His voice was a low baritone, rough at the edges. He took Victoria's offered hand, bowing over it, but his lips never touched her glove. Norah stood perfectly still. She watched the exchange with the detached cynicism of someone who survived by observing.
She saw the tightness in Henry's jaw. She saw the way his eyes flicked past his beautiful fiancée, scanning the crowd, seeking an exit strategy before he had even fully arrived. Then his gaze snagged on Norah. It was a brief thing.
A fraction of a second, but in this society, a fraction of a second was a deafening shout. His eyes, a stark pale gray, met hers. He looked at her mended hem, her flushed face, and the rigid, exhausted line of her shoulders. He didn't smile, but one dark eyebrow twitched upward, a silent acknowledgment.
You look as miserable as I feel. Norah looked away instantly, staring hard at the gravel path, but Victoria had seen it. The temperature around them seemed to drop despite the blazing sun. Victoria's smile did not falter.
But the muscles in her neck pulled tight. She dropped Henry's hand. "Let us walk down by the ornamental lake," Victoria declared, her voice suddenly loud, carrying over the surrounding guests. "It will be cooler there. Norah, come."
It wasn't a request. Norah fell into step, returning to her designated two paces behind. Henry walked beside Victoria, listening to her chatter about wedding fabrics and guest lists with a blank, polite expression. They reached the edge of the water.
The lake was artificial, a vanity project of the Penhalagon family. It was deep, choked with algae at the edges, and surrounded by large, slippery stone blocks instead of a natural bank. "The water looks dreadful," Victoria said, pausing at the very edge of the stone. She snapped her fan open again, waving it languidly.
"Norah, stand closer. You are supposed to be holding my parasol. The sun is directly in my eyes." Norah stepped forward.
The stone beneath her boot was slick with moss. "Closer, Norah. Do you want me to burn?" Norah stepped up to the very edge of the drop.
The water was a dark, murky green, reflecting the glare of the sky. She reached out, extending the silk canopy over Victoria's head. Henry stood slightly to the side. He was watching the swans on the far bank, clearly entirely detached from the conversation.
"You are casting a shadow on my gown, Norah," Victoria hissed, her voice dropping so only the two of them could hear. The venom in it was raw. "You clumsy, pathetic creature." Before Norah could adjust her grip, Victoria shifted.
She didn't stumble. She didn't trip. With deliberate, terrifying speed, Victoria brought her elbow up and shoved it hard into Norah's rib cage. The world tilted.
Norah tried to catch herself, her boots scrabbling against the slick stone, but gravity and the weight of her heavy wool dress had already made the decision. She fell backward. The shock of the water was a physical blow. It wasn't the clean, refreshing splash of a summer swim.
It was cold, thick, and tasted intensely of mud and rotting vegetation. Norah plunged under, the air punched from her lungs by the impact. Instantly, her clothing became an enemy. The heavy wool of her gown, the layered cotton petticoats, the stiff canvas of her corset.