Page 22 of Bride of the Midnight Prince

Edith and Bridget are sitting uncomfortably across from me, but Agatha continues placidly, having successfully pulled her composure back under her tight rein. “Lord Boreham is not an expressive man, but he has always spoken very highly of you in our conversations. He may not show it to you, but he is quite smitten. He would never have proposed otherwise.”

Why does it still feel like there is some crucial piece of information being withheld from me?

“Speaking of his proposal”—Agatha lifts her napkin and daintily wipes her mouth—“have you thought of your answer?”

I push back my chair, leaving my unfinished meal. “I have.”

Then I make my escape, having successfully survived the last dinner I ever plan to have with these women.

Ididn’ttellMarywhen I was leaving. She needs to give an honest answer in the morning when Agatha demands to know where I have gone, and why I am refusing to give an answer to Lord Boreham’s proposals.

By the light of a gibbous moon, I pull on my trousers and belt them. The chest binding goes on next, covered by the collared white shirt that buttons down the front. I yank on the boots with worn soles and lace them up. Mary cut my hair last night, saying that if someone was going to, it had better be her and not me—else her reputation as a servant would be tarnished. I tie the short strands in a little queue at the nape of my neck.

I stand in front of my mirror, regarding my disguise. It’s good. I look unfamiliar and wide-eyed to even my own gaze. Mary has always bemoaned my freckles, but they add to the disguise very nicely, lending me youth. I sling my satchel with an extra change of clothes and a few necessities over my shoulder.

My excitement propels me to the window, which I open silently with years of practice. The night air has a bite to it. It’ll go away after a few minutes of brisk walking.

The latticework is familiar beneath my hands and feet. I climb down it quickly, taking care as always when I get near the window to Agatha’s study. She usually isn’t awake at this early hour, but soft candle glow reflects out the window. I peer inside and find her in a robe, her hair pinned up in curlers, as she reads a letter.

My foot slips on the lattice. I catch myself, but not before I see Agatha’s head whip toward me. I plaster myself against the wall and hold my breath.

Nothing happens.

I don’t dare glance through the window to see if she’s watching. I shimmy gingerly the rest of the way down the lattice until the ground is solid beneath my feet. Then I break into a run, making for the hedge. There’s one spot I always squeeze out of, and it’s worn through with use. I get on my belly and pull myself through.

It feels wrong not to head toward the stables now and get Bartholomew.

“You’re doing this to get her back,” I remind myself firmly. I’ll stay unwed until my birthday, claim my fortune, and then I will go reclaim my horse.

For now, I’m free of Agatha.

“Now to get to this fae ambassador’s house,” I murmur under my breath. I take out the scrawled map from my pocket, and hurry down the street.

The night is quiet and full. I dodge the shadiest parts of the city and stay out of the way of city guards—mostly. Half an hour into my trek, I come upon two quite suddenly. They stride down the street where the moon doesn’t shine and it’s only just before they step into the light that I catch the glint of a sheathed sword.

I try not to flinch like I’ve been caught doing something wrong. I put my head down and make to walk past him.

“What are you doing out so early, lad?”

Curse it all.“I don’t want to be late for my new job, sir!” I call, pitching my voice just slightly deeper.

“Is your job all the way in Aursailles?” the second one teases, and they both break into laughter.

“No, sir,” I say, and hurry past their laughter.Be meek. Be small and inconspicuous.

I allow myself to eat the small snack I packed just before sunrise, to ease the shaking of my limbs. “You hate this,” I tell myself, “but not nearly as much as marrying Lord Boreham and watching him spend all your money.”

That is what keeps me going.

And the certainty that Icannotget married before my raid in two months. I need—need—to pull this off. I’m not sure how I’ll manage it while being a servant, but I’ll find a way. It’ll be easier than if I was married, for sure! If I must give up sleeping as well as eating, I’ll do it.

The sky turns gray before dawn when I arrive.

It’s a large manor, positioned on the edge of town, with what seems to be acres of green forest behind it. A row of neat hedges line the path to the entrance. There is a grand circle after the hedges, perfect for receiving carriages for a ball. Tall evergreens rise on the edges of the circle, giving the manor a sense of secluded grandeur.

My own home, the Vandermore Manor, is larger than this, but there is an elegance to its structure, to the scrollwork above the windows and along the edges of the roof.

I keep away from the grand entrance and skirt around the back, reading Mary’s directions again to ensure I’ve got it right.

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