Page 103 of Potions and Proposals
Rosie and Emerson left them once they reached the university entrance. Lucinda watched them walk away, hand in hand. She looked to Benedict, but he seemed far away in thought. She wanted to talk more about what had happened, but she didn’t even know where to begin, and she was too overwhelmed and tired to figure out where to start. Perhaps it was best to just savour that they were both safe and sound.
He walked so quietly by her side for the next twenty minutes that her relief slowly turned to unease. She’d never been so desperate to know what he was thinking. She opened her mouth to speak several times but struggled to find the right thing to say.
“Are you okay?” she finally dared to say as he opened the gate to the Manor for her.
“I was just thinking something,” he started, but she could see how much he struggled to get the words out, and something in his eyes troubled her.
“Mind-reading isn’t a skill of mine,” she pressed. She couldn’t let him leave without knowing what was weighing on his heart.
“The wolves. If you were hurt… I know you’re able to fight your own battles, but the thought of you getting hurt—being high priestess will also come with an element of danger, and the thought of something happening to you makes me—” He scrubbed his hands over his face.
Lucy took them away from his face and held them to her chest. “I’m here. I’m safe. Not a hair out of place.”
He let out a long exhale, but there was a fear she hadn’t seen in him since he’d lost his dad and brother.
“My head knows that, but even the possibility…” Tears lined his eyes, and she hated the pain she’d caused him. “I can’t lose someone else. Especially not you.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she promised, eyes pleading with him to listen.
“Neither were they.” The grief in his words threatened to cripple her heart.
Lucy finally understood that there was nothing else she could say that would make him feel better. All she could do was be here with him, and wait for this moment of loss to pass.
She wrapped her arm around his waist, and they walked back to the Manor together.
After spending her morning organising the sacrificial goblets in the vault, Lucy found three missed calls on her phone from Gwendoline, which were followed up with a message telling her to be at Margot & Murphy tailors at 4pm. She hoped she’d get a chance to see Benedict this evening; this would be their last night together before the binding tomorrow night. This urgent visit to the dress makers was presumably because she’d failed to choose a gown for her binding.
She’d found two in the basement of Hawthorne House, one a champagne shade and the other a blush pink that would go nicely with the navy of the Matherson cloak, but she loved both too much to pick. The cloak would cover most of the dress for the binding ritual, but for walking to the altar and for the rest of the evening, she wanted something special. She’d meant to find a spell to somehow combine elements of each dress into onegown, but with the stress of the festival, getting her element back under control, and the drama with the wolves, it had completely slipped her mind.
She couldn’t blame her mum for not reminding her, either; Wilhelmina had been rather upset with Lucy’s dad, since he’d called to say he couldn’t get away from the dig for the ritual. Lucy understood that the dig came first, but she still wanted him there. Even if she’d tried to explain her understanding, her mum was still pissed, and Lucy had figured giving her some space would help ease her mind. She had plenty to deal with, anyway, considering she was retiring in a matter of days.
“I have an idea in mind, but it hasn’t been finalised,” Lucy told Gwendoline when she called back, not going into the detail about the wolf ordeal.
“You don’t have it altered yet? I was sure your mum would have finished altering it by now.”
“It’s not her fault… she can’t alter a dress I haven’t picked yet.” Lucy winced, waiting for a scolding – for Gwendoline to tell her how irresponsible it was, and how the ritual must mean so little to her if she’d forgotten such an important element.
Instead there was a moment of silence, before a small sigh. “Bring the two gowns to Margot and Murph’s, and we’ll come up with something. We need to match your chosen outfit to Benedict’s suit today, and he has a final fitting at five,” Gwendoline said, her tone softer than Lucy had ever heard. Gwendoline had always been guarded, as though protected by thick stone walls cemented with iron. Then again, Lucy couldn’t even imagine the sorrow and heartbreak she’d experienced throughout her life. She’d caught a glimpse of it through what Benedict had told her, but to be a mother and lose your husband and son in so short a time – to have to give up your home, to sustain your family alone… She couldn’t help respectingGwendoline, even if her methods of fortifying the Matherson name could be rather morally grey.
She realised she hadn’t replied, but Gwendoline went on anyway. “I’ll see you at four. We’ll just have to try and not let Benedict see you!”
The excitement in her voice was contagious.I never thought the day would come when I’d be talking about binding outfits with Gwendoline Matherson, let alone be looking forward to it!She’d have to close up the library early so she’d have time to get home and grab the gowns.
“Thank you, I really appreciate your help. I’m sorry again for leaving it to the last minute,” she said, wondering whether to include Grams and Mum in the final decision. She decided to go alone. She felt she owed it to Gwendoline to get to know her: not just as the Matherson matriarch or the stern right hand of the High Priestess, but as the woman welcoming her into her family.
“Don’t be late. Margot and Murph have closed their boutique just for us.”
The dresses Lucy had brought with her were quickly discarded on the back of an antique chair in the corner of her dressing room. She hadn’t expected Gwendoline to bring other options. To touch the gowns of the Matherson ancestors was terrifying, let alone to be trusted to wear them. They were a piece of history, but Gwendoline refused her refusals, and it was clear she was never going to get out without trying on every dress. In fact, it meant a lot to her to see how excited Gwendoline was by the whole process.
“Are you going to come out of there or am I going to have to pull you out?” Gwendoline asked, waiting on the other side of the curtain.
“I’m struggling with the buttons. There are dozens of them, and the bodice is on the tighter side,” Lucy panted, stretching and reaching, but the boned bodice refused to allow much movement.
“I’ve got a spell for that – just step out. No one is going to see you, and Margot needs to see what work needs to be done,” Gwendoline called.
“I’m sorry to be taking up so much of your time. I’m going as fast as possible.” Lucy couldn’t stop staring at the floor-length gown in rich navy that complemented her pale skin. The off-the-shoulder sleeves attached at her bust line made her feel like royalty. Like a high priestess. She could barely believe it was her own reflection.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Your mum has some matters to deal with before she steps down, and Margot is the best tailor in town. Aside from your mum, that is. We should be glad they were willing to close the shop. Now stop stalling! I want to see how the dress sits on you.” Gwendoline rustled the dressing room curtain as a final warning.
