Rebel Angels (Gemma Doyle #2)

Rebel Angels (Gemma Doyle #2) Page 91

I'm trying not to cry, from the pinprick and the unwanted knowledge."I shan't," I promise.

"Your needlework is coming along nicely, dear. Shorter stitches round the edge, though, I think," Grandmama says as if we've discussed nothing else.

Mrs. Jones enters. "Begging your pardon, Mrs. Doyle. This came for Miss Doyle this afternoon. Emily took it and forgot to tell me." Though it's clearly intended for me, she offers Grandmama the box, which is beautifully wrapped with a pink silk bow.

Grandmama reads the card."It is from Simon Middleton." A gift from Simon? I am intrigued. Inside the box is a beautiful, delicate necklace of small amethyst stones that fan out along a chain. Purple, my favorite color. The card reads Gems for our Gemma.

"So beautiful," Grandmama says, holding them up to the light."I do believe Simon Middleton is bewitched!"

It is beautiful, possibly the most beautiful thing anyone has ever given me."Would you help me with the clasp?" I ask.

I remove my mother's amulet, and Grandmama secures the new necklace. I rush over to the mirror to see. The gems fall sweetly over my collarbones.

"You must wear it to the opera tomorrow evening," Grandmama advises.

"Yes, I shall," I say, watching the stones catch the light. They sparkle and shine till I hardly recognize myself.

I've a note from Kartik on my pillow: There's something I need to tell you. I'll be in the stables. I don't like that Kartik feels he can trespass in my room any time he likes. I shall tell him that. I don't like that he's keeping secrets from me. I shall tell him that, too. But not now. Now I am wearing a new necklace from Simon. Beautiful Simon, who thinks of me not as someone who can help him move up in the ranks of the Rakshana, but as a girl worthy of gems.

Gingerly, I lift the note from the pillow and twirl around the room with it stretched between my fingers. The necklace weighs against my skin like a calming hand. Gems for our Gemma.

I toss Kartik's note into the fire. The ends of the paper curl and blacken, and in an instant it is gone to ash.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

IF I AM ANXIOUS ABOUT THIS EVENING'S TRIP TO the opera, Grandmama is beside herself.

"I do hope those gloves will do," she tuts as a seamstress makes last-minute adjustments to my gown, a white duchess satin, the color young ladies wear to the opera. Grandmama has had my first opera gloves sent round from Whiteley's department store. The seamstress slips the pearl buttons through the loops at my wrist, shutting my naked arms away behind expensive kid leather. My hair has been artfully arranged away from my face with flowers in the chignon. And of course, I've put on Simon's lovely necklace. When I spy myself in the mirror, I must admit that I look quite lovely, like a true and proper lady.

Even Tom rises when I enter the parlor, shocked to see my transformation. Father takes my hand and kisses it. His own hand shakes a bit. I know that he was out until dawn, and he slept all the day, and I hope that he is not taking ill. He mops his sweaty brow with a pocket square, but his voice is merry enough.

"You are a queen, my pet. Isn't she, Thomas?"

"Not an embarrassment, to be sure," Tom answers. For an imbecile, he's rather elegant in his tails.

"Is that the best you can manage?" Father admonishes.

Tom sighs. "You look most presentable, Gemma. Do remember not to snore at the opera. It's frowned upon."

"If I have kept myself awake while you speak, Tom, I'm certain I can manage."

"The carriage has been brought round, sir," Davis, the butler, announces, saving us all from further conversation.

As we walk to the carriage, I catch sight of Kartik's expression. He stares, boldly, as if I am an apparition, someone he does not know. I'm oddly satisfied by this. Yes. Let him see that I am not some "impertinent girl," as the Rakshana henchman put it.

"The door, Mr. Kartik, if you please," Tom says tersely. As if pulled from a dream, Kartik quickly opens the carriage door. "Really, Father," Tom says when we are on our way. "I do wish you'd reconsider. Just yesterday, Sims made a recommendation on a driver--"

"The matter is closed. Mr. Kartik gets me where I need to go," Father says stiffly.

"Yes, that is my concern," Tom mutters under his breath, so that only I hear.

"Now, now," Grandmama says, patting Father's knee. "Let's be of good cheer, shall we? After all, it is nearly Christmas."

As the door to the Royal Opera House opens, I'm seized by panic. What if I look ridiculous, not elegant? What if something-- my hair, my dress, my bearing--is out of place? I am so very tall. I wish I were shorter. Daintier. Brunette. Unfreckled. An Austrian countess. Is it too late to run home and hide?