Daughters of Fortune: A Novel

by Hyland, Tara

  “I didn’t realize you were involved with the drama club,” she said to Elliott as he headed toward the theater.

  He shrugged nonchalantly. “Oh, I help out from time to time.” He grinned. “Mainly when they need some heavy lifting done!”

  Behind them, Paul sniggered. Elliott shot him a glare and glanced quickly back at Caitlin, but she hadn’t noticed. She was too busy wishing that she’d worn something other than her paint-spattered jeans and a shapeless T-shirt.

  “Well, let’s get these downstairs . . .”

  Caitlin didn’t want the afternoon to end. Fortunately, Elliott didn’t seem in any rush to leave, either. After they’d finished their task, and Paul had tactfully departed, Elliott leaned against the wall and gave Caitlin a slow grin, the one that made her stomach flutter.

  “So are you free now for coffee?” he asked. “We could drive into town.”

  Caitlin hesitated. “I can’t,” she said regretfully. “I told George I’d watch her ride. She’s competing at four.”

  So blow her off, Elliott was on the verge of saying. But he stopped himself. Most girls would happily dump their friends to spend an hour with him. But his gut told him Caitlin wasn’t that type.

  “So when are you free?” He tried hard to look vulnerable. “Unless that was just a polite excuse, and you don’t really want to go out with me.”

  “How about Saturday?” she suggested quickly. It was hard to keep the enthusiasm out of her voice.

  He heard it and grinned lazily. “Saturday sounds perfect.”

  Her face lit up, her expression confirming everything he’d thought.

  This was going to be too easy.

  8

  _________

  Elizabeth wasn’t sure when she first noticed Caitlin and Elliott together. She had been so busy that term: what with studying for four honors courses, her student council duties, extracurricular activities, applying to Cambridge, and organizing the Snow Ball, inevitably she had less time to socialize. She hadn’t even wanted to go along to the rugby match that Saturday. She could think of far better things to do than stand in the November drizzle and watch thirty men running through the mud. But it was a home game against Oundle, Greycourt’s biggest rivals, and as student council president she should show school spirit. So she huddled up on the sidelines with the other diehard supporters.

  With two minutes left in the game, Greycourt was three points down. Sebastian, one of the forwards, made a pass to Elliott, the fly-half. He tore down the field, passing Oundle’s defense . . . The crowd roared as he grounded the ball in the end zone, scoring and putting Greycourt two points ahead as the whistle blew.

  Elizabeth clapped and cheered with the others, watching as Elliott ran across the field, high-fiving the team as he went. Elizabeth rolled her eyes. God, how he loved playing the hero. She watched in amusement as he headed toward a little knot of adoring girls. He picked one of them up, swung her around in victory. So Elliott has a new girlfriend, Elizabeth thought. Poor thing. She wouldn’t last long, that was for sure. Finally Elliott put the girl down. They spoke for a couple of moments, and then Elliott kissed her and started to jog toward the locker rooms. He’d gone twenty yards when he turned and shouted something back. The object of his attention looked around, finally giving Elizabeth a glimpse of her face.

  Elizabeth blinked once, then again. Now what the hell’s going on there? she wondered.

  Refreshments were served in the school cafeteria after the game. As soon as they got inside, Elizabeth cornered Morgan. If anyone would know what was going on between Elliott and Caitlin, it was her.

  “So is it true?” she demanded.

  Morgan followed her gaze toward Caitlin and Elliott. “Is what true?” she asked, stalling for time.

  Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed. “Are Caitlin and Elliott going out?”

  “I guess so,” Morgan hedged.

  “And how long have they been together?”

  “A couple of weeks,” she admitted reluctantly. “Maybe longer.”

  Elizabeth couldn’t believe it. How had she missed this? Okay, so she hadn’t spent much time with her old crowd this term. But still . . .

  She thought guiltily about the promise she’d made to her father. He’d called her into his study the night before term started and asked her to keep an eye on Caitlin at Greycourt. But she’d barely spoken to her half sister since they’d gotten here.

  “Why didn’t you say anything?” Elizabeth asked Morgan.

  “I don’t know. I suppose I didn’t think it was important.”

  “Not important?” Elizabeth scoffed. “Usually another girl only has to look at Elliott and you’re screaming bloody murder.”

  Morgan’s lips tightened. “I must be over him, then, mustn’t I?”

  Elizabeth thought about it for a moment. She wasn’t sure she believed Morgan—but what possible reason did she have to lie? “So, is it serious?” she asked finally.

  “How should I know?” Morgan fired back. She didn’t like all these questions. She knew Elizabeth was smarter than she was and was worried that she was going to trip herself up and reveal something she shouldn’t. “Why don’t you ask them instead?”

  Elizabeth glanced across the canteen to where Elliott and Caitlin were drinking juice together. For once, Morgan was right; she needed to hear this straight from the horse’s mouth. But something told her it would be best to wait until later, when she could get Caitlin alone.

  * * *

  Caitlin pulled away in his arms.

  “Elliott, no.” Her glance went to the door, a chair wedged under the handle in case his roommates came back. “I think we should stop.”

  “Really?” He looked down at her. In the soft light of the bedside lamp, she could see the amusement in his dark, intelligent eyes. He could tell she didn’t mean it.

  He bent his head and kissed her again. After a moment, she sighed softly against him, and he knew that he had her. Slowly, skillfully he maneuvered her onto her back, his single bed creaking under their combined weight. This time, when she felt him pushing up her gray wool skirt, one hand gently caressing the soft flesh of her inner thigh, while the other unbuttoned her blouse, she didn’t tell him to stop.

  That was because she didn’t want him to. In fact, a pretty big part of her wanted him to keep on going, to know what it felt like to have his fingers reach inside the white cotton panties that were standard issue at Greycourt, to have him touch the dull ache between her legs that was there whenever he was around. A month ago, she’d never have imagined feeling this way. Up until then, Caitlin had always considered herself to be a sensible girl. But when it came to Elliott Falconer, she couldn’t think straight.

  And he knew it.

  It had started that afternoon in the art room. The following Saturday they’d arranged to drive into Northampton after lunch. Caitlin had devoted the morning to getting ready. It was the first time she’d ever bothered with her appearance. George was no help, so she ended up asking Lucille Lewis, Berrylands’ resident fashion plate, for advice. Even though Lucille was a friend of Morgan’s, she’d been surprisingly nice. By eleven, Caitlin was squeezed into Lucille’s Levis, rather than her usual cheap shapeless jeans, and wearing a shamelessly tight sweater. Lucille helped blow-dry her wild hair straight and silky, a shimmer of ebony falling almost to her waist, and she was even wearing makeup for the first time. Looking in the mirror, she felt pleased with the results. She could almost have passed for one of the girls Elliot usually hung out with.

  They were supposed to meet in her room at two. She had waited and waited, ignoring George’s told-you-so looks. He finally turned up a little before three—something to do with rugby practice running late. Any disappointment she’d felt evaporated when his eyes ran appreciatively over her. She’d been a bit worried about the low-cut top, but Lucille had been insistent that she make the most of her “best assets” as she called them. Elliott seemed to agree.

  “Looking good, Melville,”
he said, his eyes straying to her chest.

  She glowed under the praise, pleased she’d made the effort.

  By the time they got into town it was nearly four, and Caitlin was already fretting about getting back. For sophomores Saturday’s curfew was six. If she wasn’t there for dinner, she’d get detention. But Elliott was characteristically laid back. He knew Hannah Goldman, the Head Prefect at Berrylands House, he told Caitlin, promising he’d call and make sure she turned a blind eye . . .

  Caitlin hesitated, torn. She didn’t want to get into trouble, but she also didn’t want to look like a baby in front of Elliott.

  He saw her wavering and grinned. “Trust me. Would I get you into trouble?”

  It was easy to give in. Being with Elliott always made her feel carefree and daring. He was so sure of himself, nothing like the boys she’d known back in Valleymount. They had been nervous around her, overly considerate. Elliott Falconer, the big-shot rugby player, the most popular guy in school, took control. He showed her around the pretty market town of Northampton, with its medieval architecture and quaint cobbled back streets. But he tired of sightseeing quite quickly and suggested they get some food instead. She was happy to go along with whatever he wanted.

  They drove out to a country pub that he apparently liked. If she noticed that he’d booked a table even before she’d agreed to stay out, she didn’t say anything.

  Back in Ireland she’d rarely gone out to restaurants, and she felt a little uncomfortable at the Swan, as if she was pretending to be a grownup. Elliott had no such qualms. He ordered a bottle of red wine without consulting her, then went ahead and ordered food for her, too. It all felt so dangerous and exciting. During dinner, when his leg accidentally brushed against hers under the table, she felt something stir within her, something she hadn’t ever felt before.

  They finally got back to Greycourt at eleven. Elliott walked her to the door of Berrylands. Then, without asking for permission, he proceeded to kiss her with a skill and confidence that left her breathless. When he finally pulled away, cool and collected, she stared at him for a long moment and then, without another word, fled inside.

  Elliott was an expert in these matters. He knew the best course of action was to do nothing. He’d felt her response and knew he had her. The following day was Sunday. The whole school went to chapel. When he walked by her to his pew, he simply gave her a slow, knowing grin. And she felt a lick of desire so deep and strong within her that she shuddered. When she got back to her dorm later that morning, she wasn’t surprised to find him there waiting for her.

  They had been an item since then.

  Being Elliott’s girlfriend changed everything. Caitlin was suddenly part of his inner circle. She sat with him in the dining hall; went with the other girls to watch his rugby matches. Every Friday and Saturday night they would go out for the evening—to the cinema, maybe the Brass Monkey, or a party at one of the houses. Her new status hadn’t gone unnoticed, of course. Pupils who had previously ignored her now went out of their way to say hello.

  At first it was difficult, hanging out with his crowd. She didn’t have much to say to them—or to Elliott himself for that matter. She especially didn’t like his roommates, Sebastian and Nicholas Ashford. The three of them had snared the best accommodation—a triplex in the old bell tower of Heath House. With its large communal sitting room and kitchen and a bathroom each, it was far more luxurious than the average student rooms. But Caitlin still didn’t particularly like going over there. There was something slightly creepy about the Ashford twins, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. They mostly ignored her, but sometimes she’d catch one of them looking at her—and she could never figure out which one—with a look of amusement on his face, as though there was some joke which she wasn’t in on. They’d also walked in on her and Elliott a couple of times, and she was sure it hadn’t been an accident. That was why she now insisted on him wedging a chair under the door handle. She’d wondered if it might be a problem, the fact that she didn’t get on with Elliott’s friends. But he didn’t seem to care.

  She knew most of the school was talking about them. No one could quite understand what they were doing together—or, more accurately, what Elliott saw in her. Caitlin could guess what they were saying. So she started making an effort to fit in with his group. William had given her a generous weekly allowance at the start of the semester, which she’d hardly touched. But now she went shopping with Lucille and invested in a new wardrobe. She found she had a good eye for what suited her. While Lucille would slavishly follow the latest fashion, whether it looked good on her or not, Caitlin was more discerning.

  “What do you think?” Lucille asked, as she stepped out of the fitting room. They were in Peacocks, a department store in Northampton. Lucille had on an A-line skirt and T-shirt, with heavy dark tights and Doc Marten boots. The outfit was all wrong for her, making her look chunkier than she was. The two girls had similar builds—small and curvaceous, rather than long and lean—and Caitlin wouldn’t have dreamed of wearing something like that. But she didn’t want to hurt her new friend’s feelings.

  “You look good,” she said tactfully, “but I saw something else that you might like more . . .”

  Five minutes later, Lucille came out wearing a jersey dress in deep reddish purple, almost the color of eggplant. It clung tightly to her curves, emphasizing rather than hiding. Lucille looked sensational in it.

  “I love it!” she said, twirling around to admire herself in the three-way mirror.

  Caitlin smiled at her obvious delight. She’d been planning to buy the dress for herself, but she knew Lucille was going out with Nick Ashford that evening. She’d had a crush on him for ages and wanted to look special. Caitlin couldn’t begrudge her the outfit. She could always find something else.

  Later, as she paid for her dress, Lucille couldn’t help thinking that being friends with Caitlin Melville wasn’t all that bad. Morgan would never spend time helping her decide what to wear. She felt a twinge of guilt about the bet but quickly put it out of her mind. If she was starting to like Caitlin, then maybe Elliott was, too. And maybe he wouldn’t go through with it, after all.

  Caitlin knew she was dumping her friends, but somehow she always wound up sitting with Elliott’s group in hall or going out with them after school. More than once, George tried talking to her about it. She couldn’t understand why Caitlin was with Elliott and wasn’t afraid to tell her.

  “He’s the kind of guy who’s only after one thing,” she said, one night when they were in their dorm room.

  Caitlin blushed. “It isn’t like that,” she said unconvincingly.

  George raised a sceptical eyebrow. “Yeah, sure.”

  Now, as Caitlin felt Elliott easing down her bra strap, George’s words came back to her. She might be näive, but she wasn’t an idiot. She knew Elliott was experienced and wanted more. But she wasn’t sure she was ready to give it to him yet. It might be the nineties, but Caitlin had been schooled by nuns. She shared the same fear and ghoulish fascination with sex as thousands of young Catholic girls before her. Not that Elliott was pressuring her. Well, not with words, anyway.

  But she couldn’t think about that any longer. Not when his fingers were easing her right breast out of its cotton cup, stroking her the way she liked, caressing her nipples erect. It was hard to think about anything when he was doing that.

  She could feel his other hand moving from her inner thigh, trailing lightly across the crotch of her panties. Usually when he got anywhere near her underwear she would make him stop. But today she’d left it too late. She squirmed under his touch, pressing down against his palm, wanting him to keep going. The thin material was growing damp, and he liked that she was already wet. But he refused to be hurried. He kept his touch light and teasing, enjoying the way she was the one writhing now.

  She pretended not to notice his hand finding its way inside her panties, cupping her bush as his index finger came to rest on a particular
spot. Slowly, gently, he began to rub back and forth. She could feel the pressure beginning to build between her legs, like she wanted to pee, but better. A low groan escaped from the back of her throat.

  He heard it and chuckled softly. “You like that, huh?”

  She didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to: her reaction spoke for itself. He knelt over her, his other hand pushing the elastic of her panties out of the way. She tried not to think about what he was doing as he slipped one finger inside her. He hesitated for a moment, as though waiting for her to tell him to stop. When she didn’t, he slid another finger in.

  The first had been a tight fit, the second hurt more. But it was a good pain. His coordination was perfect, his fingers moving in and out, while he continued rubbing her clitoris. She felt a fresh rush of moistness between her legs. Her hands gripped the edges of the duvet. Her knees clamped together—not to stop him, but to try to increase the intensity. She could feel that she was on the brink of something.

  Elliott froze, feeling the change in her. This was exactly what he’d been waiting for, getting her to the point where she didn’t want to go back. Encouraged, he withdrew his hands and started to undo his jeans.

  The sound of the zipper snapped her back to reality. The fog of desire lifted, and suddenly all the good feelings were gone.

  “Elliott, no,” she murmured. But he wasn’t listening. Instead, he was busy trying to ease out of his jeans.

  “Honestly, Elliott. I think we should stop now.”

  She tried to pull her skirt back down, to cover herself up, but he reached out and caught her wrist. There was no reasoning with him, and the knowledge made her start to panic. With every bit of strength in her, she put her free hand on his chest and pushed him hard.

  “No!”

  This time there was no mistaking the command in her voice. He lurched back, banging his head on the bedside lamp.