Chapter Fourteen
Eliza and Cassandra had just settled themselves on the bed, ready to finally discuss the afternoon’s events in private, when a light knock sounded against the door. The maid they shared with their younger sisters entered at Eliza’s call.
“Here are the clean sheets you requested.”
Cassandra and Eliza exchanged equally dubious expressions as the maid set down her load.
They hadn’t requested clean sheets.
The maid then moved the top sheet aside, revealing a letter sealed with wax in distinctive light blue. Eliza’s hair cascaded over her shoulder as she bent forward to examine the note. The wax was impressed with a scroll she remembered seeing on the Black Widow’s desk.
She slipped out of bed, padded over to the dressing table and retrieved a coin from the pin money jar. She presented the maid with a vail. The maid bobbed a curtsey and slipped out the door, but not without a longing glance at the note.
The contents, whatever they might be, were not for prying eyes.
Eliza climbed back onto the bed and tucked her feet to her side. Both sisters stared down at the paper as if expecting the document to spontaneously open.
“Well?” Cassandra prompted. “Aren’t you going to break the seal?”
“It’s from the Lyon’s Den,” Eliza replied. “I thought you disapproved.”
“I do disapprove. But that doesn’t mean I wish to be left completely in the dark. What concerns you, concerns me.”
Eliza raised her brows. “If I let you see the contents, will you tell me why you were so eager to acquiesce to every suggestion made by the duke and his friends?”
Cassie’s eyes widened. “What possible objection could you have to the girls sharing dancing lessons with Miss D’Acre?”
Eliza grimaced. She could hardly tell Cassie the truth.
Cassie snatched the letter and held it behind her and above her head, well out of Eliza’s reach. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Eliza slapped the bed with impatience. “Give me my letter.”
“Not unless you tell me why you reacted so strangely to Harbury’s friend.”
Eliza narrowed her eyes at her sister. “Oh, very well.” She sighed, exasperated. “I ran into Lord Redver at the Lion’s Den.”
Cassie gasped.
“Don’t worry. He didn’t recognize me—how could he have? We hadn’t yet been introduced. But I…” She frowned. “I don’t want him to put two and two together and realize he saw me at the Den.”
“He regarded you with a very peculiar expression.”
Eliza’s heart thumped. “Did he?”
Cassie nodded. “Yes. But I don’t think the expression was recognition. He seemed…taken with you.”
“Say you’re joking.”
Cassie shrugged. “What do I know of these things?” She lifted a brow. “Would you like it if he were taken with you?”
Eliza felt her cheeks heat. “Just open the letter, Cass.”
If Redver had developed an interest in her, Eliza had no desire to contemplate the repercussions.
“Please open the letter.”
“If you insist.” Cassie peeled open the seal.
Both sisters set their backs against the headboard and put their heads together, pouring over the note in unison.
Dear Miss Wainwright,
I trust this missive finds you well.
My understanding is that you and your sisters will be attending dancing lessons at D’Acre House tomorrow. Mr. Vane will, at the appointed time, also be in attendance. Lady Redver has agreed to perform the introduction.
Mr. Vane knows of your position and has assured me he is interested in making an alliance, provided the two of you suit.
I will leave further negotiations in your hands.
Sincerely, EDL
Eliza frowned down at the note. Mrs. Dove-Lyon knew she’d met with Lord Redver at the Lyon’s Den. Why, then, would she choose Lady Redver to make the introduction to Mr. Vane?
Didn’t the Black Widow realize she was inviting trouble?
Cassie nudged Eliza’s shoulder. “How did this woman know about the dancing lessons? She wasn’t there this afternoon when we made the arrangements.”
“I don’t know.” Eliza continued to scowl. “But she knew exactly what happened to us at Almack’s, and she hadn’t been there either.”
“I don’t trust her.”
Eliza chewed on her lip. “I’m not sure I do, either.”
And yet, she’d felt no ill will in the widow. Did an uncanny prescience mean she could not be trusted? She had helped their mother’s friend, whomever that friend had been.
“What are you going to do?” Cassie asked.
Eliza slipped out of bed, took the letter to the fireplace, and tossed it into the flame. Then, she plucked the hairbrush from their shared dressing table.
“I’m going to brush your hair.”
“Do be serious.” Cassie moved to the edge of the bed and drew her hair back over her shoulder. “I meant what are you going to do about Mr. Vane?”
“Meet him, of course.” She eased the brush’s soft bristles down her sister’s locks. “I cannot evaluate him as a potential husband otherwise.”
“I have a bad feeling…”
“You always have a bad feeling.”
“Not always. Just often. And I’m usually right.”
Eliza ignored her sister and, instead, applied herself to her task, letting her mind wander as Cassie counted each stroke.
If she were honest with herself, she must acknowledge the nervous, visceral excitement she experienced whenever Redver was present.
The sensation was not altogether unpleasant.
In fact, if she was certain he would never make the connection between herself and the Blackbird, she might not mind spending time with him.
A very big if.
Which of her assumptions about him had been true? Which had she mistaken?
Did it matter? She would meet Mr. Vane, be honest with him about her needs and requirements, and hope the gentleman would prove a good fit. If so, she vowed to put Redver out of her mind once and for all, no matter how strongly she was drawn to him.
No other course of action made any sense.
“One hundred,” Cassie announced. “Your turn.”
Eliza handed the hairbrush to Cassandra, and they changed positions on the bed. She closed her eyes, concentrating on the soothing feel of the brush in her hair.
If only she could forget the passion, the laughter, the sense of profound connection.
Eliza stepped out of Lady Asquith’s carriage, the last of the five sisters to emerge. She raised her face, taking in the London residence of Lady Redver and Miss D’Acre. She’d expected something small. But the townhouse was on par with Asquith House.
“D’Acre House,” Lady Asquith explained, “has been the principal residence of the Marquess of Redver for several generations. The current marquess, however, resides on the opposite end of Mayfair.”
Asquith, too, had removed himself from his own home for the comfort of his female relations, but Eliza hadn’t expected Redver to have made a similar choice.
The Black Widow would have known of Redver’s living arrangement, though. Her use of this location for an introduction made better sense now.
“Redver,” Lady Asquith continued, “let another residence after returning from Brussels.”
Brussels. Had he been in the war then?
As Redver had a fortune and a title ensured, she could only assume he’d purchased his commission out of a sense of patriotic duty.
If so, her assessment of him had not been wholly correct.
How had she painted such a convincing caricature of him as a villain when she’d known so little about him? Had she hated him simply because he didn’t dance and because happened to be Harbury’s friend?
She frowned.
But no—the Black Widow had agreed with her assessment of his character.
Hadn’t she?
Or had she merely agreed to tell him what Eliza had thought of him?
Eliza winced, thinking that if she’d read him wrong, her accusations must have stung him badly.
“La,” Nettie breathed, grabbing Millie’s arm. “Imagine having all this to yourself.”
“I’d settle for my own bed,” Lenora replied. “Millie kicks.”
“You’re welcome in mine,” Nettie said.
“No, thank you,” Lenora replied with a smile. “Too many crumbs.”
“Crumbs?” Lady Asquith asked, alarmed.
“Not every night, Godmama,” Nettie soothed. “Lenora is exaggerating. I’m very tidy.”
Cassie flashed Eliza a smile. Tidy, Nettie was decidedly not.
With Lady Asquith leading the way, they climbed the stairs. The double front doors opened to a hall with marble floors of deep green and gold. Wood paneling inlaid with mirrors stretching all the way to the ceiling, making the large space feel massive.
And Eliza had already felt small.
“Lady Asquith!” Emily D’Acre’s mass of blonde curls popped over the side of the upper railing. “And all the Misses Wainwright! Do have a rest in the ladies’ parlor. Mama and I will be down in just a moment.” She bounced. “We’re ever so happy you could come.”
“Mmmm,” Millie said under her breath. “She is…jaunty.”
“I like her,” announced Nettie.
“I daresay we all will,” Lenora added with her usual diplomacy. “She invited us to dance this afternoon, remember?”
Millie pulled a face. “How could I forget with Nettie prattling on about it every moment of the day?”
“Girls,” Lady Asquith said as she ushered them into a bright yellow parlor, “if you must speak, speak loudly enough for all to hear.”
“But that would defeat the purpose, Godmama,” Lenora replied cheerfully.
“If it is not fit for everyone, it is not fit for anyone. Remember that!” Lady Asquith warned.
Millie raised her brows and touched her hand to her lips.
“Look!” Nettie shook Lenora’s arm. “Cakes!”
“Don’t even think about taking one,” Millie warned.
“She may, if she wishes.” Miss D’Acre swept into the room.
Lady Redver entered on the young girl’s heels. Again, Eliza was struck by the woman’s beauty. She looked otherworldly, almost elfin, and yet she had the regal air of one far more mature than her years would suggest.
“So kind of you to join us, Lady Asquith,” Lady Redver said as she closed the doors.
As Lady Asquith presented each of the three youngest Wainwrights to their hosts, Lady Redver parceled out treats.
“Dancing”—Lady Redver smiled kindly—“is so much more delightful after cake.”
“Everything is better after cake,” Nettie agreed, sharing a shy smile with Miss D’Acre.