“What, purebred?” Dora asked, with a faint curve of her lips.
Vanessa shuddered. “Oh, please don’t,” she said. “It’s just awful. I’ll never be able to listen to anyone talk about horses again without hearing it that way.”
Dora smiled gently back at her. Though Dora’s soul was numb and distant, her cousin’s presence remained a warm and steady light beside her. Vanessa was like a glowing lantern in the dark, or a comforting fire in the hearth. Dora had no joy of her own—though she knew the sense of contentment, or a kind of pleasant peace. But when Vanessa was happy, Dora sometimes swore she could feel it rubbing off on her, seeping into the holes where her own happiness had once been torn away and lighting a little lantern of her own.
“I don’t think you would have enjoyed marrying him anyway,” Dora told Vanessa. “Though I’ll be sad if I’ve scared away some other man you would have liked more.”
Vanessa sighed heavily. “I don’t intend to marry and leave you all alone, Dora,” she said quietly. “I really worry that Mother might turn you out entirely if I wasn’t there to insist otherwise.” Her lips turned down into a troubled frown that was still somehow prettier than any smile had ever looked on Dora’s face. “But if I must marry, I should hope that it would be a man who didn’t mind you coming to live with me.”
“That is a very difficult thing to ask,” Dora chided Vanessa, though the words touched gently at that warm, ember glow within her. “Few men will wish to share their new wife with some mad cousin who wears embroidery scissors around her neck.”
Vanessa’s eyes glanced towards the top of Dora’s dress. They both knew of the little leather sheath that pressed against her breast, still carrying those iron scissors. It had been Vanessa’s idea. Lord Hollowvale fears those scissors, she had said. So you should have them on you always, in case he comes for you and I am not around to stab him in his other leg.
Vanessa pursed her lips. “Well!” she said. “I suppose I shall have to be difficult, then. For the only way I shall ever be parted from you, Dora, is if you become mad with love and desert me for some wonderful husband of your own.” Her eyes brightened at the thought. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we fell in love at the same time? I could go to your wedding then, and you could come to mine!”
Dora smiled placidly at her cousin. No one is ever going to marry me, she thought. But she didn’t say it aloud. The thought was barely a nuisance—rather like that fly in the corner—but Vanessa was always so horrified when Dora said common sense things like that. Dora didn’t like upsetting Vanessa, so she kept the thought to herself. “That would be very nice,” she said instead.
Vanessa chewed at her lower lip, and Dora wondered whether her cousin had somehow guessed her thoughts.
“...either way,” Vanessa said finally. “Neither of us shall find a proper husband in the country, I think. Mother has been bothering me to go to London for the Season, you know. I believe I want to go, Dora—but only if you swear you will come with me.”
Dora blinked at her cousin slowly. Auntie Frances will not like that at all, she thought. But Vanessa, for all of her lovely grace and charm and good behaviour, always did seem to get her way with her stern-eyed mother.
On the one hand, Dora thought, she was quite certain that she would be just as much a hindrance to Vanessa’s marriage prospects in London as she was here in the country. But on the other hand, there were bound to be any number of Sir Albuses hunting about London’s ballrooms as well, just waiting to pounce on her poor, good-natured cousin. And as much of a terror as Vanessa was to faerie gentry, she really was as meek as a mouse when it came to normal human beings.
“I suppose I must come with you, then,” Dora agreed. “If only so you needn’t talk of horses ever again.”
Vanessa smiled winsomely at her. “You are my hero, Dora,” she said.
That lantern light within Dora glowed a tiny bit brighter at the words. “But you were mine first,” she replied. “So I must certainly repay the debt.”
Vanessa took her by the arm again—and soon, Dora’s thoughts had wandered well away from London, and far afield from things like purebred horses and impossible court magicians.
Auntie Frances was not pleased at the idea of Dora accompanying her cousin to London. “She’ll require dresses!” was the woman’s very first protest, as they discussed the matter over tea. “It will be far too expensive to dress two of you! I am sure that Lord Lockheed will not approve the money.”
“She can wear my old dresses,” Vanessa replied cheerfully, as though she’d already thought this through. “You always did like the pink muslin, didn’t you, Dora?” Dora, for her part, merely nodded along obligingly and sipped at her teacup.
“She’ll drive away your suitors!” Auntie Frances sputtered next. “What with her strangeness—”
“Mother!” Vanessa protested, with a glance at Dora. “Must you speak so awfully? And right in front of her, as well!”
Auntie Frances frowned darkly. “She doesn’t care, Vanessa,” she said shortly. “Look at her. Getting that girl to feel anything at all is an exercise in futility. She may as well be a doll you carry around with you for comfort.”
Dora sipped at her tea again, unfazed. The words failed to prick at her in the way that they should have. She wasn’t upset or offended or tempted to weep. There was a
