“Pleasance,” Cecilia said, “please accompany the gentleman upstairs.”

The chair concealing Pleasance trembled.

Miss Darlington and the Queen exchanged a loaded glance. “You need not fear stairs, girl,” the Queen said. “Why, I have been walking them unassisted for several years now, and never tripped yet. I’m sure you will be entirely safe and not tumble to an unsightly demise.”

“Neck broken,” Miss Darlington said.

“Brains dashed out,” Queen Victoria added.

The chair shuddered.

“You need not fear the gentleman either,” Miss Darlington said. “He has proven himself an utter failure as an assassin. I’m sure he won’t harm you in any way.”

“Throat cut,” Queen Victoria said.

“Heart impaled,” Miss Darlington added.

The chair rocked violently on its feet.

“I’ll go,” Cecilia said.

“Only if you insist,” her aunt murmured.

“Most kind of you,” the Queen added.

Cecilia frowned, suspecting foul play, but Miss Darlington and Queen Victoria merely smiled in unison and sipped sherry.

23

great balls of fire—italian kissing—explosions (sensual)—a shocking sight—cecilia is not unwell—departures—allergies—a bechdel test conversation—alas, back to men again

False requests to locate lost property are highly injurious to the progress of science, and Cecilia was determined to take a scientific approach to her association with Ned Lightbourne. She knew perfectly well he had not left anything in the cockpit, and she intended to chastise him as soon as they were beyond earshot of Miss Darlington, Queen Victoria, the royal bodyguard standing alert in the foyer, the ladies-in-waiting leaning tiredly against the balustrade, and the downstairs ghosts.

But the moment he opened a random door along the upstairs hallway and pulled her through it, science went the way of the dinosaurs. Which is to say, obliterated by sudden overwhelming fire. All that remained were a few birds fluttering madly in her stomach. Ned shut the door, pushed her back against it, and was kissing her before she could utter a single word of stern advice.

Cecilia knew she ought to resist, but every good sense in her had melted into a pool of heat. She put her arms around him, grasped his coat, and as his tongue stroked into her mouth she heard bells.

Church bells.

She gasped and shoved him away.

He blinked at her dazedly. “What’s wrong?”

Her own eyes were dazed too, in addition to her limbs, heart, brain. “The bells are ringing and I cannot marry you regardless of what convention may demand following our wanton behavior, for although I may be inclined to follow that course upon the merest further persuasion, I am also bound to the loving service of my dear aunt, who needs me for her comfort and—”

“Cecilia.” He laid a finger against her lips. “It’s only the clock chiming.”

She looked over his shoulder at the clock on the wall, its pendulum knocking methodically against the hour. “Oh my God,” she blasphemed, and pushed Ned even farther away. He stumbled slightly, and his brow lined with bewilderment.