“Aubergines,” she croaked. “You grill them, then mash them, for . . . baba ghanoush.”
“Looks delicious. Congratulations.”
“Please.”
“Now I know why you train as a firefighter in Oxford.”
She tried to struggle up, but he didn’t budge and kept her flattened underneath him, his chest shaking with suppressed, evil laughter.
She turned her head sideways and rested her cheek against the careworn wood of the counter.
“The word you said earlier, what did it mean?” she asked.
The way he went quiet said he knew at once what she meant. “Ta’abrinee,” he said.
“Yes.”
“It means, bury me.”
“Isn’t that a bit morbid?”
He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. “We say it to someone we don’t want to live without. Hence, we must go first.”
I don’t want you to go first.
She wanted forever.
She was smiling mindlessly. Perhaps he saw. He very gently kissed her cheek. Her heart kept beating steadily, happily, as though it truly believed that anything was possible for her. For them. Together.
Chapter 28
She still drifted high and weightless as a cloud to the Blackstone residence in Belgravia two days later. By the time she arrived in Hattie’s drawing room, however, she had schooled her expression to neutral. Her newly found hopes still felt tender, like a budding seedling that might be too soft and pale to withstand the full, harsh force of daylight just yet. Secondly, for this meeting, she had a special point on her agenda that would require her friends’ help and joint efforts, and if they suspected that she had hatched this mad scheme just because a man had fried her brain with his excellent lovemaking, she’d inspire neither trust nor confidence.
The Blackstone drawing room was grander than the one at the Randolph Hotel, but the arrangement of furniture was quite the same; divans, armchairs, and side tables formed a rectangle with the fireplace, and there were tea cakes. Hattie rested on the divan in a flowing red morning wrapper, a knitting basket at her feet. Annabelle looked a wee bit tired round the eyes, which didn’t detract from her beauty. She was comfortable in an armchair next to Catriona.
Lucie, dressed deceptively docile in a soft pastel gown, paced rage-fueled circles on the rug.
“Two weeks,” she ground out. “Less than two weeks until the session, and Sir George Campbell and Mr. Warton are on the rise.”
“They won back two MPs,” Annabelle was saying for the second time. “Only two.”
“I mustn’t propose violence,” Lucie said, having proposed violence minutes earlier.
“What would you actually do,” Hattie asked, leaning forward, intrigued.
“Oh, I could think of something,” Lucie muttered. “I’m certain I could.”
“It’s too soon to lose heart,” Annabelle said. “We may still win, with a solid margin, too.”
“If we don’t, I would throw a few stinkpots from the gallery,” Lucie said. “There’s a nice, lingering stench to go with their rotten politics whenever they reconvene.”
Catriona was skeptical. “How would we get a stinkpot through the trellis?”
Lucie frowned in thought. “We could have small ones made; egg-sized ones, they fit.”
“We could bring a saw and cut out a piece of the grille,” Hattie suggested. “To get a big one through.”
Annabelle looked unamused from one to the other. “Are we serious? How will that help?”
“It would help satisfy my spite,” Lucie said. She stopped in front of the mirror above the mantelpiece and tucked loose strands of hair behind her ears.
“Catriona,” she said. “Have you any news about the writ?”
Catriona changed her position on the armchair. “Aye. I have found our woman.”
She recounted the story, starting at the Middleton town house and ending with her having successfully delivered the letter to Mrs. Weldon, without making any mention of Elias. It hurt her throat to leave him out. It felt like a betrayal.
“In conclusion,” Lucie said, whose mood looked much improved, “we are currently waiting for Mrs. Weldon to decide whether she’s willing to make history?”
“We are, yes.”
Hattie and Annabelle saluted her.
Lucie smirked. “Brilliant work, comrade. I believe that is the best we can hope for.”
“Thank you.” Her pulse picked up. “There is something else,” she said. Her tongue felt unwieldy like a brick in her mouth. She folded her hands in her lap. “There is something I must do, and it’s outlandish and risky. And I can’t do it without you.”
Lucie smiled with intrigue. “Tell us everything.”
She did not tell them everything, but she told them all about her plan.
Recovering from her surprise, Hattie said: “Is that why you asked me to spread the news about the exhibition through the magazines?”
“Yes.”
“Shouldn’t you tell Mr. Khoury?” Annabelle asked.
She probably should. Something twisted in her stomach every time she thought of the fact that she was making plans behind Elias’s back, but the truth was that knowing as little as possible was for his own good. Or so she thought.
She shook her head at Annabelle. “It would be best if you didn’t tell your husband, either—knowing nothing might be the one thing to keep them out of trouble.”
Annabelle considered this. “I don’t usually keep things from Montgomery,” she said. “But in this case, you may be right.”
In the end, it came as she had hoped: details were discussed, and agreements were made.
The meeting wound down.
Just when they had all readied to leave, Hattie abruptly raised her hand. “I have something to tell you, too.”
Chapter 29
Catriona knew, even before Hattie placed both her hands on her belly and blushed. There was a dreadful shift in the air, a sense of clammy hands reaching for her nape. Lucie’s and Annabelle’s expressions changed to shocked delight.
She had known for a while. It had been written plainly on Hattie’s face since their first meeting in the Randolph in July. Obviously, she ought to be pleased for her friend, now that it was confirmed. She rose from her chair. Lucie and Annabelle had already sat down on the divan to Hattie’s left and right, forming a protective semicircle around her.
“Congratulations,” Catriona said, and reached down for Hattie’s hand, somehow catching only the tips of her fingers. “How are you feeling?”
Hattie’s smile was a wee bit toothy. “I’m perfectly well.”
Catriona willed her own mouth to smile while images kept flashing: A dark, frightening corridor. A door swinging open, bloodied sheets bunched up in a young MacKenzie’s arms; Who’s telling his lordship? Who will tell him? . . . MacKenzie’s shocked face at seeing Catriona standing there, barefoot in the dark, the icy cold of the flagstones seeping into her body, never to leave . . . She turned her head away from her friends. She had been through it when Annabelle had announced that she was with child. It would pass in a moment.
“Oh, Hattie,” Annabelle cooed, when she never cooed. “I’m so delighted for you.”
“Mr. Blackstone must be over the moon,” Lucie said.