Alistair pointed wordlessly at the hired staff. Westie watched the serving girls as they stole glances Alistair’s way and whispered. Some giggled. It was obvious that without his mask, he intrigued more than frightened the fairer sex. She found herself staring at him too and had to admit that the handkerchief made him look mysterious. How anyone could find Alistair frightening was confusing to her. His beautiful eyes gave him away. They were trustworthy eyes.
“Why are you canceling my party?” Westie demanded.
Nigel tugged at his shirt and smiled. “Good to see you up and around. How are you feeling?”
“Fine. Why are you canceling my party?” she repeated.
Nigel adjusted his top hat. He wore loose trousers and a gussied-up smoking jacket even though the heat of hell had risen to the earth’s surface that day. “I wasn’t sure you’d feel up to a party, and since you don’t like them to begin with, or people for that matter, I didn’t think you’d mind the cancelation. You weren’t supposed to know about it anyway, but Alley told me Isabelle had informed you. I should’ve known the Johanssons couldn’t keep it under their hats.”
“Well, I do mind. I already told everyone I know about it.”
“You know five people and three of them are in this house.”
Westie frowned. “Isabelle told everyone she knew. I’ll look like a fool if I have to tell folks there won’t be a party.”
“You’ve never cared about looking like a fool before.” He tucked his hands into his pockets and lifted his chin, looking down at her. “You’re up to something.”
“Am not.”
“Yes, you are.” His voice rose. “No doubt it has something to do with the Fairfields.”
Westie shook her head, focusing on the cleft in his chin to keep her eyes from shifting so he wouldn’t see through her deceit.
“Do I look stupid to you?” he asked.
“Do you really want me to answer that?”
He growled at her.
“All right,” she said. “I just want to observe the Fairfields, is all.”
His back straightened. “Absolutely not. Besides, they wouldn’t have shown anyway; they were never invited.”
“Well, they are now. The invitations have already been sent.”
“What?” Nigel’s voice echoed in the room. Workers stopped what they were doing to stare.
She shrugged.
He twisted the tips of his mustache. “Dammit, Westie.”
“I’ll be on my best behavior, promise.”
His shoulders wilted. “I’ve heard that before.”
“I mean it this time.”
Alistair cut in, hands moving to sign, Everything has already been paid for. Might as well. Westie held back a smile when he glanced at her. And we’ll all be there to make sure things don’t get out of hand.
“Oh, fine,” Nigel said. “We’ll have the party, but you must promise that you won’t drink. Not even a single sip of wine.”
Westie cupped her hand over her mouth. The mention of alcohol stirred her stomach. “You have my word.”
He started to walk away, then paused. He was as tall as he was brilliant and had to bend so their eyes were level. “You stay out of trouble.”
Alistair watched Nigel leave, then turned his curious gaze on her. His hands started to move in familiar motions.
I vouched for you. If you’re planning on doing something stupid, it’s my ass too, he signed.
Westie’s signing was rusty, but she understood well enough.
“Relax,” she said. “I just want to watch them.”
So you do remember hand language after all.
She signed back, No, I don’t, and walked away.
Westie went to her room for a nap. When she got there, she found her oak wardrobe open and her dress for the ball hanging inside. Nigel must have put it in there while she was talking to Alistair.
She lifted the dress carefully, peeled back the protective shroud it was encased in. It was white silk with black velvet trimming and pearl buttons, and was covered in lace wherever it had a chance to be plain. She imagined the smile on Nigel’s face—no, the smirk—when he’d had the dress made and hung in her closet.
“Ick,” she said when she hung it back up. It was a dress for a Southern belle. Her cannibal friends might mistake her for a sweet cake and eat her alive, wearing a dress like that.
Twenty-One
After her nap, Westie went to the barn to saddle Henry. A horse snorted behind her just as she noticed Alistair’s mare wasn’t in her stall. Westie closed her eyes and shook her head. Alistair seemed to know every move she made before she even thought to make it.
She adjusted the stirrups on her saddle without looking at him and said, “I thought you were planning the party.”
There was no reply. She’d forgotten Alistair was still without his mask. She didn’t bother to face him so they could try and communicate. She knew well enough that he meant to babysit her.
He followed several feet behind as she made her way into town. When they neared the assay office, a horseless coach stumbled into view. It was made of black metal with gold accents and had smoke pouring from its stacks. Red velvet curtains covered its windows. It looked exactly like a traditional stagecoach, only with four pointed metal legs on each side.