An Acquired Taste (The Valentine Society)

Chapter Twenty

A fter tossing and turning all night, I wash, dress, and limp down to the parlor on my still-tender ankle. Ellen finds me waiting at the table before the sun is down, bleary-eyed and rumpled.

“Ah, there you are.” She sets down my breakfast tray. “No blood today. Lord Sebastian said you’re recovering from an injury.”

“M-hm…” I take my coffee. “By the way. Do you know what Sebastian’s surname was before he was turned into a vampire?”

“Beaumont,” she answers.

So whoever was in that grave wasn’t a relative. “Do you know who Etta Langley is?” After all, Sebastian told me not to ask him again. He didn’t tell me not to ask anyone else.

But Ellen shakes her head. “Should I?”

“Hm.” I sip my coffee and glance up at her. “That’s weird, because she’s buried on the grounds.”

Her eyes widen. She turns away before I can read her expression. “Oh… well. Whoever she was, must’ve been before my time.”

She rushes out before I can ask anything more, and my suspicion heightens. It was possible she was an old relative of Sebastian’s, or a staff member who passed away… but then, why not tell me?

I eat my breakfast, throw on a few more layers of clothing, and limp determinedly down to the kitchen.

Bridget waves a spatula at me. “Get out of here! I swear your mere presence is enough to make things start burning.”

“First of all, ouch!” I press a hand to my chest in mock-woundedness. “Second of all, who’s Etta Langley?”

The question is unexpected enough to make her pause. “Etta? Sounds familiar…”

I perk up. “Really?” The gravestone didn’t have a date, so perhaps the older staff members knew her.

Bridget frowns thoughtfully and pulls a cookbook from a stack on the counter. She shuffles through it before stopping. “Is this what you mean?”

I take the book—an older, yellow cookbook with clear 1950s flair—and look at the recipe within. Lemon Chiffon Pie , the top of the page reads. Beside it, someone has scrawled with pen: Etta’s favorite!

“Hmm…” I hand the book back. It’s not much information, but it’s proof that someone named Etta was here, once. “Nothing other than that?”

Bridget shakes her head. “I don’t think so. But the name sounds familiar. Now get out and let me work!”

I leave her in peace and head out onto the grounds. The grave and that book both seemed old… so if anyone on the staff knows anything about Etta, it’s bound to be the one who’s worked here the longest.

I find Tobias trimming the bushes outside, his work precise and crisp despite his gnarled hands. He doesn’t look up as I walk over.

“Who’s Etta Langley?” I ask. “Why is she buried on the grounds?”

He pauses and then resumes his work. “Sounds like a question for Lord Sebastian.”

I scowl, placing my hands on my hips. Of course Tobias is forever loyal to his boss… and Sebastian, as per usual, is nowhere to be found. I try to think of another approach. “Do any roses grow on the grounds?”

“No.”

I don’t get more out of him than that, but at least it gives me a new lead. There were fresh roses on that grave, just like the one that always sits on my nightstand… and if they don’t grow here, they must be delivered.

As Sebastian rarely has need of a driver, Vincent isn’t here daily. It takes a few more days—full of more unsuccessful digging, and Sebastian’s empty chair at dinner—before I find him bringing in the weekly haul of groceries.

“Did you bring the roses?” I ask, oh-so-innocently.

The older man blinks at me. “Of course,” he says. “A dozen, just like always.”

He points out the bouquet waiting alongside the groceries. One dozen roses, every week… one for me, and the rest for Etta’s grave.

I pick up the flowers, breathing in the smell, and remembering doing the same when I first arrived and found that rose on my nightstand.

Something about that pricks my memory. I leave the flowers with Vincent and return to my bedroom, looking around. It takes me only a moment to realize what I was thinking of—the mirror on my vanity with a frame of carved roses.

I trace a finger along it. I remember thinking, when I first arrived, that this seemed like a valentine’s room. But everyone on the staff claimed Sebastian had never had another valentine… except for Tobias, who dodged the question. Damn that old man for being so determined to keep Sebastian’s secret.

But there’s one other person who might now. I take out my phone and text Benjamin: Did Sebastian have a valentine before me?

Not that I know of , he answers. Why?

I bite my lip. Just curious . Would Benjamin lie to me? I don’t think so… but he’s a courtless vampire. He might not know the truth. Are there any records of that sort of thing?

Yes, but not public ones… especially not for human access.

I tap my finger against my phone. I might not have been the best student, but I remember enough of Benjamin’s lessons to guess which vampire courts might have such records. The Celeste court preserves history, which would leave me out of luck if I intended to pry into one of their own vampires… but secrets? Secrets belong to Solomon court.

My fingers hover over my phone for a moment before I begin to type.

Alexander? If I asked you something, would you keep it between us?

Of course. Anything.

Did Sebastian have a valentine before me?

I stare at the screen, waiting for a response. Bubbles indicate that he’s typing, but it takes a while for the answer to come. A long while.

Yes, her name was Etta, if I recall correctly. About 75 years past. A charming woman, absolutely lovely.

My stomach drops. I wasn’t sure if he’d answer the question, and certainly wasn’t prepared for the possibility that he knew her personally. I’m struck with a sudden urge to fling the phone away from me and try to forget this, but I can’t stop myself from asking the follow-up question. What happened to her?

This answer comes much more quickly than the last. You’d have to ask him. All I know is that one day she was gone.