When I entered, all eyes turned to me. Edward straightened. The conversation died between him and Father. Apparently Mother’s elegant clothing was something of a sight. Montgomery gave me one long, speechless look and went to the side table to pour himself a brandy.
Edward wore a fine suit with a dark-gray vest that would have been at home in any London drawing room. He smiled, though the muscle in his jaw twitched. “You look beautiful. Like one of the angels Milton wrote about.”
“A fallen one, maybe,” I said.
Montgomery watched us from across the room in his worn riding trousers and loose linen shirt. He’d washed his hands and face, but little else. He wasn’t a gentleman like Edward. He belonged in the wild.
“Please take a seat,” Father said, pulling out my chair. “I’m afraid hitherto Montgomery and I have grown lax in our manners. Now that we’ve guests, it’s time we remind ourselves that we’re not animals.”
Montgomery sat across from me, fidgeting with the silverware. I wondered if he often thought about that moment when our lips had been so close. If so, he’d said nothing. Could that attraction have been only my imagination?
Alice came in and filled our wine glasses, followed by Balthasar with a soup bowl. She kept her head to the side and wouldn’t look at anyone but Montgomery. She positively turned white when she had to serve Edward, with his fine suit and elegant manners.
For a while we ate in silence. I think the sudden sophistication and elegant attire took us all by surprise, and we didn’t quite know what to do with ourselves. The clock ticked away the seconds on the mantel. I stole glances at my father, wondering about what he’d meant when he’d said I should get to know Edward better. Wondering what had made Balthasar and Puck interrupt the picnic with so many guns.
“Well, Prince, it seems you are now somewhat familiar with us. We have the disadvantage, however, of knowing next to nothing about you.” Father tapped absently against the base of his wine glass and slid me a look. “Juliet, in particular, is curious about you.”
I studied the curve of my spoon in detail. Wished Father didn’t have to be so obvious about whatever plans he was making for Edward and me.
“You come from a good family, I assume?” Father asked him.
“My father is a general.”
“A high post. Strange you would turn your back on him.”
My soup spoon paused halfway to my mouth. I was intrigued by Edward’s story, even without Father pushing me toward him. Edward had given me only glimmers. I had never directly asked him what made him leave England in such a rush, but then again, he’d never asked me to lay bare my history so he could dissect it, either. It felt like an unspoken agreement. He could have his secrets and I could have mine. Though it didn’t make me any less curious.
Edward rubbed the smooth silk napkin between his fingers, clearing his throat. I absently wondered what his hands would feel like against my skin. Strong, yet smooth. Like they had in my dream. The spoon slipped from my fingers into the bowl with an embarrassing clatter.
“We didn’t agree on many things,” Edward said.
“Still, one must obey one’s father, don’t you agree?” Father ran his middle finger along the rim of his wine glass. It hummed with a shrill and unnatural pitch.
“There comes a point when one must make one’s own decisions. Live one’s own life.”
The hum of the wine glass grew louder and louder. And then, suddenly, he stopped. “I hope for your sake, Mr. Prince, that your father comes to forgive you. I, for one, am glad to have an obedient child,” he said, giving me a tight smile.
He was waiting for me to smile back. Obediently. I’d seen him work his spell on my mother, his colleagues, his students. He had a way of swaying people’s emotions like a hypnotist. I so badly wanted to believe that everything was fine on the island. And that pushing Edward off the dock had been a joke. But the thing was, I wasn’t swayed by my emotions. I was analytical. Logical.
I was like him.
I sat straighter, toying with my napkin. “Why did you never send any letters?” I asked. “Or come back to see me?”
The room went silent except for the tick tick tick of the mantel clock.
His face shifted almost imperceptibly. He set down his steak knife. “I wish I could have, of course. But I can never return to England. There’s the small matter of a warrant for my arrest.”
“But it’s unfounded, isn’t it? You’re innocent of the things they accused you of.” My voice was harder than it should have been. Not exactly obedient. “Aren’t you?”
His fingers drummed on the wine glass. “It seems perhaps my daughter shares your questioning mind after all, Mr. Prince.” His voice was tightly controlled. He took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair. “The last thing the justice system is, is just,” he said. A bitterness stained his eyes, but I realized it wasn’t my question that had him angry, but the memory of false accusations. “My academic rivals schemed to slander me so they could steal my work. Unfortunately, they succeeded.”
“But if it’s not true—”
“It isn’t about truth, Juliet. It’s about what people want to believe.” He rubbed his brow. “You’re young. You haven’t experienced how unjust the world can be.” He sighed. “You’re upset I didn’t bring you with me. You’ve every right. I thought it was no life for a child, running, hiding out on an island a hundred miles from anything.”