Chapter 2
London bustled.
Oh, I’d missed it. The ever-changing melee of errand boys, shopping ladies, and gentlemen out for a stroll.
The carriages and carts rattling upon cobblestones, buildings towering above us with glamorous facades.
There was such energy and purpose, I could not help but find it infectious as I followed Ginny along crowded Bond Street.
I was fond of Little Sowerby, the village near my home, but it did not hold nearly the same thrill for me as the city.
I imagined I could be perfectly happy living all my days in this fascinating blend of cultures and people.
“Here we are,” Ginny said brightly, stopping before a shop window featuring a variety of hats and bonnets. “If you do not find something you like here, I can’t imagine you’ll find it anywhere.”
I had mentioned at breakfast that I needed a new hat, and she had immediately arranged this little shopping excursion. She was perhaps trying a bit too hard to please me, determined that I enjoy every moment of our time in London.
She needn’t make such an effort. I would enjoy my time with her no matter what we did.
But I appreciated it all the same, the feeling of being looked after.
I did not often feel that way at home. Father often seemed to forget he even had a daughter.
And Mother, while not completely unfeeling, seemed far more concerned with trying to marry me off to anyone who would accept my tarnished reputation than in forming a real and lasting relationship with me.
I knew she meant well, that she loved me in her own, absent sort of way, but it only made my friendship with Ginny all the starker a contrast.
When Jack had received a request from Bow Street asking for his help with the investigation, Ginny had decided to go along with him.
Not because she loved the city, by any means, but because she knew I did, and she’d immediately invited me to travel with her.
I’d resisted at first—my last visit to London had come to a disastrous end—but instead of accepting my response, she’d marched to my house and begun packing my belongings.
“You adore London,” she had insisted as she’d tossed a pair of dancing slippers into a trunk. “I’ll not let you shut yourself away for the rest of your life because of a few false rumors.”
She knew very well how horrible that Season had been.
How the rumors had been not just false but nasty and vicious and as widespread as the pox as well.
I’d been worried that my love of London would be dampened by my experience, that the whispers would follow me still.
But Ginny had convinced me eventually, and I’d decided firmly in favor of optimism.
London had always lifted my spirits in the past, and perhaps it would do so again.
I’d been right, quite thankfully. The last two days in Town had left me lighter, fighting away those dreadful shadows that perched like crows in my mind. I’d needed this—a change of scene, a switch in pace.
And perhaps, with Mr. Drake, there might be other developments on the horizon.
I mustn’t get ahead of myself, I thought in reprimand as Ginny and I stepped into the millinery, the little bell above the door jingling merrily. I should not worry over what might come but simply enjoy the here and now.
We browsed the shop, inspecting trinkets and ribbons and all manner of hats and bonnets. Then Ginny grinned, reaching for something behind me.
“I do believe,” she said, plucking my bonnet from my head and replacing it with the item, “that this bonnet was made for you.”
I turned to examine myself in a nearby mirror and burst into laughter. The bonnet was downright atrocious, with disproportionately large pink silk flowers, a thick, striped ribbon, and a billowing ostrich feather that curled over the wide brim and tickled my nose.
“You are wasted in Little Sowerby,” I said, still laughing, “with such an eye for fashion as that.”
“That bonnet could shade all of Little Sowerby and then some,” she said with a wink. “And has enough flowers to adorn all of Hampshire.”
The shopkeeper passed by and shot us a reprimanding look, her arms clutching rolls of ribbon. Ginny’s mouth parted upon seeing her, and it only made me laugh again.
“Hush now,” she scolded me in a whisper, taking the bonnet back even as her lips twitched. “You might’ve warned me she was near.”
“I didn’t see her!” I said, replacing my own bonnet on my head. “Though if I had, I still would not have told you.”
“You are a wretch.” She set the bonnet back on its stand.
“But a very lovable wretch.” I grinned at her. “You ought to get into trouble more often. It keeps one young.”
“Ah yes, rule-breaking,” she said. “The real fountain of youth.”
We wandered apart, continuing to peruse the shop on our own. I found a lovely little bonnet with a blue satin ribbon that would look well with my new walking dress. I was inspecting the quality of the trim when I heard a voice behind me.
“Miss Lacey, is that you?”
I froze, my hands tightening around the bonnet. The voice was soft, haunting. I knew whose it was before I turned around.
Clarissa Haythorne stood behind me, the very picture of sophisticated elegance in a stylish pink gown, closely cut to display her figure, and a delicate, lace-trimmed parasol in her gloved hands. She stepped toward me as her lips spread into a delighted smile.
A delight, we both knew, that she did not really feel. Nor did I. Of course I should have the terrible luck of meeting the one person I most wished to avoid.
“It is you,” she declared, eyes gleaming. “Why, I quite doubted myself at first, but then I thought I recognized your dress from your last Season.”
I forced my hands to stay at my side, though my instinct was to smooth back the skirts of my admittedly older gown. I could afford new gowns—Father provided an ample allowance, if nothing else—but I didn’t see the point in refreshing my wardrobe when I socialized so rarely.
Now I wished I had invested in at least a few dresses.
I looked the dowd beside Clarissa; she always wore the best clothes in the latest fashions, as if to make up for her rather plain face and slightly squashed nose.
She’d never been a beauty, but that had not stopped her from ruling over her circle of Society for the last several years since her—and my—debut.
She looked very much the same as when I’d last seen her.
That same calculating glint in her gaze and wicked tilt to her lips.
And, of course, that confident ease that came with assuming she was the cleverest person in the room.
“Miss Haythorne,” I managed through my clenched jaw. Courtesy demanded I exchange polite niceties, but I could not seem to force the words from my mouth. “It is still miss, is it not?”
I knew very well it was. I’d kept an eye on the London papers in my absence, and it was clear from the social pages that she was still decidedly unmarried. In truth, I couldn’t imagine anyone marrying such a conspiring creature, but stranger things had happened.
“It has been ever so long since you’ve been to Town,” Clarissa said, ignoring my pointed slight as she twirled her parasol in her fingers. “A year, at least?”
“Two, actually,” I said.
“Oh, how dreadful,” she exclaimed. “How have you survived? I think I would go quite mad without proper Society.”
Well, one makes do when one is rejected by proper Society.
That was what I wanted to say to her. That, and point out the fact that she was the reason Society had rejected me in the first place. But it would help nothing. In fact, it would likely harm everything I hoped to accomplish in London. I only smiled blandly and nodded.
“Beatrice?” Ginny stepped to my side, looking curiously at Clarissa.
Clarissa’s razor-sharp gaze went to my friend. I fought the urge to push Ginny aside, as if to save her from a viper’s bite. She’d never met Clarissa before, quite thankfully; she and Jack ran in very different circles than I had previously.
“Good afternoon.” Clarissa inspected Ginny from head to foot.
If she expected to find anything to criticize, she would be disappointed.
Ginny was always perfectly put together, and today was no exception, her sage-green pelisse immaculate and her red hair neatly curled and pinned.
“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”
Ginny’s eyes flicked to mine, a question in her glance, then back to Clarissa. “Genevieve Travers. A pleasure to meet you.”
“I’m certain it is,” Clarissa said with a smile.
“Do excuse us,” I said shortly. Clarissa and I were not friends, and there was no point in pretending. Especially if that put Ginny in her line of fire. “We’ve an important appointment to attend.”
“Oh, of course,” Clarissa said with exaggerated civility and immediately stepped aside, skirts swishing about her ankles. “Do not let me keep you.”
I took Ginny’s arm and pulled her with me. To her credit, she did not question me until we’d left the shop and gone down the street, out of view from the millinery’s windows.
“Who was that?” she finally asked, careful concern in her voice.
“That,” I said through gritted teeth, “was Clarissa Haythorne.”
Ginny came to a sudden halt, and I with her. She turned to face me slowly. “Do you mean to tell me,” she said, her voice hard as granite, “that that was the girl who ruined your Season? Your reputation?”
“Allegedly.” I crossed my arms against my chest, trying to hold back the storm of anger and injustice that had risen inside me. “I had no proof against her.”
“But you know it was her,” she insisted. “She had every reason to want to destroy you.”
I nodded tightly. Ginny knew everything about that fateful Season—the only person who did. Not even my parents knew the whole truth.
Ginny spun on her heel, a decidedly agile movement for one so far along with child, and started back the way we’d come.
“Ginny, stop.” I grabbed her arm. “You can’t.”