Page 50 of The Pureblood Daughter
Nadia looks between the women with a furrowed brow. “You knew my family as well?”
Mrs. McDonald turns back to Nadia, her kind face softening. “I did. We thought you were lost, Miss Magdalena. A tragedy upon a tragedy, the deaths of Vera and Kirill and the end of the Magdalena clan. You being here is reminiscent of a miracle. The scion of Clan Magdalena returned. Ah, the brotherhood will be delighted.” She claps her hands, her face lighting up.
Nadia offers the modiste another gentle smile, this one in an attempt to conceal her confusion. There’s still much to discover about her true lineage, but the brotherhood has yet to come up in conversation with the Rosettis.
“Well, enough talk of terrible things,” Lady Rosetti says, setting her teacup on its saucer. “Mrs. McDonald, let us create something beautiful for ourfiica. She’ll need something striking,strong. Reminiscent of her mother, yes?”
“I know precisely the thing.” Mrs. McDonald smiles, and Nadia steps up to the full-length mirror.
It feels like many hours later that the modiste packs up her things and bids them farewell. After the door to the sitting room closes behind her, Nadia lets out a sigh. Lady Rosetti laughs.
“She is tireless,” the countess says, studying the tray of pastries Benjamin brought in. She plucks one up and then settles onto the settee.
“She’s... one of us?” Nadia asks, glancing back over her shoulder from where she still stands before the mirror.
Us. It’s progress at least.
Lady Rosetti nods. “She is. Centuries ago, a number of clans migrated to this area. Now many of our kind live in Everborough and the surrounding areas, though you wouldn’t know it. We’re a well-kept secret, Miss Magdalena, and we must keep it that way.” Her green eyes are sharp as they cut to Nadia across the room.
“Of course,” she says. “There’s so much I don’t know. I want to learn.”
“In time. You’ve only just started to heal; once you’ve settled, I’ll ensure you’re given a full education. Your parents would have it no other way.”
Nadia turns once more to the gilded mirror and studies her reflection. She’s familiar, yet different. Her eyes are still blue, but now they’re vibrant, sparkling. Her dark hair has a lustrous shine, and her skin, usually so pale as to appear almost blue, has a healthy pink glow. She holds a glass of blood in one hand and lifts it to her lips, the taste still foreign and welcome all at once.
As she finishes the glass, the door to the sitting room opens, and a footman approaches.
“The post, my lady,” he says, moving swiftly across the room with a silver tray balanced atop his outstretched hand. Nadia studies him, and he, like Amélie, bears many scars on his neck.
The countess swipes the handful of letters and the letter opener off the tray, and the footman bows out of the room. The gentle swish of the opener through the envelopes is a soothing accompaniment to the birds singing in the oak tree just outside the open window. Sun streams in through the parted sheer curtains, and though the light is strong, Nadia feels no unease when standing in it. Perhaps, then, the stories are all wrong. It’s yet another question to add to her growing list.
“Nadia,” Lady Rosetti says softly.
At first, Nadia doesn’t turn at the sound of her name, so new and not yet familiar.
“Miss Magdalena, a letter has come for you.”
She starts. “For me?”
Crossing the room, she sets her glass on a low table and holds out a hand, and the countess passes her an unopen envelope. The handwriting alone is enough to bring tears to her eyes.
“It’s... from Mama.”
The countess stands, her gown rippling around her like silken waves. She places a gentle hand on Nadia’s shoulder and squeezes slightly before moving past, vacating the room and leaving Nadia standing alone in a patch of sunlight.
She traces the ink on the envelope with a trembling finger, then snatches the letter opener from the small side table and runs it carefully along the seal. The parchment falls open in her hands, revealing her mother’s penmanship.
Adelina,
You must come home. The countess wrote to me, told me you were safe, but I can’t go another day without you here. I do little more than pace the floors, stricken with grief. Your father regrets his behavior. He is so sorry, my love, and he wishes to make things right. Please give him the chance to reconcile with you.
I spend each moment hoping you’ll walk through the door. Don’t make me wait any longer, Adelina. Come home. Please.
All my love,
Mama
Nadia lowers herself onto the settee and lets out a trembling sigh. Tears brim along her bottom lashes before spilling soundlessly down her cheeks and dripping onto the parchment still clutched in her hands.
