Passion

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.