Passion

SEVEN SOLSTICE

Łuce’s hands were scalded and splotchy and tender to the bone.

Since she’d arrived at the Constances’ estate in Helston three days before, she’d done little more than wash an endless pile of dishes. She worked from sunrise to sunset, scrubbing plates and bowls and gravy boats and whole armies of silverware, until, at the end of the day, her new boss, Miss McGovern, laid out supper for the kitchen staff: a sad platter of cold meat, dry hunks of cheese, and a few hard rolls. Each night, after dinner, Luce would fall into a dreamless, timeless sleep on the attic cot she shared with Henrietta, her fellow kitchen maid, a bucktoothed, straw-haired, bosomy girl who’d come to Helston from Penzance.

The sheer amount of work was astonishing.

How could one household dirty enough dishes to keep two girls working twelve hours straight? But the bins of food-caked plates kept arriving, and Miss McGovern kept her beady eyes fixed on Luce’s washbasin. By Wednesday, everyone at the estate was buzzing about the solstice party that evening, but to Luce, it only meant more dishes. She stared down at the tin tub of scuzzy water, full of loathing.

“This is not what I had in mind,” she muttered to Bill, who was hovering, always, on the rim of the cupboard next to her washtub. She still wasn’t used to being the only one in the kitchen who could see him. It made her nervous every time he hovered over other members of the staff, making dirty jokes that only Luce could hear and no one—besides Bill—ever laughed at.

“You children of the millennium have absolutely no work ethic,” he said. “Keep your voice down, by the way.”

Luce unclenched her jaw. “If scrubbing this disgusting soup tureen had anything to do with understanding my past, my work ethic would make your head spin. But this is pointless.” She waved a cast iron skillet in Bill’s face. Its handle was slick with pork grease. “Not to mention nauseating.”

Luce knew her frustration didn’t have anything to do with the dishes. She probably sounded like a brat. But she’d barely been above ground since she’d started working here. She hadn’t seen Helston Daniel once since that first glimpse in the garden, and she had no idea where her past self was. She was lonely and listless and depressed in a way she hadn’t been since those awful early days at Sword & Cross, before she’d had Daniel, before she’d had anyone she could truly count on.

She’d abandoned Daniel, Miles and Shelby, Arriane and Gabbe, Callie, and her parents—all for what? To be a scullery maid? No, to unravel this curse, something she didn’t even know whether she was capable of doing. So Bill thought she was being whiny. She couldn’t help it. She was inches away from a breakdown.

“I hate this job. I hate this place. I hate this stupid solstice party and this stupid pheasant soufflé—”

“Lucinda will be at the party tonight,” Bill said suddenly. His voice was infuriatingly calm. “She happens to adore the Constances’ pheasant soufflé.” He flitted up to sit cross-legged on the countertop, his head twisting a creepy 360 degrees around his neck to make sure the two of them were alone.

“Lucinda will be there?” Luce dropped the skillet and her scrub brush into the sudsy tub. “I’m going to talk to her. I’m getting out of this kitchen, and I’m going to talk to her.”

Bill nodded, as if this had been the plan all along. “Just remember your position. If a future version of yourself had popped up at some boarding school party of yours and told you—”

“I would have wanted to know,” Luce said. “Whatever it was, I would have insisted on knowing everything. I would have died to know.”

“Mmm-hmm. Well.” Bill shrugged. “Lucinda won’t. I can guarantee you that.”

“That’s impossible.” Luce shook her head. “She’s … me.”

“Nope. She’s a version of you who has been reared by completely different parents in a very different world. You share a soul, but she’s nothing like you. You’ll see.” He gave her a cryptic grin. “Just proceed with caution.” Bill’s eyes shot toward the door at the front of the large kitchen, which swung open abruptly. “Look lively, Luce!”

He plunked his feet into the washtub and let out a raspy, contented sigh just as Miss McGovern entered, pulling Henrietta by the elbow. The head maid was listing the courses for the evening meal.

“After the stewed prunes…,” she droned.

On the other side of the kitchen, Luce whispered to Bill. “We’re not finished with this conversation.”

His stony feet splashed suds onto her apron. “May I advise you to stop talking to your invisible friends while you’re working? People are going to think you’re crazy.”

“I’m beginning to wonder about that myself.” Luce sighed and stood straight, knowing that was all she was going to get out of Bill, at least until the others had left.

“I’ll expect you and Myrtle to be in tip-top shape this evening,” Miss McGovern said loudly to Henrietta, sending a quick glare back at Luce.

Myrtle. The name Bill had made up on her letters of reference.

“Yes, miss,” Luce said flatly.

“Yes, miss!” There was no sarcasm in Henrietta’s reply. Luce liked Henrietta well enough, if she overlooked how badly the girl needed a bath.

Once Miss McGovern had bustled out of the kitchen and the two girls were alone, Henrietta hopped up on the table next to Luce, swinging her black boots to and fro. She had no idea that Bill was sitting right beside her, mimicking her movements.

“Fancy a plum?” Henrietta asked, pulling two ruby-colored spheres from her apron pocket and holding one out to Luce.

What Luce liked most about the girl was that she never did a drop of work unless the boss was in the room. They each took a bite, grinning as the sweet juice trickled from the sides of their mouths.

“Thought I heard you talking to someone else in here before,” Henrietta said. She raised an eyebrow. “Have you got yourself a fellow, Myrtle? Oh, please don’t say it’s Harry from the stables! He’s a rotter, he is.”

Just then, the kitchen door swung open again, making both girls jump, drop their fruit, and pretend to scrub the nearest dish.

Luce was expecting Miss McGovern, but she froze when she saw two girls in beautiful matching white silk dressing gowns, squealing with laughter as they tore through the filthy kitchen.

One of them was Arriane.

The other—it took Luce a moment to place her—was Annabelle. The hot-pink-headed girl Luce had met for just a moment at Parents’ Day, all the way back at Sword & Cross. She’d introduced herself as Arriane’s sister.

Some sister.

Henrietta kept her eyes down, as if this game of tag through the kitchen were a normal occurrence, as if she might get in trouble if she even pretended to see the two girls—who certainly didn’t see either Luce or Henrietta. It was like the servants blended in with the filthy pots and pans.

Or else Arriane and Annabelle were just laughing too hard. As they squeezed past the pastry-making table, Arriane grabbed a fistful of flour from the marble slab and tossed it in Annabelle’s face.

For half a second, Annabelle looked furious; then she started laughing even harder, grabbing a fistful herself and casting it at Arriane.

They were gasping for air by the time they barreled through the back door, out to the small garden, which led to the big garden, where the sun actually shone and where Daniel might be and where Luce was dying to follow.

Luce couldn’t have pinned down what she was feeling if she’d tried—shock or embarrassment, wonder or frustration?

All of it must have shown on her face, because Henrietta eyed her knowingly and leaned in to whisper, “That lot arrived last night. Someone’s cousins from London, in town for the party.” She walked over to the pastry table. “They nearly wrecked the strawberry pie with their antics. Oh, it must be lovely, being rich. Maybe in our next lives, hey, Myrtle?”

“Ha.” It was all Luce could manage.

“I’m off to set the table, sadly,” Henrietta said, cradling a stack of china under her fleshy pink arm. “Why not have a handful of flour ready to toss, just in case those girls come back this way?” She winked at Luce and pushed the door open with her broad behind, then disappeared into the hallway.

Someone else appeared in her place: a boy, also in a servant’s outfit, his face hidden behind a giant box of groceries. He set them down on the table across the kitchen from Luce.

She started at the sight of his face. At least, having just seen Arriane, she was a little more prepared.

“Roland!”

He twitched when he looked up, then collected himself. As he walked toward her, it was her clothes Roland couldn’t stop staring at. He pointed at her apron. “Why are you dressed like that?”

Luce tugged at the tie on her apron, pulling it off. “I’m not who you think I am.”

He stopped in front of her and stared, turning his head first slightly to the left, then to the right. “Well, you’re the spitting image of another girl I know. Since when do the Biscoes go slumming in the scullery?”

“The Biscoes?”

Roland raised an eyebrow at her, amused. “Oh, I get it. You’re playing at being someone else. What are you calling yourself?”

“Myrtle,” Luce said miserably.

“And you are not the Lucinda Biscoe to whom I served that quince tart on the terrace two days ago?”

“No.” Luce didn’t know what to say, how to convince him. She turned to Bill for help, but he had disappeared even from her view. Of course. Roland, fallen angel that he was, would have been able to see Bill.

“What would Miss Biscoe’s father say if he saw his daughter down here, up to her elbows in grease?” Roland smiled. “It’s a fine prank to pull on him.”

“Roland, it is not a—”

“What are you hiding from up there, anyhow?” Roland jerked his head toward the garden.

A tinny rumbling in the pantry at Luce’s feet revealed where Bill had gone. He seemed to be sending her some kind of signal, only she had no idea what it was. Bill probably wanted her to keep her mouth shut, but what was he going to do, come out and stop her?

A sheen of sweat was visible on Roland’s brow. “Are we alone, Lucinda?”

“Absolutely.”

He cocked his head at her and waited. “I don’t feel that we are.”

The only other presence in the room was Bill. How could Roland sense him when Arriane had not?

“Look, I’m really not the girl you think I am,” Luce said again. “I am a Lucinda, but I—I’m here from the future—it’s hard to explain, actually.” She took a deep breath. “I was born in Thunderbolt, Georgia … in 1992.”

“Oh.” Roland swallowed. “Well, well.” He closed his eyes and started speaking very slowly: “And the stars in the sky fell to the earth, like figs blown off a tree in a gale …”

The words were cryptic, but Roland recited them soulfully, almost like he was quoting a favorite line from an old blues song. The kind of song she’d heard him sing at a karaoke party back at Sword & Cross. In that moment, he seemed like the Roland she knew back home, as if he’d slipped out of this Victorian character for a little while.

Only, there was something else about his words. Luce recognized them from somewhere. “What is that? What does that mean?” she asked.

The cupboard rattled again. More loudly this time.

“Nothing.” Roland’s eyes opened and he was back to his Victorian self. His hands were tough and callused and his biceps were larger than she was used to seeing them. His clothes were soaked with sweat against his dark skin. He looked tired. A heavy sadness fell over Luce.

“You’re a servant here?” she asked. “The others—Arriane—they get to run around and … But you have to work, don’t you? Just because you’re—”

“Black?” Roland said, holding her gaze until she looked away, uncomfortable. “Don’t worry about me, Lucinda. I’ve suffered worse than mortal folly. Besides, I’ll have my day.”

“It gets better,” she said, feeling that any reassurance she gave him would be trite and insubstantial, wondering if what she said was really true. “People can be awful.”

“Well. We can’t worry about them too much, can we?” Roland smiled. “What brought you back here, anyway, Lucinda? Does Daniel know? Does Cam?”

“Cam’s here, too?” Luce shouldn’t have been surprised, but she was.

“If my timing’s right, he’s probably just rolled into town.”

Luce couldn’t worry about that now. “Daniel doesn’t know, not yet,” she admitted. “But I need to find him, and Lucinda, too. I have to know—”

“Look,” Roland said, backing away from Luce, his hands raised, almost as if she were radioactive. “You didn’t see me here today. We didn’t have this talk. But you can’t just go up to Daniel—”

“I know,” she said. “He’ll freak out.”

“ ‘Freak out?’ ” Roland tried out the strange-sounding phrase, almost making Luce laugh. “If you mean he might fall in love with this you”—he pointed at her—“then yes. It’s really quite dangerous. You’re a tourist here.”

“Fine, then I’m a tourist. But I can at least talk to them.”

“No, you can’t. You don’t inhabit this life.”

“I don’t want to inhabit anything. I just want to know why—”

“Your being here is dangerous—to you, to them, to everything. Do you understand?”

Luce didn’t understand. How could she be dangerous? “I don’t want to stay here, I just want to know why this keeps happening between me and Daniel—I mean, between this Lucinda and Daniel.”

“That’s precisely what I mean.” Roland dragged his hand down his face, gave her a hard look. “Hear me: You can observe them from a distance. You can—I don’t know—look through the windows. So long as you know nothing here is yours to take.”

“But why can’t I just talk to them?”

He went to the door and closed and bolted it. When he turned back, his face was serious. “Listen, it is possible that you might do something that changes your past, something that ripples down through time and rewrites it so that you—future Lucinda—will be changed.”

“So I’ll be careful—”

“There is no careful. You are a bull in the china shop of love. You’ll have no way of knowing what you’ve broken or how precious it may be. Any change you enact is not going to be obvious. There will be no great sign reading IF YOU VEER RIGHT, YOU SHALL BE A PRINCESSS, VERSUS IF YOU VEER LEFT, YOU’LL REMAIN A SCULLERY MAID FOREVER.”

“Come on, Roland, don’t you think I have slightly loftier goals than ending up a princess?” Luce said sharply.

“I could venture a guess that there is a curse you want to put an end to?”

Luce blinked at him, feeling stupid.

“Right, then, best of luck!” Roland laughed brightly. “But even if you succeed, you won’t know it, my dear. The very moment you change your past? That event will be as it has always been. And everything that comes after it will be as it has always been. Time tidies up after itself. And you’re part of it, so you will not know the difference.”

“I’d have to know,” she said, hoping that saying it aloud would make it true. “Surely I’d have some sense—”

Roland shook his head. “No. But most certainly, before you could do any good, you would distort the future by making the Daniel of this era fall in love with you instead of that pretentious twit Lucinda Biscoe.”

“I need to meet her. I need to see why they love each other—”

Roland shook his head again. “It would be even worse to get involved with your past self, Lucinda. Daniel at least knows the dangers and can mind himself so as not to drastically alter time. But Lucinda Biscoe? She doesn’t know anything.”

“None of us ever do,” Luce said around a sudden lump in her throat.

“This Lucinda, she doesn’t have a lot of time left. Let her spend it with Daniel. Let her be happy. If you overstep into her world and anything changes for her, it could change for you, too. And that could be most unfortunate.”

Roland sounded like a nicer, less sarcastic version of Bill. Luce didn’t want to hear any more about all the things she couldn’t do, shouldn’t do. If she could just talk to her past self—

“What if Lucinda could have more time?” she asked. “What if—”

“It’s impossible. If anything, you’ll just hasten her end. You’re not going to change anything by having a chat with Lucinda. You’re just going to make a mess of your past lives along with your current one.”

“My current life is not a mess. And I can fix things. I have to.”

“I suppose that remains to be seen. Lucinda Biscoe’s life is over, but your ending has yet to be written.” Roland dusted off his hands on his trouser legs. “Maybe there is some change you can work into your life, into the grand story of you and Daniel. But you will not do that here.”

As Luce felt her lips stiffen into a pout, Roland’s face softened.

“Look,” he said. “At least I’m glad you’re here.”

“You are?”

“No one else is going to tell you this, but we’re all rooting for you. I don’t know what brought you here or how the journey was even possible. But I have to think it’s a good sign.” He studied her until she felt ridiculous. “You’re coming into yourself, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know,” Luce said. “I think so. I’m just trying to understand.”

“Good.”

Voices in the hallway made Roland suddenly pull away from Luce, toward the door. “I’ll see you tonight,” he said, unbolting the door and quietly slipping out.

As soon as Roland was gone, the cupboard door swung open, banging the back of her leg. Bill popped out, gasping for air loudly as if he’d been holding his breath the whole time.

“I could wring your neck right now!” he said, his chest heaving.

“I don’t know why you’re all out of breath. It’s not like you even breathe.”

“It’s for effect! All the trouble I go through to camouflage you here and you go and out yourself to the first guy who walks through the door.”

Luce rolled her eyes. “Roland’s not going to make a big deal out of seeing me here. He’s cool.”

“Oh, he’s so cool,” Bill said. “He’s so smart. If he’s so great, why didn’t he tell you what I know about not keeping one’s distance from one’s past? About getting”—he paused dramatically, widening his stone eyes—“inside?”

Now she leaned down toward him. “What are you talking about?”

He crossed his arms over his chest and wagged his stone tongue. “I’m not telling.”

“Bill!” Luce pleaded.

“Not yet, anyway. First let’s see how you do tonight.”

Near dusk, Luce caught her first break in Helston. Right before supper, Miss McGovern announced to the entire kitchen that the front-of-house staff needed a few extra helping hands for the party. Luce and Henrietta, the two youngest scullery maids and the two most desperate to see the party up close, were the first to thrust up their hands to volunteer.

“Fine, fine.” Miss McGovern jotted down the names of both girls, her eyes lingering on Henrietta’s oily mop of hair. “On the condition that you bathe. Both of you. You stink of onions.”

“Yes, miss,” both girls chimed, though as soon as their boss had left the room, Henrietta turned to Luce. “Take a bath before this party? And risk getting me fingers all pruny? The miss is mad!”

Luce laughed but was secretly ecstatic as she filled the round tin tub behind the cellar. She could only carry enough boiling water to get the bath lukewarm, but still she luxuriated in the suds—and the idea that this night, finally, she would get to see Lucinda. Would she get to see Daniel, too? She donned a clean servant’s dress of Henrietta’s for the party. At eight o’clock that evening, the first guests began arriving through the wicket gate at the north entrance of the estate.

Watching from the window in the front hallway as the caravans of lamplit carriages pulled into the circular drive, Luce shivered. The foyer was warm with activity. Around her the other servants buzzed, but Luce stood still. She could feel it: a trembling in her chest that told her Daniel was nearby.

The house looked beautiful. Luce had been given one very brief tour by Miss McGovern the morning she started, but now, under the glow of so many chandeliers, she almost didn’t recognize the place. It was as if she’d stepped into a Merchant-Ivory film. Tall pots of violet lilies lined the entryway, and the velvet-upholstered furniture had been pushed back against the floral wallpapered walls to make room for the guests.

They came through the front door in twos and threes, guests as old as white-haired Mrs. Constance and as young as Luce herself. Bright-eyed, and wrapped in white summer cloaks, the women curtseyed to the men in smart suits and waistcoats. Black-coated waiters whisked through the large open foyer, offering twinkling crystal goblets of champagne.

Luce found Henrietta near the doors to the main ballroom, which looked like a flower bed in bloom: Extravagant, brightly colored gowns of every color, in organza, tulle, and silk, with grosgrain sashes, filled the room. The younger ladies carried bright nosegays of flowers, making the whole house smell like summer.

Henrietta’s task was to collect the ladies’ shawls and reticules as they entered. Luce had been told to distribute dance cards—small, expensive-looking booklets, with the Constances’ jeweled family crest sewn into the front cover and the orchestra’s set list written inside.

“Where are all the men?” Luce whispered to Henrietta.

Henrietta snorted. “That’s my girl! In the smoking room, of course.” She jerked her head left, where a hallway led into the shadows. “Where they’ll be smart to stay until the meal is served, if you ask me. Who wants to hear all that jabbering on about some war all the way in Crimea? Not these ladies. Not I. Not you, Myrtle.” Then Henrietta’s thin eyebrows lifted and she pointed toward the French windows. “Oof, I spoke too soon. Seems one of ’em has escaped.”

Luce turned. A single man was standing in the room full of women. His back was to them, showing nothing but a slick mane of jet-black hair and a long tailed jacket. He was talking to a blond woman in a soft rose-colored ball gown. Her diamond chandelier earrings sparkled when she turned her head—and locked eyes with Luce.

Gabbe.

The beautiful angel blinked a few times, as if trying to decide whether Luce was an apparition. Then she tilted her head ever so slightly at the man she was standing with, as if trying to send him a signal. Before he’d even turned all the way around, Luce recognized the clean, sharp profile.

Cam.

Luce gasped, dropping all the dance card booklets. She bent down and clumsily started scooping them up off the floor. Then she thrust them into Henrietta’s hands and ducked out of the room.

“Myrtle!” Henrietta said.

“I’ll be right back,” Luce whispered, sprinting up the long, curved stairway before Henrietta could even reply.

Miss McGovern would send Luce packing as soon as she learned that Luce had abandoned her post—and the expensive dance cards—in the ballroom. But that was the least of Luce’s problems. She was not prepared to deal with Gabbe, not when she needed to focus on finding Lucinda.

And she never wanted to be around Cam. In her own lifetime or any other one. She flinched, remembering the way he’d aimed that arrow straight at what he’d thought was her the night the Outcast tried to carry her reflection away into the sky.

If only Daniel were here …

But he wasn’t. All Luce could do was hope that he’d be waiting for her—and not too angry—when she figured out what she was doing and came home to the present.

At the top of the stairs, Luce darted inside the first room she came to. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it to catch her breath.

She was alone in a vast parlor. It was a marvelous room with a plush ivory-upholstered love seat and a pair of leather chairs set around a polished harpsichord. Deep-red curtains hugged the three large windows along the western wall. A fire crackled in the hearth.

Beside Luce was a wall of bookshelves, row after row of thick, leather-bound volumes, stretching from the floor to the ceiling, so high there was even one of those ladders that could be wheeled across the shelves.

An easel stood in the corner, and something about it beckoned to Luce. She’d never set foot upstairs in the Constance estate, and yet: One step onto the thick Persian carpet jogged some part of her memory and told her that she might have seen all of this before.

Daniel. Luce recalled the conversation he’d had with Margaret in the garden. They’d been talking about his painting. He was making his living as an artist. The easel in the corner—it must have been where he worked.

She moved toward it. She had to see what he’d been painting.

Just before she reached it, a trio of high voices made her jump.

They were right outside the door.

She froze, watching the door handle pivot as someone turned it from the outside. She had no choice but to slip behind the thick red-velvet curtain and hide.

There was a rustling of taffeta, the slamming of a door, and one gasp. Followed by a round of giggles. Luce cupped a hand over her mouth and leaned out slightly, just enough to peek around the curtain.

Helston Lucinda stood ten feet away. She was dressed in a fantastic white gown with a soft silk-crepe bodice and an exposed corset back. Her dark hair was pinned high on her head in an array of shiny, intricately placed curls. Her diamond necklace shone against her pale skin, giving her such a regal air it nearly took Luce’s breath away.

Her past self was the most elegant creature Luce had ever seen.

“You’re all aglow tonight, Lucinda,” a soft voice said.

“Did Thomas call on you again?” another teased.

And the other two girls—Luce recognized one as Margaret, the elder Constance daughter, the one who’d walked with Daniel in the garden. The other, a fresher replica of Margaret, must have been the younger sister. She looked about Lucinda’s age. She teased her like a good friend.

And she was right, too—Lucinda was glowing. It had to be because of Daniel.

Lucinda flopped on the ivory love seat and sighed in a way Luce would never sigh, a melodramatic sigh that begged for attention. Luce knew instantly that Bill was right: She and her past self were absolutely nothing alike.

“Thomas?” Lucinda wrinkled her small nose. “Thomas’s father is a common logger—”

“Not so!” the younger daughter cried. “He’s a very uncommon logger! He’s rich.”

“Still, Amelia,” Lucinda said, spreading her skirt around her narrow ankles. “He’s practically working-class.”

Margaret perched on the edge of the love seat. “You didn’t think so poorly of him last week when he brought you that bonnet from London.”

“Well, things change. And I do love a sweet bonnet.” Lucinda frowned. “But bonnets aside, I shall tell my father not to permit him to call on me again.”

As soon as she’d finished speaking, Lucinda’s frown eased into a dreamy smile and she began to hum. The other girls watched, incredulous, as she sang softly to herself, stroking the lace of her shawl and gazing out the window, only inches away from Luce’s hiding place.

“What’s gotten into her?” Amelia whispered loudly to her sister.

Margaret snorted. “Who is more like it.”

Lucinda stood up and walked to the window, causing Luce to retreat behind the curtain. Luce’s skin felt flushed, and she could hear the soft hum of Lucinda Biscoe’s voice just inches away. Then footsteps as Lucinda turned away from the window and her strange song abruptly broke off.

Luce dared another peek from behind the curtain. Lucinda had gone to the easel, where she stood, transfixed.

“What’s this?” Lucinda held up the canvas to show her friends. Luce couldn’t see it very clearly, but it looked ordinary enough. Just some kind of flower.

“That is Mr. Grigori’s work,” Margaret said. “His sketches showed so much promise when he first arrived, but I’m afraid something’s come over him. It’s been three whole days now of nothing but peonies.” She gave a strained shrug. “Odd. Artists are so queer.”

“Oh, but he’s handsome, Lucinda.” Amelia took Lucinda by the hand. “We must introduce you to Mr. Grigori tonight. He’s got such lovely blond hair, and his eyes … Oh, his eyes could make you melt!”

“If Lucinda is too good for Thomas Kennington and all of his money, I doubt very much that a simple painter will measure up.” Margaret spoke so sharply that it was clear to Luce that she must have had feelings for Daniel herself.

“I’d like very much to meet him,” Lucinda said, drifting back into her soft hum.

Luce held her breath. So Lucinda hadn’t even met him yet? How was that possible when she was so clearly in love?

“Let’s go, then,” Amelia said, tugging on Lucinda’s hand. “We’re missing half the party gossiping up here.”

Luce had to do something. But from what Bill and Roland had said, it was impossible to save her past life. Too dangerous to even try. Even if she managed it somehow, the cycle of Lucindas who lived after this one might be altered. Luce herself might be altered. Or worse.

Eliminated.

But maybe there was a way for Luce to at least warn Lucinda. So that she didn’t walk into this relationship already blinded by love. So that she didn’t die a pawn in an age-old punishment without even a speck of understanding. The girls were almost out the door when Luce got the courage to step from behind the curtain.

“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?”

“Th-that girl, the one coming this way,” Luce stammered, “is me, in a sense. I’m her. You love us, and I need to understand—”

Daniel turned to watch Lucinda, the one he had loved—would love in this era. He could see her face clearly now. He could see that there were two of them.

When he turned back to Luce, his hand on her shoulder began to tremble. “It’s you, the other one. What have you done? How did you do this?”

“You! Girl!” Lucinda had registered Daniel’s hand on Luce’s shoulder. Her whole face puckered up. “I knew it!” she screeched, running even faster. “Get away from him, you trollop!”

Luce could feel panic washing over her. She had no choice now but to run. But first: She touched the side of Daniel’s face. “Is it love? Or is it just the curse that brings us together?”

“It’s love,” he gasped. “Don’t you know that?”

She broke free of his grasp and fled, running fast and furiously across the lawn, back through the grove of silver birch trees, back to the overgrown grasses where she’d first arrived. Her feet became tangled and she tripped, landing flat on her face. Everything hurt. And she was mad. Fuming mad. At Lucinda for being so nasty. At Daniel for the way he just fell in love without thinking. At her own powerlessness to do anything that made a bit of difference. Lucinda would still die—Luce’s having been here didn’t matter at all. Beating her fists on the ground, she let out a groan of frustration.

“There, there.” A tiny stone hand patted her back.

Luce flicked it away. “Leave me alone, Bill.”

“Hey, it was a valiant effort. You really got out there in the trenches this time. But”—Bill shrugged—“now it’s over.”

Luce sat up and glared at him. His smug expression made her want to march right back there and tell Lucinda who she really was—tell her what things were like not so far down the road.

“No.” Luce stood up. “It’s not over.”

Bill yanked her back down. He was shockingly strong for such a little creature. “Oh, it’s over. Come on, get in the Announcer.”

Luce turned where Bill was pointing. She hadn’t even noticed the thick black portal floating right in front of her. Its musty smell made her sick.

“No.”

“Yes,” Bill said.

“You’re the one who told me to slow down in the first place.”

“Look, let me give you the CliffsNotes: You’re a bitch in this life and Daniel doesn’t care. Shocker! He courts you for a few weeks, there’s some exchanging of flowers. A big kiss and then kaboom. Okay? Not much more to see.”

“You don’t understand.”

“What? I don’t understand that Victorians are as stuffy as an attic and as boring as watching wallpaper peel? Come on, if you’re going to zigzag through your past, make it count. Let’s hit some highlights.”

Luce didn’t budge. “Is there a way to make you disappear?”

“Do I have to stuff you in this Announcer like a cat in a suitcase? Let’s move!”

“I need to see that he loves me, not just some idea of me because of some curse that he’s bound to. I need to feel like there’s something stronger keeping us together. Something real.”

Bill took a seat next to Luce on the grass. Then he seemed to think better of it and actually crawled onto her lap. At first, she wanted to swat him, and the flies buzzing around his head, but when he looked up at her, his eyes appeared sincere.

“Honey, Daniel loving the real you is the last thing you should be worried about. You’re freaking soul mates. You two coined the phrase. You don’t have to stick around here to see that. It’s in every life.”

“What?”

“You want to see true love?”

She nodded.

“Come on.” He tugged her up. The Announcer hovered in front of them and began to morph into a new shape, until it almost resembled the flaps of a tent. Bill flew into the air, hooked his finger into an invisible latch, and tugged. The Announcer rearranged itself, lowering itself like a drawbridge until all Luce could see was a tunnel of darkness.

Luce glanced back toward Daniel and Lucinda, but she couldn’t see them—only outlines of them, blurs of color pressing together.

Bill made a sweeping motion with his free hand into the belly of the Announcer. “Step right in.”

And so she did.