Author: Megan Shepherd

“Edward?” I sat straighter. “Not very much at all.”

Father’s graceful fingers stroked the wiry hairs on his chin. I remembered the late-night conversation that Edward was so reluctant to talk about, and I wondered what Father could possibly have wanted to say to him after trying to drown him.

“Perhaps we should change that,” Father said.

I couldn’t bring myself to ask what exactly he meant. Getting to know Edward couldn’t possibly help him with his work—unless it got me out of his way. Or unless he thought the quickest way to fulfill his fatherly duty was to marry me off to Edward Prince.

Seventeen

ON THE WAY HOME I couldn’t help but notice Montgomery’s tense hold on the reins and Balthasar’s wide-eyed scan of the jungle. They were on alert. Something bad had happened, regardless of what Father said. Ever since that native had accidentally been killed, they’d all been uneasy.

Alice fetched me for dinner that evening, saying Father expected proper dining attire. I dug through Mother’s trunk until I found a suitable white blouse and lavender skirt. Elegant clothes didn’t fit such a savage place, but this wasn’t just any island. It was my father’s island.

I paused outside the French doors leading to the well-lit salon. Inside Father and Edward talked over a brandy, surprisingly amicable, while Montgomery looked out the windows, arms folded, watching the dark jungle. The dinner table was set with all the finery of a London salon, out of place on the primitive island.

When I entered, all eyes turned to me. Edward straightened. The conversation died between him and Father. Apparently Mother’s elegant clothing was something of a sight. Montgomery gave me one long, speechless look and went to the side table to pour himself a brandy.

Edward wore a fine suit with a dark-gray vest that would have been at home in any London drawing room. He smiled, though the muscle in his jaw twitched. “You look beautiful. Like one of the angels Milton wrote about.”

“A fallen one, maybe,” I said.

Montgomery watched us from across the room in his worn riding trousers and loose linen shirt. He’d washed his hands and face, but little else. He wasn’t a gentleman like Edward. He belonged in the wild.

“Please take a seat,” Father said, pulling out my chair. “I’m afraid hitherto Montgomery and I have grown lax in our manners. Now that we’ve guests, it’s time we remind ourselves that we’re not animals.”

Montgomery sat across from me, fidgeting with the silverware. I wondered if he often thought about that moment when our lips had been so close. If so, he’d said nothing. Could that attraction have been only my imagination?

Alice came in and filled our wine glasses, followed by Balthasar with a soup bowl. She kept her head to the side and wouldn’t look at anyone but Montgomery. She positively turned white when she had to serve Edward, with his fine suit and elegant manners.

For a while we ate in silence. I think the sudden sophistication and elegant attire took us all by surprise, and we didn’t quite know what to do with ourselves. The clock ticked away the seconds on the mantel. I stole glances at my father, wondering about what he’d meant when he’d said I should get to know Edward better. Wondering what had made Balthasar and Puck interrupt the picnic with so many guns.

“Well, Prince, it seems you are now somewhat familiar with us. We have the disadvantage, however, of knowing next to nothing about you.” Father tapped absently against the base of his wine glass and slid me a look. “Juliet, in particular, is curious about you.”

I studied the curve of my spoon in detail. Wished Father didn’t have to be so obvious about whatever plans he was making for Edward and me.

“You come from a good family, I assume?” Father asked him.

“My father is a general.”

“A high post. Strange you would turn your back on him.”

My soup spoon paused halfway to my mouth. I was intrigued by Edward’s story, even without Father pushing me toward him. Edward had given me only glimmers. I had never directly asked him what made him leave England in such a rush, but then again, he’d never asked me to lay bare my history so he could dissect it, either. It felt like an unspoken agreement. He could have his secrets and I could have mine. Though it didn’t make me any less curious.

Edward rubbed the smooth silk napkin between his fingers, clearing his throat. I absently wondered what his hands would feel like against my skin. Strong, yet smooth. Like they had in my dream. The spoon slipped from my fingers into the bowl with an embarrassing clatter.

“We didn’t agree on many things,” Edward said.

“Still, one must obey one’s father, don’t you agree?” Father ran his middle finger along the rim of his wine glass. It hummed with a shrill and unnatural pitch.

“There comes a point when one must make one’s own decisions. Live one’s own life.”

The hum of the wine glass grew louder and louder. And then, suddenly, he stopped. “I hope for your sake, Mr. Prince, that your father comes to forgive you. I, for one, am glad to have an obedient child,” he said, giving me a tight smile.

He was waiting for me to smile back. Obediently. I’d seen him work his spell on my mother, his colleagues, his students. He had a way of swaying people’s emotions like a hypnotist. I so badly wanted to believe that everything was fine on the island. And that pushing Edward off the dock had been a joke. But the thing was, I wasn’t swayed by my emotions. I was analytical. Logical.

I was like him.

I sat straighter, toying with my napkin. “Why did you never send any letters?” I asked. “Or come back to see me?”

The room went silent except for the tick tick tick of the mantel clock.

His face shifted almost imperceptibly. He set down his steak knife. “I wish I could have, of course. But I can never return to England. There’s the small matter of a warrant for my arrest.”

“But it’s unfounded, isn’t it? You’re innocent of the things they accused you of.” My voice was harder than it should have been. Not exactly obedient. “Aren’t you?”

His fingers drummed on the wine glass. “It seems perhaps my daughter shares your questioning mind after all, Mr. Prince.” His voice was tightly controlled. He took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair. “The last thing the justice system is, is just,” he said. A bitterness stained his eyes, but I realized it wasn’t my question that had him angry, but the memory of false accusations. “My academic rivals schemed to slander me so they could steal my work. Unfortunately, they succeeded.”

“But if it’s not true—”

“It isn’t about truth, Juliet. It’s about what people want to believe.” He rubbed his brow. “You’re young. You haven’t experienced how unjust the world can be.” He sighed. “You’re upset I didn’t bring you with me. You’ve every right. I thought it was no life for a child, running, hiding out on an island a hundred miles from anything.”

He was right in that at least. It wasn’t a good life for a child. And yet he’d taken Montgomery.

Father leaned forward. He took my hand across the table. The hypnotist was gone, and he seemed only tired and old and lonely. “I was wrong, Juliet.” His long fingers consumed my small hands. “Now, what do you say to putting the past behind us?”

Puck hovered behind him, a dusty champagne bottle in his hands to celebrate our elegant meal. His scaly fingers unwrapped the foil, hesitating on pulling the cork until I spoke. Father’s eyes crackled with the promise of a life together, of a family again.

Alice handed me a champagne flute. The rim was chipped. Like my soup bowl and my brandy glass and all the beautiful, expensive dishware. Everything had a chip or crack. Nothing here was perfect, but it still worked.

I met Father’s gaze and nodded. Behind him, Puck popped the cork.

AFTER SUPPER, A COMFORTABLE silence settled over the room. The ticking of the clock seemed not nearly so harsh, and I rather enjoyed the small reminder of order.

Father smoked a cigar as he used to do, his gaze settling on the dark night beyond the compound walls. “Yes,” he reflected, “it’s good to have you here. A father should know his daughter. I’m starting to not even mind you so much, Prince.”

Edward didn’t laugh.

Father sent a small cloud of rich, earthy smoke toward the high ceiling. “Why don’t you play us a tune on the piano?” he asked me. “It’s been a long time since we’ve heard proper music, though Balthasar attempts a melody every now and then.”

Montgomery looked up from the table where he’d been rubbing a crack in the surface, no doubt thinking of how to fix it. I remembered on the ship he said he wanted to hear me play again. My heartstrings tightened.

“Of course.” I stood, hoping I looked more confident than I felt. We all retired to the sitting area. Montgomery leaned against the doorjamb, keeping his distance. The piano bench beckoned, and I sat on it hesitantly, as if afraid it might bite. I hadn’t played in years, and I vaguely wondered if I could rescind my agreement until I’d had time to practice.

I played a C-major chord.

“It’s out of tune, I’m afraid,” I said.

“For the life of me, I can’t tell,” Montgomery said. I shot him a look over my shoulder. He wasn’t helping.

I ran my fingers lightly over the keys. They were worn, so unlike the perfectly crafted piano we’d had on Belgrave Square. I’d taken lessons every week from a piano tutor. Mother said I would one day play for suitors, then my husband, and then teach my own children. But after Father left, the piano was the first thing sold.

There was a Chopin piece she used to play. Dissonant, with an odd melody like wind in the night. It was haunting, and it seemed suited to the island. I closed my eyes and laid my fingers on the keys, trying to remember the feel of the music. I played the first chord, adjusting for the stiffness of the keys. Humidity made the strings stick and the wood warp, but it was music nonetheless, and for this piece, somehow it fitted. And then the feeling came back to me, sitting next to my mother on the bench, watching her long fingers on the keys. Like a bird in an unlocked cage, music flew out of me.

I had forgotten what I loved about the piano. The precision of the notes and the mathematical intricacy of the notes and measures. It was like a complicated equation that you work out with your heart instead of pencil and paper. I concentrated on the keys, letting my mind clear. I played and played until the final bar, where I let the chord ring until the last trace of sound faded. My fingers slipped off the keys. Then I opened my eyes.

To my surprise, Alice and Balthasar and Puck stood around the table, halfway through clearing the dishes, with the queerest expressions on their faces. Tears glistened in Balthasar’s eyes. I realized they might never have heard proper music before.

Father stood and brought his hands together, slowly, and then the others took up the clapping as well. The room suddenly felt warmer. I’d finally done something to please him.

They all rushed me—Edward and Alice and the servants. They had so many questions. What was the piece, and where had I learned it? Would I play more? Would I teach Alice? I was used to being overlooked as just another maid. Their attention was overwhelming.

I caught Montgomery’s eye. He smiled at me like we shared some secret. And then I remembered why that piece out of all of them had come back to me. It had been his favorite. I’d found him at the bench one day, when we were children. His wax and polish brush were forgotten on the floor. I sat beside him and put his hands over mine so he could feel the movements of my fingers pressing the keys. I started to play a Vivaldi, but he shook his head. Not this one, he’d said. He’d wanted to play the one that sounded wrong.

The Chopin.

Montgomery looked away. He busied himself with a splinter in the doorframe.