This voice was vaguely familiar. I peeked around the edge of the drapes.
Henry’s aunt Agnes sat next to his mother on the sofa. I eased further into the shadows, grateful for the dim lighting. As long as I did not make a sound, they would never guess I was here. Coming out from behind the drapes now would only make me look foolish. I would wait until they left before going back to the ballroom.
“I am glad we have this chance to talk privately,” the aunt said, “for I feel a bit concerned about you, sister, since my brother died.”
“Oh? Concerned? About what?” Mrs. Delafield’s voice was guarded,
defensive.
“A subject of the gravest importance, I am afraid.”
I should not be listening to this. But I could not leave without being
seen. I cursed my bad luck and hope that their conversation would not be too personal nor too long.
“I am concerned that you are not doing your duty to protect the Delafield family name from scandal.”
My eyes opened wide. I wondered that she would dare to say such a thing.
And by the affronted, frosty tone of Mrs. Delafield’s voice, I gathered she agreed with me. “What do you mean?”
“I saw the Worthingtons here. I cannot believe you would invite them,
after the scandal at Brighton—”
“Eleanor is not here, you will notice. And the scandal has not yet been
confirmed. It has not even reached this part of the country yet. Excluding them would create more gossip locally. You know how I detest gossip. Putting up with their company is a small price to pay to keep our name unconnected with theirs.”
“Yes, but still! The Delafield name, sister!”
Mrs. Delafield’s voice hardened. “I am very well aware of the Delafield
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family name and what it is worth. I was aware of it when I married your
brother, and I am even more aware of it now. I have done nothing to disgrace it. In fact, with George’s match, I believe I have helped to elevate it.”
“Yes, George’s match was well done, but there is still no title. We need a title in the family.”
I rolled my eyes. This all went back to their distant relative receiving a title from the Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire. Now that they had a count in their family lineage, they were puffed up in their own opinion of their family and what they thought was their due.
“I know we need a title in the family, and I have planned accordingly.
The St. Claires have a title in their family. And Henry’s match with Miss St.
Claire is secure.”
“But that title will mean nothing if Henry falls for one of those
Worthington girls instead!”
My face burned hot.
“There is nothing to worry about on that score,” Mrs. Delafield said, her voice dismissive and final.
“Are you certain of that? Because from what Sylvia told me . . .”
“I am certain.” A pause, and then she asked, with a note of curiosity but no worry, “But what did Sylvia tell you?”
“She told me that she believes Henry and her friend . . . the one with the eyebrows . . .”
“Kitty.”
“Yes, Kitty. She has grown beautiful, hasn’t she? Despite the eyebrows?”
“Oh, yes, quite. Very striking. But do go on. What did Sylvia say?”
“She believes they may be forming an attachment.”
To have Sylvia and her aunt and mother talking about Henry and me!
I thought of what Sylvia had seen in the clearing, and burned inside with embarrassment.
Mrs. Delafield spoke briskly. “You are worrying for nothing. If they have formed an attachment, I will sever it. Immediately. In fact, if there is even a hint that Kitty has set her sights on Henry, I will separate all three of them.
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I will send Henry to Blackmoore and Sylvia to live with you until I have convinced the girl that she will rue the day she ever thought of loving Henry.
I have thought of all of this. I will tear them apart without hesitation, and without compunction.”
“Why allow her to associate with them at all? Why not separate them
now?”
“Because it will cause gossip! Conjecture! And that one little girl is not worth the risk. Besides, I do not mind Kitty for Sylvia’s sake. Without her friendship, Sylvia would grow even more slothful than she is naturally, and it would be difficult to arrange a good marriage for her. No, it is fine for her to be friends with them at this point . . . as long as it goes no further.”
“Do you think you can really control such a thing?” Doubt rang in the
older woman’s voice.
“Of course I can.” Derision rang in her voice. “Besides, I have something Henry wants very much—something he can have only if he does what I want
in this matter.”
“What is that?”
“Blackmoore.”
My heart fell. A long pause. “Have you done it legally?”
The settee creaked again. “I am no simpleton. I had the solicitor up there last summer. My father’s condition was already deteriorating, and the solicitor agreed with me that it was in the best interest of everyone involved to make any final changes at that point, before more of his memory was lost.
My father was easily persuaded to sign the new will. And the best part is, he does not even remember anything about it!” Mrs. Delafield laughed lightly.
My stomach churned. “Now it is done, and if Henry tries to marry one
of those Worthington girls, or anyone else I do not approve of, he will lose Blackmoore—the house, the estate, and the living that goes with it. It will all go to George.”
I felt sick. The smell of the peonies near me was suddenly so revolting to me that I wanted to retch. I leaned against the wall, needing the support I found there.
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“I can see that I have underestimated you,” the aunt said.
“Quite.” Mrs. Delafield sounded so pleased with herself; so smug. I felt I was suffocating in the folds of these drapes. .
“I have told you this in the strictest of confidences,” Mrs. Delafield said. “I have not told Henry yet. I do not want to unless it’s necessary.”
“Of course! There is not a young man alive who takes to the idea of being kept on a short leash.”
“True.” She paused and then said, “I know how to spot the enemy at the
gates, sister. And I know how to guard against it. You should not have doubted me.”
“As long as you have things under control, I will be content.”
“Believe me, I always have things under control.”
L
I could not remember, later, how long I hid behind those heavy drapes,
waiting for the women to leave. They talked of other things while I tried to breathe without smelling the flowers that made me want to retch. Sweat was dripping from my forehead when they finally stood and left the room. I waited a few moments before slipping from the room, sick with shame and devasta-tion. I saw Henry down the hall, but there were many guests all trying to escape the heat of the ballroom through the french windows. He called my name and tried to reach me, but I turned from him and fled through the crowd.
Nobody noticed when I walked to the edge of the lawn and just kept
walking. I walked home through the woods with only the full moon for company, and I shivered in the cool air. Nobody noticed when I opened the back door of our house and walked up the stairs to my room. And there, in my
room, sat the model of Blackmoore. A gift. A dream. A future that I would never have, no matter how much I wanted it.
I sat on the floor and slowly unlaced my boots, taking them off one at a time. I stood and stared at the model. I had not cried during that whole walk home. But now I was suddenly furious. I threw my boot at the model, and it 226
sailed over the top of it. I threw the next one, harder, and it crashed through the roof, splintering the wood. I felt better for two seconds.
And then my anger returned, hot and implacable. I threw open the door
of my room and marched down the hall to Eleanor’s. I opened her door without knocking. She looked up from the stool in front of her dressing table, where she sat brushing her hair.