Read Page 45

“You couldn’t go as yourself, Ann,” I say. “But you could go as someone else.”

She gives me an odd look.Advertisement

“The magic,” I whisper. “Don’t you see? This will be our first chance to change our fortunes.”

“Right under Mother’s nose.” Felicity grins. That temptation alone is enough to pull her in.

“What if it doesn’t work?” Ann says.

“Shall we let that stop us from trying?” I protest.

Felicity puts out her hand. “I’m for it.”

Ann adds hers, and I put mine on top. “To the future.”

Excitement ripples through the crowd of fairgoers. The rowers are within sight. People crowd the banks to cheer them on. We scramble down beneath a bluff, where we can be closer to the river but hidden from Nightwing’s view. Three boats battle for the lead with a trail of lesser rowers following in their wake. The men have rolled up their shirtsleeves to their elbows, and as they pull past us, we can see their brawny arms at work. Hands tight on the oars, they move as one, forward and back, forward and back, like a great engine of muscle and flesh. The movement is hypnotic and we are under its spell.

“Oh, they’re quite strong, aren’t they?” Ann says dreamily.

“Yes,” I say. “Quite.”

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“Which would you marry?” Ann asks.

Kartik’s face flashes in my mind, unbidden, and I shake my head to remove the thought before I feel melancholy. “I should have the one in the front,” I say, nodding toward a handsome man with fair hair and a broad chest.

“Oh, he is lovely. Do you suppose he has a brother for me?” Ann says.

“Yes,” I say. “And you shall honeymoon in Umbria.”

Ann laughs. “He’s rich, naturally.”

“Naturally,” I echo. Already the game has me in a lighter mood. Take that, Kartik.

“Which do you fancy, Felicity?” Ann asks.

Felicity barely considers them. “None.”

“You’ve not even looked,” Ann complains.

“As you wish.” Felicity hops onto a rock. She crosses her arms and scrutinizes the men. “Hmmm, that one is balding. The fellows in the back are barely in whiskers. This one nearest us…dear me, are those ears or wings?”

My laugh is a harsh bark. Ann covers her mouth as she giggles.

“But the pièce de résistance is the one on the right,” she says, pointing to a man with a round, doughy face and a large red nose. “He has a face to make a girl contemplate drowning.”

“He’s not as bad as all that,” I say, giggling. It’s a lie. For all the times men weigh us according to our beauty, we are none the better about it.

Felicity’s eyes take on a sinister gleam. “Why, Gemma, how could I possibly stand between you and true love? He shall be your intended, I think.”

“I think not!”

“Oh, yes, he shall,” Felicity taunts in a singsong. “Think of all the grisly children you shall have—all with big, fat, red noses, just like his!”

“I can’t bear your envy, Fee. You should have him. Please. I insist.”

“Oh, no. No, I am not worthy of such loveliness. He must be yours.”

“I’d die first.”

“It would be the less painful course.” Felicity jumps to her feet and waves her handkerchief. “Good afternoon!” she calls, bold as you please.

“Fee!” I squeal in embarrassment. But it is too late. We have their full attention now, and there is nowhere to run. The race forgotten, their boat floats on the river as they call out and wave to us young ladies under the bluff.

“You, sir,” she says, pointing to the unfortunate fellow. “My dear friend here is far too modest to make a confession of her admiration for you. Therefore, I’ve no choice but to make a case on her behalf.”

“Felicity!” I choke out. I dart behind the rock.

The poor fellow stands in the boat and I see, sadly, that he is as wide as his face—less a man, more a barrel in trousers. “I should like to make the lady’s acquaintance, if she would be so kind as to show herself.”

“Do you hear that, Gemma? The gentleman wishes to make your acquaintance.” Felicity tugs on my arm in an attempt to get me to my feet.

“No!” I whisper, pulling back. This foolishness has gone far enough.

“I’m afraid she’s rather shy, sir. Perhaps if you were to woo her.”

He recites a sonnet that compares me to a summer day. “Thou art more lovely and more temperate,” he intones. On that score, he is sadly misguided. “Tell me your name, fair lady!” pqdm.com