“Lucinda!”
Her past self whipped around; her eyes narrowed when they fell on Luce’s servant’s dress. “Have you been spying on us?”
No spark of recognition registered in her eyes. It was odd that Roland had mistaken Luce for Lucinda in the kitchen but Lucinda herself appeared to see no resemblance between them. What did Roland see that this girl couldn’t? Luce took a deep breath and forced herself to go through with her flimsy plan. “N-not spying, no,” she stammered. “I need to speak with you.”
Lucinda chortled and glanced at her two friends. “I beg your pardon?”
“Aren’t you the one handing out the dance cards?” Margaret asked Luce. “Mother won’t be very happy to hear that you’re neglecting your duties. What is your name?”
“Lucinda.” Luce drew nearer and lowered her voice. “It’s about the artist. Mr. Grigori.”
Lucinda locked eyes with Luce, and something flickered between them. Lucinda seemed unable to pull away. “You go on without me,” she said to her friends. “I’ll be down in just a moment.”
The two girls exchanged confused glances, but it was clear that Lucinda was the leader of the group. Her friends glided out the door without another word.
Inside the parlor, Luce closed the door.
“What is so important?” Lucinda asked, then gave herself away by smiling. “Did he ask about me?”
“Don’t get involved with him,” Luce said quickly. “If you meet him tonight, you’re going to think he’s very handsome. You’re going to want to fall in love with him. Don’t.” Luce felt horrible speaking about Daniel in such harsh terms, but it was the only way to save the life of her past self.
Lucinda Biscoe huffed and turned to leave.
“I knew a girl from, um—Derbyshire,” Luce went on, “who told all sorts of stories of his reputation. He’s hurt a lot of other girls before. He’s—he’s destroyed them.”
A shocked sound escaped Lucinda’s pink lips. “How dare you address a lady like this! Just who do you think you are? Whether I fancy this artist or not is no concern of yours.” She pointed a finger at Luce. “Are you in love with him yourself, you selfish little wench?”
“No!” Luce jerked back as if she’d been slapped.
Bill had warned her that Lucinda was very different, but this ugly side of Lucinda couldn’t be all there was to her. Otherwise, why would Daniel love her? Otherwise, how could she be a part of Luce’s soul?
Something deeper had to connect them.
But Lucinda was bent over the harpsichord, scrawling a note on a piece of paper. She straightened, folded it in two, and shoved it into Luce’s hands.
“I won’t report your impudence to Mrs. Constance,” she said, eyeing Luce haughtily, “if you deliver this note to Mr. Grigori. Don’t miss your chance to save your employment.” A second later she was nothing but a white silhouette gliding down the hallway, down the stairs, back to the party.
Luce tore open the note.
Dear Mr. Grigori,
Since we happened upon each other in the dressmaker’s the other day, I cannot get you out of my mind. Will you meet me in the gazebo this evening at nine o’clock? I’ll be waiting.
Yours eternally,
Lucinda Biscoe
Luce ripped the letter into shreds and tossed them into the parlor fire. If she never gave Daniel the note, Lucinda would be alone in the gazebo. Luce could go out there and wait for her and try to warn her again.
She raced into the hall and made a sharp turn toward the servants’ stairs down to the kitchen. She ran past the cooks and the pastry makers and Henrietta.
“You got both of us in trouble, Myrtle!” the girl called out to Luce, but Luce was already out the door.
The evening air was cool and dry against her face as she ran. It was nearly nine o’clock, but the sun was still setting over the grove of trees on the western side of the property. She tore down the pink-hued path, past the overflowing garden and the heady, sweet scent of the roses, past the hedge maze.
Her eyes fell on the place where she’d first tumbled out of the Announcer into this life. Her feet pounded down the path toward the empty gazebo. She had stopped just short of it when someone caught her by the arm.
She turned around.
And ended up nose to nose with Daniel.
A light wind blew his blond hair across his forehead. In his formal black suit with the gold watch chain and a small white peony pinned to his lapel, Daniel was even more gorgeous than she remembered. His skin was clear and brilliant in the glow of the setting sun. His lips held the faintest smile. His eyes burned violet at the sight of her.
A soft sigh escaped her. She ached to lean a few short inches closer to press her lips on his. To wrap her arms around him and feel the place on his broad shoulders where his wings unfurled. She wanted to forget what she had come here to do and just hold him, just let herself be held. There were no words for how much she had missed him.
No. This visit was about Lucinda.
Daniel, her Daniel, was far away right now. It was hard to imagine what he’d be doing or thinking right now. It was even harder to imagine their reunion at the end of all of this. But wasn’t that what her quest was about? Finding out enough about her past so she could really be with Daniel in the present?
“You’re not supposed to be here,” she said to Helston Daniel. He couldn’t have known that Helston Lucinda wanted to meet him here. But here he was. It was as if nothing could get in the way of their meeting—they were drawn toward each other, no matter what.
Daniel’s laugh was precisely the same laugh Luce was used to, the one she’d heard for the first time at Sword & Cross, when Daniel kissed her; the laugh she loved. But this Daniel did not really know her. He didn’t know who she was, where she was coming from, or what she was trying to do.
“You’re not supposed to be here, either.” He smiled. “First we’re supposed to have a dance inside, and later, after we’ve gotten to know one another, I’m supposed to take you for a moonlit stroll. But the sun hasn’t even set yet. Which means there’s still a good deal of dancing to be done.” He extended his hand. “My name is Daniel Grigori.”
He hadn’t even noticed that she was dressed in a maid’s uniform instead of a ball gown, that she didn’t act at all like a proper British girl. He’d only just laid eyes on her, but like Lucinda, Daniel was already blinded by love.
Seeing all of this from a new angle put a strange clarity on their relationship. It was wonderful, but it was tragically shortsighted. Was it even Lucinda whom Daniel loved and vice versa, or was it just a cycle they couldn’t break free of?
“It isn’t me,” Luce told him sadly.
He took her hands. She melted a little.
“Of course it’s you,” he said. “It’s always you.”
“No,” Luce said. “It isn’t fair to her, you’re not being fair. And besides, Daniel, she’s mean.”
“Who are you talking about?” He looked like he couldn’t decide whether to take her seriously or laugh.
From the corner of her eye, Luce saw a figure in white walking toward them from the back of the house.
Lucinda.
Coming to meet Daniel. She was early. Her note said nine o’clock—at least it had said nine o’clock before Luce had tossed its fragments into the fire.
Luce’s heart began to pound. She could not be caught here when Lucinda arrived. And yet, she couldn’t leave Daniel so soon.
“Why do you love her?” Luce’s words came out in a rush. “What makes you fall in love with her, Daniel?”
Daniel laid his hand on her shoulder—it felt wonderful. “Slow down,” he said. “We’ve only just met, but I can promise you there isn’t anyone I love except—”
“You there! Servant girl!” Lucinda had spotted them, and from the tone of her voice, she wasn’t happy about it. She began to run toward the gazebo, cursing at her dress, at the muddiness of the grass, at Luce. “What have you done with my letter, girl?”