And then, out of nowhere, Rainey blurts, “Where were you last night?”
My pen stops, causing the ink to bleed onto the envelope. Did she see me last night? Quickly, I finish writing out the last name and look at Rainey from the corner of my eye. “At home. With a date.”
Both brows rise, and her eyes flash with … jealousy? The heat is there and gone before I can comment on it.
“Her name is Angostura, and she’s never let me down.”
Rainey absorbs my words and shakes her head. “I’m sorry I showed interest.”
“If I didn’t know better, le savauge, I’d say you’re …” Leaning back in my chair, I tap a finger against my unshaved chin. “Almost envious.”
She folds the invitation in half and nearly shoves it into the envelope. “I’m not envious. Envy would imply I long for somethin’ that someone has, and that’s not true. What I care about is my time bein’ wasted.”
I whistle as I shake my head. “My, my,” I drawl. “You’re very disagreeable today. Did you not get enough sleep last night after your date with Duncan? If so, perhaps I should speak with your momma about implementin’ a curfew because you’re my ward and it’s in your best interest.”
Rainey’s cheeks grow redder by the second. She rubs her temples and mutters curse words that would have any soldier blushing. If only her devoted bachelors could see her now.
After a few seconds, she drops her hands and takes a deep breath. “No curfew is necessary. Duncan had me home at a proper time.”
I was angling to find out how her night went, but I wanted specific points, not vague details.
“Will you see him again?” I ask, keeping my tone disinterested as I cross a name off from the guest list.
“I believe so.” Rainey keeps her gaze forward. Her penmanship is fluid and graceful. The first letter of each name is always done with a bold loop that almost leads you to believe the name she just wrote was hers. I don’t know how she manages to write so beautifully.
“You believe so,” I repeat under my breath.
“Mmmhmm.”
For reasons I cannot understand, Rainey is uncharacteristically upset with me. More so than usual. She received her wish. I did not impose on her time with Duncan. What is churning inside that stubborn mind of hers?
If I didn’t have such a wicked headache, I might ponder over this a bit longer. Yet right now, all I want to do is walk out of the room, take a shower, and then pass out. And the only way that will happen is if we finish the task at hand.
Rainey doesn’t need my help. She needs an assistant.
“While I was … on my way, did you make much progress with plannin’ the ball?” I ask.
“Oh, I did so much!” Rainey says with false enthusiasm. “Because as we both know, I am very well-trained for these events.”
“You cannot say I didn’t try to prevent this, le savauge,” I point out, gesturing to the papers scattered about the table.
“You’ve made it apparent you don’t want to be here, and neither do I. If we work together, we should only be a few more minutes, all right?” Rainey reasons.
At random, I pick a name from the guest list and nod. “Fine by me.”
One hour later, I throw my hands in the air. “I cannot do this any longer. How about you have anyone who desires to go to this ball place bets, and the people with the highest numbers get an invitation. Or perhaps, we can do a game of chance and place thirty names in a bucket. Draw ten, and those are your guests.”
Rainey pinches the bridge of her nose and throws her pen onto the table. “Be serious.”
“Oh, I am.”
“We have ten more names left on the guest list. That’s all. Serene says the invitations need to be mailed immediately. Once we’re finished, you can take your leave.”
“How kind of you,” I drolly reply.
“I am not precisely thrilled about this either, Livingston,” Rainey grumbles as she picks up her pen and gets back to work. Her eyes remain glued to the envelope in front of her.
Her words ricochet through my head so badly it feels as though my skull is going to break in half. Normally, my headaches disappear by this time of the day, but I don’t think it’s the amount of alcohol I drank last night that’s causing the tension to build. My nightmare hit the small part of my heart that wasn’t wounded and putting on a façade.
Reluctantly, I grab my fountain pen. The muscles in my arm ache in protest with every glide of the pen. Who knew writing could exhaust you so much? Or perhaps, it’s been an incredibly long time since I’ve sat down and held a pen between my fingers.
It makes me think of all the drawings in my office, hidden from sight. In France, I’d dream of locking myself away in my office and drawing endless houses until my imagination ran dry. Instead, I pulled all the curtains in the house closed until it resembled a dungeon and roamed the halls like a ghost with only liquor and questionable acquaintances to keep me company.
“Precisely how long shall this go on?” Étienne’s question rings in my head.
“How’s this?”
Rainey lifts her gaze long enough to look at my handiwork. “Good. We’ll simply tell Mrs. Mattigola that Serene and Étienne’s daughter wrote her name.”
I give her an irritated look and continue through the list of names. By the third invite, my hand cramps terribly. I drop my pen and shake my head. “I officially quit. There’s no longer any feelin’ in my hand.”
Standing up, I shake my hand out and begin to pace. Even with a healthy distance away from the table, I can hear the steady scratch of Rainey’s pen against the envelope. Blood has begun to rush back to my hand, but I don’t stop pacing. I’m still irritated for reasons I cannot explain. I should’ve stayed at home.
I stare at my hands and I see dirt packed beneath my nails and around my cuticles. Holding my hands in front of me, I spread my fingers. In and out, my hands go from being clean to filthy.
In the distance, I can hear Rainey calling out to me, but her voice is overshadowed by the sound of screams and moans, and the smell of gunpowder.
Impossible. Breathe. You need to breathe!
I should’ve bathed. I always bathe. Why didn’t I bathe? I was determined to get here on time and not allow a glitch in my normal routine to throw me off. That’s why.
Explain the situation. Rainey will understand!
I don’t want her pity and sympathy. I’d much rather have her condemnation.
As I look at Rainey in the eye, trying to formulate the correct words, she stands there patiently. She knows something isn’t quite right. I find myself moving toward her. Pain understands pain on a fundamental level. Perhaps, that’s why we consistently seek solace when we’re hurting even though we know we’ll regret it later.
“I have things to do.”
Rainey remains quiet.
“Better things,” I say, my voice rising.
She nods. That’s it.
“You understand that, right?”
At that, she lifts a brow. She’s not saying anything. I need her to respond.
“The last thing I want to do is to fill out invitations for a bachelor ball,” I say, my words dripping with disdain. For such a large room, it feels as though it’s closing in on me rather quickly. I need to go home and take a shower to wash the dirt beneath my nails. I need to get away from everyone.