The Trouble With Moonlight

by Donna MacMeans

  Heat sprung to her cheeks at the memory and she shifted on the cushions. A decent woman wouldn’t think these thoughts, she scolded herself. Shame on her for peeping in the bawdy houses while in full-phase and watching those women, the ones who never shared daylight with decent women, the ones who offered their breasts freely for a man’s manipulation. A tingling surge of sensation shot straight to her core. How would it feel if Locke were to lift her breast from a low-cut gown and twirl his tongue around the rosy tip like some of those men did. Dear heaven! A delicious blast of sensation fairly liquefied her core and she felt in danger of sliding right off the bench.

  The carriage rumbled to a stop. She had a moment’s reprieve to catch her breath and calm herself before the driver opened the door and lowered the steps for her departure. She stepped out into the late afternoon sunlight, letting the gentle breeze cool her heated cheeks before she carried Shadow up the short path to the front stoop.

  Inside, the normally serene household was pure chaos. She could hear thumping upstairs and muffled shouts. Mrs. White, the housekeeper, hurried past with a sloshing pail of water in each hand, up the stairs. Shadow struggled to escape her hold. Once she put the cat down it ran for cover under a table. Wise choice, she thought.

  Her aunt walked down the hallway with several dresses tossed over her arm.

  “Aunt Eugenia, what has happened?” Lusinda asked as the stout woman rounded the newel post toward the stairs.

  “Lusinda! How wonderful to see you, dear.” Her aunt’s eyes widened. She raised her arms as if to hug her, then reconsidered when the dresses shifted on her arm. Lusinda caught the garments before they slid to the ground.

  “Do you recall that society boon we extracted from Mrs. Farthington?” Eugenia asked. “The invitation to a society gathering so we could give Portia some proper exposure? Well, we’ve been invited to a piano recital. Isn’t that exciting? ”

  Her aunt beamed as if she had swallowed the moon. Lusinda felt as if she had stumbled into a stranger’s household. She certainly hadn’t expected to find the house in such turmoil.

  “It’s fortuitous that we used some of your new earnings to update Portia’s wardrobe. Oh, I feel like a young girl again!” Her aunt giggled, a sound rarely heard these days by anyone but Rhea. “Are you here for a visit? Did Mr. Locke come with you?”

  Eugenia swept her glance behind Lusinda as if Locke were hiding behind her skirts.

  “No. Mr. Locke is otherwise engaged this evening.” Lusinda replied. “I thought to use the opportunity to look in on you and the girls.” She tried to keep disappointment from her voice. It hardly seemed fair that the one evening she had managed to leave Kensington house, her family was preparing to leave her as well.

  “Oh dear,” Aunt Eugenia bit her lip, obviously torn between conversing with Lusinda and attending to the chaos above. “The invitation was extended to you as well, but with your absence I responded that you were not feeling well.” She glanced toward the tall clock in the corner. “Of course, there’s that other difficulty . . .”

  One glance to the lunar dial explained it all. The waning moon was unreliable. One minute Mrs. Farthington could be addressing her guest, the next she could be entertaining a ghost. Hardly the item Lusinda wished to read in the society column of the paper.

  “I understand.” Lusinda replied rather glumly, just once she’d like the opportunity to enjoy what the rest of society took for granted.

  Portia’s shrill cry for her aunt exploded down the stairs. Eugenia’s lips tightened before she cast an apologetic smile toward Lusinda. “Let me run these dresses up. Perhaps we can chat before the party.” She turned and made her way up the stairs without waiting for Lusinda’s acknowledgement.

  Lusinda moved to the front parlor and sat in a familiar chintz chair, the only familiar chair in the room. Obviously, some of her earnings had updated the parlor furnishings as well. So she sat feeling more like a visitor than a resident in her own home.

  In the past, the family’s limited funds had kept them home reading and playing games in the evenings while others enjoyed the night air. Now that Locke had met his end of the bargain, Lusinda could see the sacrifices her aunt and sisters had endured for the sake of their meager resources. Portia’s enthusiasm was to be expected, but her aunt’s excitement brought with it a revelation of her sacrifice.

  Portia drifted into the parlor in a swirl of crisp organdy and flowing lace. Lusinda’s breath caught. Her sister looked so beautiful and fresh, like a moonflower newly unfurled in the soft evening breeze. With her hair artfully arranged on the top of her head and bits of lace interwoven in the braids, she looked quite the young woman, no longer the little sister.

  “What are you doing here?” Portia asked. “Aunt Eugenia said you had accepted a position as a governess.” Her lips twisted in a smirk. “Have they released you all ready?”

  “No,” Lusinda said, scrambling for a response. “They’ve given me the evening off. I thought I’d return to see if I’ve been missed.” She smiled before squinting slightly. “Are those my pearls?”

  Portia quickly covered the necklace with her hand. “Aunt Eugenia said you wouldn’t be going tonight, so I borrowed them.”

  “They look beautiful on you, dear. Wear them in good health.” A bit of longing tugged at Lusinda’s chest. Her sister indeed looked lovely, and, thanks to Mr. Locke, she was able to accept invitations without thought to the lunar conditions. How wonderful it must be to not have to depend on a new moon for a night of normalcy with one’s friends. Of course, she modified, her own situation had robbed her of forming close friendships. She’d hid behind excuses and lies all because of the chance occurrence of a moonbeam.

  Portia’s shoulders relaxed. “I suppose I should have asked first.”

  “Nonsense. It is good that one of us is able to get some use from them.” The longing tugged a bit harder. “The rose in your sash beautifully complements your complexion.”

  Portia’s eyes widened in pure delight. “Do you think so?” She swirled past Lusinda deeper into the parlor, setting the lace points in a sway. “I’m so excited, Luce. I know we aren’t acquainted with many of those that move in society’s circles, but this is a good start, isn’t it?”

  How was Lusinda to know? She never had a formal introduction to society herself. “I’m sure it is, dear. I’m sure it is.”

  Aunt Eugenia bustled down the steps in a new black bombazine. “Portia? Portia, where are you? We haven’t time to—oh, there you are.” Her beaming smile turned apologetic when she shifted her gaze to Lusinda. “I’m so very sorry we haven’t had time to chat, dear. How is your work progressing with Mr. Locke?” She glanced around the room. “I’m not sure what we would have done without him.”

  “Locke?” Portia asked. “Is that the family whose children you watch?”

  “Do you have your fan?” Eugenia asked Portia. “Your wrap?”

  Portia opened her mouth to protest, but Eugenia interceded. “Our Portia has developed quite an eye for fans.” She placed a hand on Porita’s back to encourage her exit. “Don’t dawdle now. We don’t want to be late. Go along. Shoulders back, head held high.”

  Just as Portia left, Rhea appeared at the doorway. She launched herself at Lusinda, passing Portia on her way.

  “Sinda, where have you been? I missed you?” Rhea said, hugging Lusinda’s leg through the petticoats.

  Eugenia turned toward Lusinda. “I’m afraid we must be off, dear. You’ll be here when we return? Perhaps we can sit down then with a cup of tea and—”

  “I’m going with you,” Lusinda said, acting on impulse. She wasn’t relishing the evening sitting alone with Rhea, waiting for the others to return. She’d been alone so long. Perhaps she could postpone the onslaught of loneliness a bit longer.

  “But the moon,” Eugenia cautioned. “It’s a bit risky . . .”

  “I’m not going to the party,” Lusinda explained. “I thought I’d ride along in the carriage on the way. That
way we can spend a little time together . . .”

  “Me too, me too!” Rhea cried. “I want to go to the party.”

  “You can’t go,” Portia snapped, returning with her necessities in hand. “You’re too little.”

  Aunt Eugenia regarded Lusinda oddly, as if she questioned her wisdom. “I don’t like the idea of leaving Rhea home alone. Mrs. White has her hands full without that added responsibility. ” She hesitated a moment. “I suppose the two of you can ride along, but you must stay in the corner, dear. I did tell people you were ill.”

  Lusinda nodded. Portia scowled. Rhea jumped up and down clapping her hands.

  The four of them fit comfortably in the carriage and departed for the short ride to the Farthingtons’. Lusinda peered out the curtain at the sky overhead. The quarter moon threw a soft light, not enough for a full-phase. Still, she could feel a dull tingling in her fingers. Clouds moved across the night sky, taking turns at covering the moon all together, and the tingling would briefly subside.

  “That’s an interesting brooch, Lusinda. Is that something new?” Aunt Eugenia asked.

  Portia immediately turned from her station at the window to survey the piece of jewelry. “It’s an old maid pin,” she announced before returning her attention to the passing scenery.

  Though stung by the hurtful comment, Lusinda refused to let it show. She unhooked the brooch and handed it to her aunt. “It was a . . . gift. The shopkeeper said it would protect the wearer from danger.”

  Her aunt held her gaze for a moment, an unspoken rebuke for accepting a gift from a man. Lusinda refused to feel remorse about Locke’s gesture. Surely her aunt, a spinster herself, recognized that a sterling reputation was certainly unnecessary for a woman with no prospects.

  Eugenia glanced at the blue stone, turning it from side to side, watching the shimmer mimic the lunar cycle. “A moonstone, ” she said with a soft smile. “A fine specimen, indeed, though I’m afraid the shopkeeper misstated its abilities.”

  “Oh?” She accepted the brooch back from her aunt. “It doesn’t protect against danger?”

  “Perhaps.” Her smile deepened. “However, it’s supposed to protect the wearer against people with our talents: the Nevidimi. ”

  “That’s silly.” Lusinda laughed. “Why would anyone need protection against the likes of us?”

  “We’re different, dear. That always invites fear.”

  Her aunt and she continued to chat amicably until the carriage pulled to a stop behind two other carriages in line before the Farthington residence. Aunt Eugenia and Portia stepped down from the carriage and joined the others walking the short distance to the entrance. Once the driver had closed the carriage door, Rhea pulled back the curtain to watch the grand parade.

  “Look at the pretty dresses. I’m going to look like that some day.”

  “You’ll be even prettier,” Lusinda replied absently. It didn’t seem fair that her sister could enjoy the entertainments of society while she remained hidden like a disgraced member of the family. Jealousy twisted in her gut. This was a mistake. Coming here was akin to poking a festering wound. She glanced irritably at the window. However, instead of the expected view of another pretty debutante and chaperone, she saw the distinctive head and shoulders of Mr. James Locke pass by the square frame.

  Quickly she slid to the opposite end of the bench, straining to see his back through the limits of the frame. If she hadn’t seen his face, she would still recognize him by his stiff, alert posture. She smiled. He held himself apart, as if an invisible wall separated him from his companion—Mr. Ramsden she guessed from the swagger—and everyone else. Her sessions with Locke must be improving her powers of observation. He’d like that. She pressed her nose closer to the glass, ignoring Rhea’s complaints. Locke’s evening jacket spread nicely across the expanse of his shoulders. She’d never seen him in such fine array. If only she could see him from the front. He and his friend mounted the steps to the front entrance and disappeared from sight. She slumped back in the seat.

  The carriage jerked forward. A familiar wish teased Lusinda’s thoughts, that she could be one of the “pretty ladies” who would wave their fans and bat their eyes at the eligible young men at the party. This time, however, her wish added an identity to the targeted man of such flirtations. Would Mr. Locke be interested, she wondered? Mr. Ramsden would, she had no doubt, but Mr. Locke?

  Their carriage turned a corner rounding the west side of the Farthington property. In sudden inspiration, she rapped at the roof of the carriage, alerting the driver to stop.

  “What are you doing?” Rhea asked as the carriage pulled to the curb.

  “Wait here,” Lusinda replied. “I won’t be long. I just want to see something.” She opened the carriage door, stepped down without assistance, then pushed the door closed behind her. Rhea’s face appeared in the window and Lusinda held her arm out in a silent plea to stay. Lifting her skirts clear of the cool grass, she quickly darted behind the bushes that hid the house from the street and advanced toward the windows of Farthington House.

  The tingling intensified, reminding her that this excursion was not without risk. Still, she was drawn toward the window, much as the moon was said to pull the tide. She just wanted to see Locke when he wasn’t focused on managing all aspects of her life. She told herself she just wanted to see if he favored a particular woman. But in reality, she just wanted to see . . . him.

  This is silly, she scolded herself. She was acting like a schoolgirl spying on the adults at a dinner party, but still she moved forward until a long open window in the music room provided a view of the activities within. Half-hidden behind a tree, she could see the profiles of the guests. Good. Their attention would be riveted on the piano in front of the room. She could watch discreetly, unobserved.

  She spotted Locke the moment he entered the room. Her heart gave a little jump. Mr. Ramsden already had a young woman wrapped around his arm, while Mr. Locke had followed without escort. What a fool the young woman must be if she chose Mr. Ramsden for her attentions rather than Mr. Locke. He was stunning. His creamy white cravat and shirt only emphasized the breadth of his shoulders. He clenched his hands behind his back and slowly scrutinized the room. The minute movement of his eyelids and tightened lips were the only indication of the thoughts clicking like tumblers in his agile brain. She reached out her hand, surprised to feel her fingers touch the rough brick that outlined the open window. When had she moved that close?

  She should retreat to the relative safety of the tree, but her curiosity kept her glued near the side of the window.

  Everyone had taken their seats. Mr. Ramsden partially blocked her view of Mr. Locke. She looked for Portia and Aunt Eugenia and found them toward the back of the room. Suddenly, a tug on her skirt caught her attention. A swift glance down revealed Rhea at her side.

  “I want to see too.”

  Lusinda quickly pulled her sister away from the window and back toward the base of the tree. At least, her whispered reprimand wouldn’t be overheard from this distance.

  “Rhea, quiet!” She hissed, afraid to raise her voice. “I told you to stay inside the carriage.”

  “But I want to see the pretty ladies.”

  A breeze moved among the treetops, separating the clusters of leaves, allowing moonlight to filter through to previously sheltered havens. A shaft of moonlight settled on Rhea, and Lusinda thought she saw a soft sparkle in her skin. Could it be a trick of the light, or was it a predecessor of something else? Ignoring Mrs. Farthington’s guests, Lusinda studied her sister instead.

  “Do you feel anything? Like a tingle in your toes?” she asked cautiously. She didn’t want to alarm Rhea if she hadn’t inherited her mother’s unique traits.

  Rhea screwed up her tiny face. “What do you mean?”

  How to explain the prickling with which Lusinda had become so familiar? The tingling sensation that even now teased her fingers. “You know how it feels to prick your finger with a needle? Do you feel
something like—”

  The scream interrupted further explanation. Lusinda glanced up at the window and saw a woman frantically pointing in her direction. Her gaze shifted to Locke, who looked at her full face, his brows descending in unmistakable displeasure.

  She quickly grabbed Rhea’s hand, noting that to Rhea’s full-flesh hand, hers was a ghostly white, semitransparent one. “Run!”

  She dashed for the carriage, pulling Rhea roughly behind. She thought she heard footsteps and loud voices behind her, but she didn’t dare look back. The moon slipped behind a cloud, causing her ghostly appearance to become more opaque and her features more recognizable. She reached the carriage and quickly tossed Rhea inside, scrambling up behind her.

  “Go!” she yelled before she pulled the door shut. The driver, well-used to her barked commands, snapped the reins, and the carriage rolled off, allowing her to slump in relief on the cushions.

  “Why did that woman scream, Sinda?” Rhea asked while Lusinda struggled to calm her breath. “Didn’t they know the moon was out?”

  The question made her smile even while her heart pounded a furious rhythm. “I guess not.” She tried to look out the window to see if anyone followed, but it was impossible to see. Not that it mattered. Locke had not only seen her, but recognized her as well. She could tell by the furl between his eyebrows that deepened with his scowl. She glanced to her lap. Her hand still held a subtle glow of milky white. She imagined her face looked much the same, yet Rhea didn’t seem to notice. She curled up on the bench seat and rested her head in Lusinda’s lap, her pale hair shimmering in the moonlight. Lusinda soothed her hand down the child’s cheek. “I guess not.”

  Seven

  SHE DIDN’T RETURN TO LOCKE’S RESIDENCE THAT night.