“That’s precisely what I mean.” Roland dragged his hand down his face, gave her a hard look. “Hear me: You can observe them from a distance. You can—I don’t know—look through the windows. So long as you know nothing here is yours to take.”

  “But why can’t I just talk to them?”

  He went to the door and closed and bolted it. When he turned back, his face was serious. “Listen, it is possible that you might do something that changes your past, something that ripples down through time and rewrites it so that you—future Lucinda—will be changed.”

  “So I’ll be careful—”

  “There is no careful. You are a bull in the china shop of love. You’ll have no way of knowing what you’ve broken or how precious it may be. Any change you enact is not going to be obvious. There will be no great sign reading IF YOU VEER RIGHT, YOU SHALL BE A PRINCESSS, VERSUS IF YOU VEER LEFT, YOU’LL REMAIN A SCULLERY MAID FOREVER.”

  “Come on, Roland, don’t you think I have slightly loftier goals than ending up a princess?” Luce said sharply.

  “I could venture a guess that there is a curse you want to put an end to?”

  Luce blinked at him, feeling stupid.

  “Right, then, best of luck!” Roland laughed brightly. “But even if you succeed, you won’t know it, my dear. The very moment you change your past? That event will be as it has always been. And everything that comes after it will be as it has always been. Time tidies up after itself. And you’re part of it, so you will not know the difference.”

  “I’d have to know,” she said, hoping that saying it aloud would make it true. “Surely I’d have some sense—”

  Roland shook his head. “No. But most certainly, before you could do any good, you would distort the future by making the Daniel of this era fall in love with you instead of that pretentious twit Lucinda Biscoe.”

  “I need to meet her. I need to see why they love each other—”

  Roland shook his head again. “It would be even worse to get involved with your past self, Lucinda. Daniel at least knows the dangers and can mind himself so as not to drastically alter time. But Lucinda Biscoe? She doesn’t know anything.”

  “None of us ever do,” Luce said around a sudden lump in her throat.

  “This Lucinda, she doesn’t have a lot of time left. Let her spend it with Daniel. Let her be happy. If you overstep into her world and anything changes for her, it could change for you, too. And that could be most unfortunate.”

  Roland sounded like a nicer, less sarcastic version of Bill. Luce didn’t want to hear any more about all the things she couldn’t do, shouldn’t do. If she could just talk to her past self—

  “What if Lucinda could have more time?” she asked. “What if—”

  “It’s impossible. If anything, you’ll just hasten her end. You’re not going to change anything by having a chat with Lucinda. You’re just going to make a mess of your past lives along with your current one.”

  “My current life is not a mess. And I can fix things. I have to.”

  “I suppose that remains to be seen. Lucinda Biscoe’s life is over, but your ending has yet to be written.” Roland dusted off his hands on his trouser legs. “Maybe there is some change you can work into your life, into the grand story of you and Daniel. But you will not do that here.”

  As Luce felt her lips stiffen into a pout, Roland’s face softened.

  “Look,” he said. “At least I’m glad you’re here.”

  “You are?”

  “No one else is going to tell you this, but we’re all rooting for you. I don’t know what brought you here or how the journey was even possible. But I have to think it’s a good sign.” He studied her until she felt ridiculous. “You’re coming into yourself, aren’t you?”

  “I don’t know,” Luce said. “I think so. I’m just trying to understand.”

  “Good.”

  Voices in the hallway made Roland suddenly pull away from Luce, toward the door. “I’ll see you tonight,” he said, unbolting the door and quietly slipping out.

  As soon as Roland was gone, the cupboard door swung open, banging the back of her leg. Bill popped out, gasping for air loudly as if he’d been holding his breath the whole time.

  “I could wring your neck right now!” he said, his chest heaving.

  “I don’t know why you’re all out of breath. It’s not like you even breathe.”

  “It’s for effect! All the trouble I go through to camouflage you here and you go and out yourself to the first guy who walks through the door.”

  Luce rolled her eyes. “Roland’s not going to make a big deal out of seeing me here. He’s cool.”

  “Oh, he’s so cool,” Bill said. “He’s so smart. If he’s so great, why didn’t he tell you what I know about not keeping one’s distance from one’s past? About getting”—he paused dramatically, widening his stone eyes—“inside?”

  Now she leaned down toward him. “What are you talking about?”

  He crossed his arms over his chest and wagged his stone tongue. “I’m not telling.”

  “Bill!” Luce pleaded.

  “Not yet, anyway. First let’s see how you do tonight.”

  Near dusk, Luce caught her first break in Helston. Right before supper, Miss McGovern announced to the entire kitchen that the front-of-house staff needed a few extra helping hands for the party. Luce and Henrietta, the two youngest scullery maids and the two most desperate to see the party up close, were the first to thrust up their hands to volunteer.

  “Fine, fine.” Miss McGovern jotted down the names of both girls, her eyes lingering on Henrietta’s oily mop of hair. “On the condition that you bathe. Both of you. You stink of onions.”

  “Yes, miss,” both girls chimed, though as soon as their boss had left the room, Henrietta turned to Luce. “Take a bath before this party? And risk getting me fingers all pruny? The miss is mad!”

  Luce laughed but was secretly ecstatic as she filled the round tin tub behind the cellar. She could only carry enough boiling water to get the bath lukewarm, but still she luxuriated in the suds—and the idea that this night, finally, she would get to see Lucinda. Would she get to see Daniel, too? She donned a clean servant’s dress of Henrietta’s for the party. At eight o’clock that evening, the first guests began arriving through the wicket gate at the north entrance of the estate.

  Watching from the window in the front hallway as the caravans of lamplit carriages pulled into the circular drive, Luce shivered. The foyer was warm with activity. Around her the other servants buzzed, but Luce stood still. She could feel it: a trembling in her chest that told her Daniel was nearby.

  The house looked beautiful. Luce had been given one very brief tour by Miss McGovern the morning she started, but now, under the glow of so many chandeliers, she almost didn’t recognize the place. It was as if she’d stepped into a Merchant-Ivory film. Tall pots of violet lilies lined the entryway, and the velvet-upholstered furniture had been pushed back against the floral wallpapered walls to make room for the guests.

  They came through the front door in twos and threes, guests as old as white-haired Mrs. Constance and as young as Luce herself. Bright-eyed, and wrapped in white summer cloaks, the women curtseyed to the men in smart suits and waistcoats. Black-coated waiters whisked through the large open foyer, offering twinkling crystal goblets of champagne.

  Luce found Henrietta near the doors to the main ballroom, which looked like a flower bed in bloom: Extravagant, brightly colored gowns of every color, in organza, tulle, and silk, with grosgrain sashes, filled the room. The younger ladies carried bright nosegays of flowers, making the whole house smell like summer.

  Henrietta’s task was to collect the ladies’ shawls and reticules as they entered. Luce had been told to distribute dance cards—small, expensive-looking booklets, with the Constances’ jeweled family crest sewn into the front cover and the orchestra’s set list written inside.

  “Where are all the men?” Luce whispered to Henrietta.

  Henrietta snorted. “That’s my girl! In the smoking room, of course.” She jerked her head left, where a hallway led into the shadows. “Where they’ll be smart to stay until the meal is served, if you ask me. Who wants to hear all that jabbering on about some war all the way in Crimea? Not these ladies. Not I. Not you, Myrtle.” Then Henrietta’s thin eyebrows lifted and she pointed toward the French windows. “Oof, I spoke too soon. Seems one of ’em has escaped.”

  Luce turned. A single man was standing in the room full of women. His back was to them, showing nothing but a slick mane of jet-black hair and a long tailed jacket. He was talking to a blond woman in a soft rose-colored ball gown. Her diamond chandelier earrings sparkled when she turned her head—and locked eyes with Luce.

  Gabbe.

  The beautiful angel blinked a few times, as if trying to decide whether Luce was an apparition. Then she tilted her head ever so slightly at the man she was standing with, as if trying to send him a signal. Before he’d even turned all the way around, Luce recognized the clean, sharp profile.

  Cam.

  Luce gasped, dropping all the dance card booklets. She bent down and clumsily started scooping them up off the floor. Then she thrust them into Henrietta’s hands and ducked out of the room.

  “Myrtle!” Henrietta said.

  “I’ll be right back,” Luce whispered, sprinting up the long, curved stairway before Henrietta could even reply.

  Miss McGovern would send Luce packing as soon as she learned that Luce had abandoned her post—and the expensive dance cards—in the ballroom. But that was the least of Luce’s problems. She was not prepared to deal with Gabbe, not when she needed to focus on finding Lucinda.

  And she never wanted to be around Cam. In her own lifetime or any other one. She flinched, remembering the way he’d aimed that arrow straight at what he’d thought was her the night the Outcast tried to carry her reflection away into the sky.

  If only Daniel were here …

  But he wasn’t. All Luce could do was hope that he’d be waiting for her—and not too angry—when she figured out what she was doing and came home to the present.

  At the top of the stairs, Luce darted inside the first room she came to. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it to catch her breath.

  She was alone in a vast parlor. It was a marvelous room with a plush ivory-upholstered love seat and a pair of leather chairs set around a polished harpsichord. Deep-red curtains hugged the three large windows along the western wall. A fire crackled in the hearth.

  Beside Luce was a wall of bookshelves, row after row of thick, leather-bound volumes, stretching from the floor to the ceiling, so high there was even one of those ladders that could be wheeled across the shelves.

  An easel stood in the corner, and something about it beckoned to Luce. She’d never set foot upstairs in the Constance estate, and yet: One step onto the thick Persian carpet jogged some part of her memory and told her that she might have seen all of this before.

  Daniel. Luce recalled the conversation he’d had with Margaret in the garden. They’d been talking about his painting. He was making his living as an artist. The easel in the corner—it must have been where he worked.

  She moved toward it. She had to see what he’d been painting.

  Just before she reached it, a trio of high voices made her jump.

  They were right outside the door.

  She froze, watching the door handle pivot as someone turned it from the outside. She had no choice but to slip behind the thick red-velvet curtain and hide.

  There was a rustling of taffeta, the slamming of a door, and one gasp. Followed by a round of giggles. Luce cupped a hand over her mouth and leaned out slightly, just enough to peek around the curtain.

  Helston Lucinda stood ten feet away. She was dressed in a fantastic white gown with a soft silk-crepe bodice and an exposed corset back. Her dark hair was pinned high on her head in an array of shiny, intricately placed curls. Her diamond necklace shone against her pale skin, giving her such a regal air it nearly took Luce’s breath away.

  Her past self was the most elegant creature Luce had ever seen.

  “You’re all aglow tonight, Lucinda,” a soft voice said.

  “Did Thomas call on you again?” another teased.

  And the other two girls—Luce recognized one as Margaret, the elder Constance daughter, the one who’d walked with Daniel in the garden. The other, a fresher replica of Margaret, must have been the younger sister. She looked about Lucinda’s age. She teased her like a good friend.

  And she was right, too—Lucinda was glowing. It had to be because of Daniel.

  Lucinda flopped on the ivory love seat and sighed in a way Luce would never sigh, a melodramatic sigh that begged for attention. Luce knew instantly that Bill was right: She and her past self were absolutely nothing alike.

  “Thomas?” Lucinda wrinkled her small nose. “Thomas’s father is a common logger—”

  “Not so!” the younger daughter cried. “He’s a very uncommon logger! He’s rich.”

  “Still, Amelia,” Lucinda said, spreading her skirt around her narrow ankles. “He’s practically working-class.”

  Margaret perched on the edge of the love seat. “You didn’t think so poorly of him last week when he brought you that bonnet from London.”

  “Well, things change. And I do love a sweet bonnet.” Lucinda frowned. “But bonnets aside, I shall tell my father not to permit him to call on me again.”

  As soon as she’d finished speaking, Lucinda’s frown eased into a dreamy smile and she began to hum. The other girls watched, incredulous, as she sang softly to herself, stroking the lace of her shawl and gazing out the window, only inches away from Luce’s hiding place.

  “What’s gotten into her?” Amelia whispered loudly to her sister.

  Margaret snorted. “Who is more like it.”

  Lucinda stood up and walked to the window, causing Luce to retreat behind the curtain. Luce’s skin felt flushed, and she could hear the soft hum of Lucinda Biscoe’s voice just inches away. Then footsteps as Lucinda turned away from the window and her strange song abruptly broke off.

  Luce dared another peek from behind the curtain. Lucinda had gone to the easel, where she stood, transfixed.

  “What’s this?” Lucinda held up the canvas to show her friends. Luce couldn’t see it very clearly, but it looked ordinary enough. Just some kind of flower.

  “That is Mr. Grigori’s work,” Margaret said. “His sketches showed so much promise when he first arrived, but I’m afraid something’s come over him. It’s been three whole days now of nothing but peonies.” She gave a strained shrug. “Odd. Artists are so queer.”

  “Oh, but he’s handsome, Lucinda.” Amelia took Lucinda by the hand. “We must introduce you to Mr. Grigori tonight. He’s got such lovely blond hair, and his eyes … Oh, his eyes could make you melt!”

  “If Lucinda is too good for Thomas Kennington and all of his money, I doubt very much that a simple painter will measure up.” Margaret spoke so sharply that it was clear to Luce that she must have had feelings for Daniel herself.

  “I’d like very much to meet him,” Lucinda said, drifting back into her soft hum.

  Luce held her breath. So Lucinda hadn’t even met him yet? How was that possible when she was so clearly in love?

  “Let’s go, then,” Amelia said, tugging on Lucinda’s hand. “We’re missing half the party gossiping up here.”

  Luce had to do something. But from what Bill and Roland had said, it was impossible to save her past life. Too dangerous to even try. Even if she managed it somehow, the cycle of Lucindas who lived after this one might be altered. Luce herself might be altered. Or worse.

  Eliminated.

  But maybe there was a way for Luce to at least warn Lucinda. So that she didn’t walk into this relationship already blinded by love. So that she didn’t die a pawn in an age-old punishment without even a speck of understanding. The girls were almost out the door when Luce got the courage to step from behind the curtain.

  “Lucinda!”

  Her past self whipped around; her eyes narrowed when they fell on Luce’s servant’s dress. “Have you been spying on us?”

  No spark of recognition registered in her eyes. It was odd that Roland had mistaken Luce for Lucinda in the kitchen but Lucinda herself appeared to see no resemblance between them. What did Roland see that this girl couldn’t? Luce took a deep breath and forced herself to go through with her flimsy plan. “N-not spying, no,” she stammered. “I need to speak with you.”

  Lucinda chortled and glanced at her two friends. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Aren’t you the one handing out the dance cards?” Margaret asked Luce. “Mother won’t be very happy to hear that you’re neglecting your duties. What is your name?”

  “Lucinda.” Luce drew nearer and lowered her voice. “It’s about the artist. Mr. Grigori.”

  Lucinda locked eyes with Luce, and something flickered between them. Lucinda seemed unable to pull away. “You go on without me,” she said to her friends. “I’ll be down in just a moment.”

  The two girls exchanged confused glances, but it was clear that Lucinda was the leader of the group. Her friends glided out the door without another word.

  Inside the parlor, Luce closed the door.

  “What is so important?” Lucinda asked, then gave herself away by smiling. “Did he ask about me?”

  “Don’t get involved with him,” Luce said quickly. “If you meet him tonight, you’re going to think he’s very handsome. You’re going to want to fall in love with him. Don’t.” Luce felt horrible speaking about Daniel in such harsh terms, but it was the only way to save the life of her past self.

  Lucinda Biscoe huffed and turned to leave.

  “I knew a girl from, um—Derbyshire,” Luce went on, “who told all sorts of stories of his reputation. He’s hurt a lot of other girls before. He’s—he’s destroyed them.”