Ours Is Just a Little Sorrow (8 page)

"That is very expensive and well-aged brandy."

"Well, it's
awful
expensive and well-aged brandy."

"Do you want another sip?"

"Yes, please."

We passed it back and forth another time, and then I declined the offer for more. I'd done my duty to him, apparently, as he didn't harangue me for another
drink. Instead, he did worse.

"Tell me about your friend."

I shook my head violently. "I don't wish to talk right now, Gideon, please don't make me."

We were quiet for a few more moments, listening to the wind and the crackle of the fire. He broke the silence with news of the weather.

"It's snowing again tonight."

Weather, I could manage. "Oh? Are we in for much do you suppose?"

"Likely." And then. "Bloody hell. This is ridiculous. I won't carry on this inane, polite conversation. Not with you. Tell me about your friend, Violet."
His tone was acerbic, but he kneaded my shoulders gently.

"Her name was Shelby."

"Have you known her long?"

"All my life." My voice broke and he turned me into his chest. And I let him.

I'd thought I wrung out all the tears I had for Shelby, but there were buckets more. Gideon held me, rocking me gently, and soothed me with more inane
platitudes that would have meant nothing if they'd come from anyone else.

And then, he held me some more. Until my tears had dried.

He placed me on the bed, removed my boots and most of my clothes, and took down my hair. I let him. It was wrong of me, I know, but I let him just the
same.

"What were you doing before you hit your head?"

"Hanging evergreen garland with Marisol."

"You have more sap in your hair than a normal tree would hold. Good luck getting that out tomorrow," he said. And then, Gideon-the-Heartless tucked me into
my bed covers, pressed a kiss to my nose, and sat in the chair in front of the fire until I fell asleep.

And I let him.

Chapter 6

T
HE NEXT evening, I excused myself from dinner with claims of a headache and retired to my chambers. I set the fire in the grate, changed into my most
worn, therefore most comfortable nightgown, and curled into bed with my eNovelizer and a heavy heart.

I'd managed to fulfill my obligations for the day without shedding a tear. Phillip hadn't known what was wrong, but knew I was upset and behaved so
angelically that I missed the precocious boy I usually dealt with. Gideon had been conspicuously absent, yet always in my thoughts, and John had remained
in my peripheral vision, but never intrusive, as if to say he was there if I needed him. The brothers Winston were bound and determined to tangle me
despite my efforts to protect my heart from all three of them.

Though I'd loaded so many books onto my device that I'd never be able to read them all, I was surprised to see that the list had been extended by at least
ten books I'd never heard of. As I scrolled the catalog, my curiosity piqued even more as they were all books from or about the 21
^st
Century.

Earth.

Some were books about politics. Others were philosophy and history. Gideon was the only person I could think of who would sneak these books into my
possession. But where had he gotten them and why was he sharing them with me?

Trying to understand Gideon was not a practical endeavor, so instead I began reading the first book on the list, a biography of Madeleine "Maddy" Austen,
the first female President of the United States of America.

It was hard to imagine. Women were protected from the rigors of politics on New Geneva. Most women didn't need to work at all, unless they were in my
class. The wives and daughters of our planet served a different purpose, though no less noble. They made the world a better place by gentling the harshness
of the lives of their working men. They added beauty and serenity with their hearts and sensibilities. When the men came home, worn out from their work, it
was to the women they returned to for comfort and respite.

Women were more delicate than men.

Even as I thought it, I heard Gideon's voice in my ear. If that were so, then why was I not as fragile? What of Mrs. Witherspoon? Or the countless women
who did work because they were not born to a station above it? Was I less delicate or, perhaps, were the women considered so actually more robust than
appearances determined?

Maddy Austen hadn't been born to privilege. She'd been a single mother trying to make a living in a poor economy. She and the other mothers in her
neighborhood would trade childcare with each other, and often met for coffee in her apartment home. It was there they christened her dining room the "round
table" and what began as jokey lists for changing world problems somehow became a manual for a better world.

Maddy appointed many of those mothers to her cabinet when she made it all the way to the pinnacle of American politics. She'd been passionate about many
things and was widely recognized on Earth as one of history's best leaders.

She'd championed green technologies as well. It was unfortunate that she couldn't rally as many supporters of her environmental initiatives as she did her
social ones.

I glanced at the aether logs burning in the grate and tried to push back the memories of the consequences of Earth's fatal denial.

I don't know why living at Thornfield had brought back my memories with such force. I'd hardly thought of Earth the entire time I'd lived at the academy.
It wasn't until the day of the sale that the tumbler in my brain brought the remembrances up over and again. It seemed the harder I tried to push them
away, the stronger they became.

I closed my eyes and heard the boots of men, heavy on the pavement. Even scared as I was, I'd had to keep my breaths shallow or risk coughing. I used a rag
to filter the air, but held it over the baby's nose and mouth instead of my own. There was shouting. A scream in the distance and another much closer. When
the baby cried aloud, I knew we were done running.

My heart raced and I got out of bed, pushing the memories away. Not tonight, not on top of everything else I was feeling. I needed a distraction, and
quickly. I dressed in haste and used the secret panel.

Gideon's whyrlygig was quite easy to maneuver even without any lessons. I managed to follow the same path to town he'd used, much faster than the pneumatic
taxi's route, and, better yet, it avoided the sentry at the wrought iron gate. I even found his street urchin on the curb, ready to help me.

"I don't have any coin, Edmund." I hadn't planned very well. I hadn't planned at all.

"'sallright," he answered. "Master Gideon pays me ahead sometimes, so he doesn't have to worry about carrying money. I'll take care of you."

We both knew Gideon didn't pay him "ahead" for his own convenience. He was obviously trying to keep the boy afloat. "Gideon speaks very highly of you,
Edmund. I can see why."

The boy beamed as he made off with Gideon's transport, hopefully not for the last time. I set myself to the same foot path as before. I'm fairly certain I
didn't know the right signals at the door, but I was recognized by those that mattered and they let me into the ribaldery with no fan fair.

I wore the same dress as the last time, though it was my own cloak, not Gideon's, that I held together tightly as I soaked in the rowdy atmosphere. I
dismissed the pang of regret that I should miss him, the scent of his cloak. I sat on a barstool facing the room instead of the bar man, better to watch
the antics.

The colors and sounds were fascinating. On stage tonight was not the female impersonator group, but one very real, very feminine woman dancing. She
shimmied her jeweled hips in a skirt of sheer fabric. On top, she wore a contraption that covered her breasts, barely, with scraps of fabric and jeweled
ties. The men sitting near the stage were mesmerized by the sway of her body, loose and lithe, under the colored lights. I blushed when she touched her own
skin, caressing herself in a way that should have been vulgar, but seemed instead to be almost beautiful.

What must it be like, to feel so about one's body? She had no shame in her feminine figure or grace, and while the men ogled, they seemed reverent. I
wondered if Gideon had watched her dance before. If he'd compared me to her. No wonder he teased me so.

I was a priggish miss. Why had he ever bothered to bring me here? Or kiss me afterwards. When he tucked me in last night, did he leave Thornfield and come
here to watch a
real
woman? Had he ever touched her? Kissed her the way he'd kissed me?

"Miss Violet, whatever are you doing here tonight?" Minerva had sidled up to me while I was lost in thought.

"Hello, Minerva," I managed, feeling somehow as if she'd caught me. As if she'd known what I was thinking.

She'd donned a long sheath that evening. It was cut so trim I'm not certain how she walked. The material of her dress was forgettable, but she accessorized
with so many strings of pearls she must have cleaned out an ocean. Her hair fell long and straight, completely unadorned, but her eyelids were painted like
rainbows.

"You didn't answer my question. Where is Gideon? I didn't think he was here tonight." She slipped a long string of pearls through her fingers absently and
studied me. I had a feeling it was impossible to get anything past Minerva.

"I came alone."

One of her eyebrows shot up in a perfectly sculpted arch. "I'm not sure how wise that is."

I tilted my head at the assumption. "Tell me, Minerva, do
you
have an escort this evening?" For she seemed very much a woman who did what she
pleased.

She smiled wryly and ordered two drinks. "I don't need an escort. I live upstairs. No dangerous travel required."

As she passed me a drink, I remembered Gideon's warning. I stared at the glass while her cool eyes bored into me. "Maybe you're wiser than I thought,
Violet. Gideon would kill me if I let anyone spike your drink, though."

In for a penny, I thought to myself, and sipped the amber liquid. I scrunched my face as it went down. Brandy again. "I doubt he would kill you."

"I prefer not to take the chance."

We watched the dancer and sipped our drinks in companionable silence until the song ended. "Why are you here?" she asked baldly.

"Why is anyone here?" I countered.

"Are you looking for Gideon?"

A sidelong glance told me she was staring as if to unearth my darkest secrets.

"If you've designs on Gideon, Minerva, I can assure you, you'll brook no arguments from me. We have no attachment."

"Really." She seemed amused. "It seems to me you must have a tie of some sort. He's never brought anyone to a ribaldery before."

I shook my head, willing her to understand. "He just seeks to fluster me. He thought it would be a great lark to take a fish out of water."

"You have a lot to learn about men. I'm not certain that Gideon is the best beginner model, but I wish you luck."

As I opened my mouth to protest, we were interrupted by a deep, male voice. "Imagine my surprise to find my whyrlygig had gone to town without me this
evening."

I spun to face my accuser. He took the glass from my hand and sniffed it before handing it back. He exchanged telling glances with Minerva, and she smiled
as if she'd not only eaten the canary, but possibly one of its friends as well.

Then he trained his gaze back to me and the heat left my face. "Gideon-"

"Dare I ask what you're doing here?"

"She's having a drink with me," Minerva answered. "Want one?" she asked, the playful tone of her query caused an answering, visible throb of his temple.

"I'm sorry I borrowed your transport without asking, Gideon. I didn't think you would need it as I thought you were already out and had taken a coach."

Minerva leaned back on her stool and sent me a saucy wink. She was not helping matters at all. If it turned out that Gideon really were furious, I risked
losing my job.

Of course, I'd already risked my employ by sneaking out at night. I may as well enjoy it. I began unbuttoning my cloak.