//CLARA//
Being a Guggenheim ward wasn’t a safety net. It was a target. People flocked to like I was a human Yelp review, begging for a five-star rating to flash at Casimir.
My face was numb from the forced Botox-smile. I’d walked runways in seven-inch heels less exhausting than this. At least there, nobody expected to pretend railroad talk was fascinating.
The vultures kept spinning their narrative, the hints about my fragile state to everyone we t. And every ti, I countered with sugar-coated venom that made them look like liars.
"We should head toward the Mall," Bartholow suggested.
My brain pinged with visions of air-conditioned luxury. Then I saw the gravel path. Right. I almost forget that their mall ant trinket stalls.
We were mingling when I spotted her. A girl my age on a bench, sketchbook in hand instead of a parasol. She looked bored out of her skull.
"Who’s that?"
Bartholow’s nose crinkled.
"Miss Beatrice Sterling. We should leave her alone. She’s unconventional."
To translate that, it ans a person who actually has a personality.
"Introduce ."
"What? You and her kind don’t—"
"Are you going to introduce or not?"
He sighed like I’d asked him to walk the plank and steered toward her.
"Good day, Miss Sterling, it’s a wonderful day, is it not?"
The girl looked up before she stands. Her eyes sharp, scanning over Bartholow before she turned to . The one I usually recognize when a person spent a lot of ti judging everyone from the background.
"It’s quite fine I supposed, Mr. Vanderbilt," she tipped her head lightly when she spoke to him, then smiled at . "And...you must be the new ward of Mr. Guggenheim?"
"Eleanor Thorne, nice to make your acquaintance." I said, stepping forward before Mr. Bart could do his usual gatekeeping.
"My fiancé," Mr. Bart inserted.
"Future, fiancé, nothing is finalized yet," I quickly cut him off.
The ink is way too far from drying on that rger.
I didn’t even look at him, but I let a flash of cold steel smile.
"Oh, I see." Beatrice murmured, her brows shooting up.
A small, knowing smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. She imdiately gets it.
Yup. Confird. I like her. Totally.
Not those fake-ass people wanting to get close to just for Casimir.
"Well, it’s good to see you Miss Sterling," Mr. Bart’s voice cut in impatiently. "I hope your brother will be back from Europe soon. We’ll have a matter to discuss with."
"He’ll be back in a fortnight," she replied almost too instantly, as if we were a pop-up from her sketchbook she was trying to close.
Mr. Bart was about to drag away, and for once I actually wanted to stay and talk with Beatrice than him parading . This girl is like a breath of fresh air, but then she was suddenly called by a woman whose voice cut through the air like a serrated knife.
"Beatrice, dear. Co along now, there’s soone I’d like you to et."
I heard her let out a low groan, a scowl forming on her face for a split second before she quickly flipped into a mask of sweet, boring obedience, while tucking her sketchbook against her chest.
"I’m sorry, I must attend to whatever it is that she’s planning," she leaned closer to and whispered, low enough for Mr. Bart not to hear the rest of her words.
"Otherwise I’ll be sent to a dark cellar and quartered. That’s how terrifying she is, my mother."
She let out a nervous chuckled before she brisk-walking toward the lady.
"Well, see why you are not suppose to mingle with her," Mr. Bart muttered, looking relieved she was gone. "She has zero sense of propriety. Those New folks are all the sa. They have no breeding."
New folks? What’s that supposed to an?
"Oh, please," I snapped, watching her go. "She’s the only I’ve seen in this park who doesn’t look like they’ve been taxidermied."
Just then, two n in ridiculous top hats intercepted him.
"Vanderbilt! Heard about the rger contract!"
His eyes flickered to , annoyed.
"One mont, Eleanor. Don’t wander far."
Right. Because I’m a golden retriever.
The second his grip loosened, I bolted.
I didn’t know where I was going until I reached the Lake. Water reflecting the afternoon sun. I leaned over the stone railing when a familiar voice spoke behind .
"Your performance was impeccable."
My heart skipped.
Casimir moved closer, his shadow swallowing mine against the railing. Dark frock coat. Wolf in a poodle show, waiting to devour sothing. Or soone.
Please let be that soone.
"You’re making them look like liars," he murmured, stepping closer until I was pinned between him and the railing. "Turning their words into weapons."
His gaze traveled down my restyled dress, lingering on the neckline with dark amusent. "I see you’ve done sothing to your dress."
I et his predatory stare with a grin. "Since everyone is so eager to bury alive in a contract, I figured I’d dress for destruction. Don’t you think?"
He reached out, his thumb grazing my jawline. The contact sent an electric current straight to my core.
"I still can’t imagine how you’ve grown such a sharp tongue, my little bird," he whispered, his hand sliding to the back of my neck. "Do you realize how dangerous it is to play with fire when you’re made of silk?"
His little bird. Eleanor wrote that in the diary. God, I loved it.
"I’m not made of silk, Casimir," I breathed, my brain overriding every instinct to pull him down and crush my lips against his. I poked my finger into the shallow dent on his chin, feeling the rough, inviting stubble. "I’m the match that starts the fire. Try not to get burned."
He chuckled, the sound reverberating through my chest. He caught my hand before I could touch his lips.
"Don’t, Clara."
"Or what? Are you going to tell on , my dear step-uncle?" I prodded, the title tasting like a sin.
"No, I won’t tell a soul, my little bird."
His gaze dropped to my lips. For a second, the 19th century ceased to exist. He leaned even closer—
"Eleanor! There you are!"
The spell shattered. Mr. Bart was marching toward us, his face a mask of possessive annoyance. Casimir didn’t flinch. He didn’t even step away until the last second, his thumb lingering on my skin until the exact mont the suitor arrived.
"Casimir." Bartholow panted, glancing between us. "Didn’t know you frequented pronades."
Casimir’s smile was all teeth.
"I make it a point to observe my investnts. Especially the volatile ones."
His eyes t mine. Burning.
But yeah, right. His investnts.
Ouch, that hurts!
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