-knuckled determination.

Danny’s face hardens into stern lines. “I expect you to make your life here with meeverything. It’s time to give up on trying to save someone who doesn’t want to be saved.”

“Some people cannot be saved because they do not want to be saved.”I shudder as that voice I heard outside the door on Clamor Street echoes through my mind once more. That same harsh truth, spoken with such conviction, like a spear-thrust through the ribs, straight into my heart. The inevitability of it might well break me.

But I cannot fall apart. Not here, not now, not on the eve of my wedding. I cannot do what I long to do—throw myself at Danny, scratching and clawing, screaming at him to take it back. I must hold myself together. Pulling my hand out from under his, I grip my skirts tight. “I’m tired,” I say. They are the only words I can summon. At least they’re true.

“Here, take my candle. I wouldn’t want you to miss your footing in the dark.”

I accept his offer. His fingers brush mine as he presses the brass holder into my hand. A chill races up my arm. I start to pull away, but he grasps my forearm, holding me fast for an extra moment. “Clara,” he says, his voice raw and low, “tomorrow you will be mine. No one will take you from me. Never again.”

There’s something ominous in his tone. I stare at him, struggling to see the face of Danny, my friend, my dear one. Cold blue eyes hold mine locked for a count of five breaths. Then I drop my gaze to his hand, latched onto my arm. He lets go at once and takes a step back as I hasten up the stairs. His eyes follow me until I finally duck into the shelter of my room.

I stand a moment, my back pressed against the door as it clicks shut. Then hastily setting the candle down, I bow over the washbasin and vomit once more. I scarcely ate three bites at dinner, but everything burns its way back up my throat. Sweating, panting, I bow over the delicate porcelain until the final spasm passes. Slowly I lift my head, stare at the shadowed reflection in the mirror, faintly illuminated by the candle’s glow behind me.

He’s not seeing rightly.

My lips move slowly, forming the words in silent echo: “He’s not seeing rightly.”

A shadowy figure appears at my left shoulder. Long, lusterless hair veils a deathly pale face, marred and misshapen with dark bruises. The eyes are sewn shut in their deep, hollow sockets. Black threads trail down her cheeks, framing her wide, red mouth.

You’ll do what you must. You always will.

“I’ll do what I must,” I whisper. “I always will.”

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