Page 20 of The Pureblood Daughter
If the tonic dulls her senses, her view of the world, her parents must certainly not be aware of it. For if they were, they would’ve explained it to her, wouldn’t they?
They’ve never even told me what’s in it.
Adelina looks down at her hands, which have started their shaking again, and knows at once she must abandon her art. The shakes would send the brush skittering across the canvas, ruining what she’s already created.
And so, with her breath heavy and her steps labored, Adelina leaves her paints and brushes and recedes into the house. Servants rush by her as she climbs the stairs, and once in her room, she collapses into her bed with more questions than answers.
Chapter Nine
That evening, after spending theafternoon in bed, Adelina finds herself wide-awake. She takes supper with her parents and makes pleasant small talk while Rose prepares her for bed, but once the door closes and she’s alone, it’s as if the night comes alive.
She stares at her ceiling, where the elm’s shadows twist and shift in a soundless dance. Adelina thinks to reach for the oil lamp on her vanity, then decides against it. Though it’s dark, the moonlight slips through her open window with silver fingers, setting her bedroom alight.
Earlier, Rose tried to close it, but Adelina insisted she leave it open.
“Summer will soon be over,” she told her from bed. “I’d like to enjoy the fresh air while I can.”
Rose hesitated briefly, her gaze cast out into the night, before she came away from the open window.
Now Adelina closes her eyes and breathes in the cool air. The breeze is alive with felicitous scents. Up from the garden drifts the pleasant fragrance of flowers in the moonlight: the earthy, subtly peppery scent of cornflowers; the delicate aroma of roses warmed from the afternoon sun; the intensely sweet floral scent of the honeysuckles.
Adelina has spent many summers in this bedroom, from the time she was a girl just out of the nursery, but the incense filling her room this evening is unlike any she remembers. Is this, too, an effect of not having taken the tonic?
A fluttering at the open window sends Adelina sitting up in bed, and alighting upon her windowsill is the owl, its eyes impossibly wide and yellow, a parchment tied delicately to its willow-thin leg.
Seeing it should make her hesitant, encourage her to question further the viscount and his mysteries, but instead, she feels eager, almost feverish.
“Hello again,” Adelina whispers. She pushes back the lightweight summer blankets and sets her bare feet gently on the cool floor.
The owl tips its head as she crosses the room, and when she reaches for the letter tied about its leg, its yellow eyes follow her slow movements.
“Thank you,” she tells the feathered creature. Rather than flying away, it remains on the windowsill and begins to preen its feathers. Somehow, the owl’s presence is calming, like that of a good friend.
Adelina takes a seat at her vanity and unties the crimson ribbon from about the letter. It’s silky between her fingers, its texture delightful against her skin. She lifts it and traces it across her tender lips, and for a moment she imagines the silk is the viscount’s mouth on hers. Behind closed eyes, she sees him leaning in, feels his breath across her cheeks. His hands come up to cup her face, his touch both firm and gentle, and as he presses his lips to hers, warmth curls in her belly and between her legs.
The sensation startles her, and she blinks rapidly, lowering the ribbon to the vanity. A breeze tumbles through the window, ruffling the owl’s feathers and curling the letter at the edges. Adelina picks it up and unrolls it, her heart thumping softly beneath her breast.
Miss Gray,
I’ve spent the day wandering the gardens, thinking of little else but you. How do you take your tea, I wonder. When the rain falls at night, do you open the window to feel it on your skin?
Before I begin rambling, I must know, Did you forego your tonic? If yes, how do you feel?
My curiosity, while perhaps nettling, is most sincere.
Celeste will carry your words back to me, should you choose to grace me with your correspondence.
I await your response eagerly.
—TR
“Celeste?” Adelina looks up at the owl, who tips her head to one side as if she recognizes her name. The sight makes Adelina giggle, and she reaches toward the owl tentatively. Celeste presses her feathered head into Adelina’s palm, her bright yellow eyes closing as a soft sound resonates from her chest like a purr. “Well, aren’t you a precious creature.”
Celeste pulls her head away and resumes her preening.
“Very well. I suppose he’s waiting for my reply, isn’t he?”
The owl makes no attempt to respond.
