Rebel Angels by Libba Bray Read Free Book Online

Cecily, Gemma is my good, dear, true friend, and I should never speak against her.”
    No. Ann sits silently, letting Cecily think she’s won by her refusal to go against her. And so Cecily does, making Ann feel, for the moment, as if she has been accepted into their circle, though nothing could be further from the truth.
    The potatoes are cold and tasteless now, but I eat them anyway, as if I have no feelings to hurt and the snickers of the other girls are nothing more than the patter of rain.
    When the dishes have been cleared away, we’re forced to sit at the long tables and endure a lesson on manners. It has been snowing all morning. I’ve never seen snow, and I long to walk out into the lush whiteness, feel the cold, wet crystals on my fingertips. Mrs. Nightwing’s words drift in and out of my wandering mind.
    “You would not wish to find yourself snubbed by good society and
crossed off the visiting lists of the best households . . .”
    “Never ask a gentleman to hold your fan, bouquet, or gloves during
a dance unless he is your escort or a relative. . . .”
    As I know no gentlemen besides my father and brother, this shan’t be a concern. That isn’t entirely true. I know Kartik. But we are unlikely to see each other in the ballrooms of London. What news has he for me? I should have gone to him on the way back from vespers. What a foolish girl he must think me.
    “The lady of the highest rank shall enter the dining room first. The
hostess shall enter last. . . .”
    “Talking loudly or laughing on the street shows ill-breeding. . . .”
    “. . . Association with a man who drinks, gambles, or engages in
other ills is to be avoided at all costs, lest he should bring disgrace upon
your reputation. . . .”
    A man who drinks. Father. I want to push the thought away. I see him as I saw him in October, eyes glazed with laudanum, hands trembling. Grandmama’s few letters since have made no mention of his health, his addiction. Is he cured? Will he be the father I remember, the jolly man with the gleam in his eye and a quick wit to make us all laugh? Or will he be the father I’ve known since Mother’s death—the hollow man who doesn’t seem to see me anymore?
    “Ladies may not leave a ballroom unattended. To do so could invite
gossip.”
    The snow piles against the windowpanes, creating tiny hilly villages there. The white of the snow. The white of our gloves. Of Pippa’s skin. Pippa.
    They’re coming for you, Gemma. . . .
    A chill passes through me. It has nothing to do with the cold and everything to do with what I do not know; what I am afraid to discover.

CHAPTER SIX
    ALL THE MORNING’S DIFFICULTIES ARE FORGOTTEN once we are let out. The sun, strong and bright, reflects off the fresh white in dazzling sparkles. The younger girls squeal in delight as the wet snow spills over the tops of their boots and down inside. A group has already begun work on a snowman.
    “Isn’t it glorious?” Felicity sighs. She’s got her new fox-fur muff to show off, so she is quite happy. Ann follows gingerly, her mouth set in a grimace. The snow is a marvel to me. I grab a handful and am surprised to find it so pliable. “Ah, it sticks!” I shout.
    Felicity regards me as if I’ve grown two heads. “Yes. Of course.” Now it dawns on her. “You’ve never seen snow!”
    I want to fall back and bathe in it, such is my joy. I bring a mound to my mouth. It seems as if it should taste creamy as custard, but instead it is merely cold. The flakes dissolve instantly, melting into the heat of my tongue. I’m giggling like a fool.
    “Here, let me show you something,” Felicity says. She scoops the snow in both gloved hands, patting and shaping till she’s got a hard ball of it, which she shows to me.
"Behold: the snowball.”
    “Ah,” I say, not understanding in the least.
    Without warning, she hurls the packed snow at me. It hits me hard on the sleeve, sending a spray of wet crystals into my face and hair till I’m