Her sister. She’d grown up surrounded by other girls, some of them good friends, but they weren’t related to her. She hadn’t recognized her eyes and mouth in the other girls.
They weren’t family.
“But now we’ve found you,” Jo said.
The maidservant cleared her throat loudly behind them. “My lady. Do try and remember why you came.”
“Oh yes. Yes, thank you, Pickering.” Jo’s expressive face fell, becoming tragic as she peered at Mary. “You will do it, won’t you?”
“Do what?” Mary asked cautiously.
“Why, become Lady Cecilia,” Jo exclaimed. “Come live at Angrove House and be my sister. You must, you simply must. Promise me you will, do!”
Mary had the oddest feeling that she’d somehow missed part of the conversation. “I…”
“It’s just…” Jo’s big brown eyes filled with glistening tears as she clasped her hands under her chin. “I don’t love him. Lord Blackwell.”
Oh.
For the last couple of minutes Mary had almost forgotten the viscount. But he was the rub, wasn’t he? If she accepted this fairy-tale life, complete with a loving family, she would have to accept him as fiancé, too.
Him and everything he made her feel.
She remembered him as she’d last seen him, the afternoon before. His blue eyes had been devilish as he’d looked up from her hand, as if he could see inside her. As if he might know all her secret desires.
She shivered…and realized that Jo was still talking.
“…He’s quite charming and witty and very handsome—I’m sure everyone thinks so—but I’ve known him all my life. He’s like a brother to me. It would be quite incestuous were I to marry him. And besides, I love…I love…” She hiccupped on a sob, unable to speak, and threw herself rather abruptly on Mary.
Mary staggered but caught the other girl, patting her back helplessly as she looked over Jo’s shoulder at the maid.
Pickering sighed. “My lady loves another, miss.”
Jo sobbed harder at her maid’s words.
Pickering had to raise her voice to be heard. “My lady has been distraught at the thought of marrying Lord Blackwell while her affections lie with another. When she heard that you had been found at last, my lady felt a great weight had been lifted from her mind with the prospect that you might take her stead in marrying Lord Blackwell.”
“Oh, Cece!” Jo whimpered. “Could you? Could you marry him? I vow you’ll not regret it. All my friends think him the epitome of masculine comeliness and grace. I just…I just love my Johnny so very much.”
Jo raised her head from Mary’s shoulder, her eyes red, her cheeks wet, and her lips parted imploringly.
This woman who was her sister and wanted Mary to call her Jo.
Mary answered helplessly, “Yes, I will.”
Chapter Four
Triton, of course, disapproved of Clio’s interest in the land dwellers’ ships.
“Why do you watch them?” he would ask, puzzled, his heavy brow crumpling in a frown.
But then, Triton went on grand adventures, swimming around the world’s seas and having exciting battles with giant squid and such. As a lowly mermaid, Clio never got to do such wonderful things.
Triton just couldn’t understand the allure of the exotic.…
—From The Curious Mermaid
That night Henry ran up the steps to Keating House, the London town house belonging to his father, the Earl of Keating. Henry had moved into his own establishment more than five years earlier, but Mother insisted on having the entire family for dinner once a week. This was a firm standing order and any excuses outside of being bedridden with the plague were not tolerated.
Actually Henry enjoyed seeing both his mother and younger sisters and hearing what gossip and scandal held their attention that week.
It was his father whom he occasionally found trying.
Phillips opened the door, and Henry grinned at the elderly butler as he entered. “Have they sat down yet?”
“I believe the earl and countess just went in,” Phillips said with a chiding glance as he took Henry’s hat and gloves.
“Then I’d best hurry.”
Henry leaped up the white marble staircase. The family dining room was on the upper level at the back of the house. He strode down the hall and pushed open a pale-blue door.
Inside, Mother, Father, and his two younger sisters, Kate and Becca, sat at the long ebony table.
Kate flashed him a smile while Becca widened her eyes in what looked like a warning.
“Henry!” His mother pursed her lips to try to hide a smile and held out her hands to him. “Late again, I see.”
“Alas,” Henry said, taking his mother’s hands and bowing to kiss both. He glanced up from his bow. “But I do come bearing a gift.”
Mother seemed to be attempting to maintain her stern expression, but she absolutely adored presents—as well he knew. “Well, then, show me.”
He slipped his hand into his coat pocket and brought out a thin, small book with a flourish. “I found this at Adams and Sons yesterday and thought you might be amused by it.”
His mother took the book and opened it. A smile lit her face when she saw the title page. The book was a new edition of William Shakespeare’s sonnets. “Hmm. Poetry. You do know how to exploit my weaknesses. I suppose there’s nothing to do but forgive you, then.”
Henry had opened his mouth to reply, but his father interrupted him. “That book isn’t the only thing you found at Adams and Sons, I hear.”
Henry felt his smile die as he bowed to his father. “Indeed, sir. I see the gossip has arrived ahead of me.”
The earl wore an irritated expression, his heavy jowls red underneath his white wig.
“Gossip!” Father snorted explosively as if Henry had maligned his character. “’Tis not gossip when the news is that the lost Albright girl has been found. Angrove has told me that the countess is convinced that the girl really is Lady Cecilia.” He paused to take a long drink of his wine before continuing, “The man’s my oldest friend, but I don’t know if I want a maidservant as the next Countess of Keating. Is the girl even literate?”
Henry felt his jaw clench—a regular occurrence when he conversed with his father. “I did meet her in a bookstore, Father. I hardly think she’d have been there if she couldn’t read.”
He rounded the table and sat beside Becca, accepting a glass of wine from Thomas the footman, which he drank gratefully. He had no wish to quarrel with his father.
“That may be so,” the old man was saying, frowning heavily, “but we’ve known Lady Joanna since she was a babe. The girl is quite fit to be a countess—pretty, dances well, and can make conversation. I’m rather fond of her.”
“As am I,” Henry said calmly. It wouldn’t do to point out that he’d long suspected that Joanna’s affections were otherwise engaged. His prospective bride’s emotions and opinion hardly mattered to his father. “I’ve always liked Joanna. But Lady Cecilia is just as lovely as her sister—they are twins, after all—and I feel she’s bright enough to learn whatever she needs to be my wife.”
He managed a smile at the end of his defense.
Not that his father noticed. His focus was on the beefsteak before him. “Ha. Is that so? Still. We are familiar with Lady Joanna.”
Across from him Kate was looking at him with wide eyes while Mother, at the opposite end of the table from the earl, looked as if something foul were in her wineglass.
Becca cleared her throat. “I confess I’m quite eager to meet Lady Cecilia.”
“Oh yes,” Kate chimed in quickly. “Why the life she’s lived must have been…erm…fascinating.”
Kate winced and shot Henry an apologetic look.
He stifled an urge to roll his eyes and leaned to the side as Thomas served him. His sisters were only trying to be helpful.
Mother set down her fork. “I think we ought to rely on Henry’s thoughts on the matter. After
all, he’ll be the one to actually wed Lady Cecilia.”
“Humph,” the earl grunted. “It’s my name she’ll bear.”
“And mine,” Henry pointed out mildly.
Beside him Becca had laid her hand on his leg as if to prevent his jumping up and storming out.
Ten years ago he might’ve done just that, but he was no longer an impetuous boy.
“George,” his mother said in a soft chiding tone to her husband.
“Oh, very well,” the earl huffed with little grace. “I’ll wait and watch the girl. But mark you this”—he shook his fork at Henry—“should I find Lady Cecilia lacking, I’ll insist on Lady Joanna.”
Henry’s jaw clenched even as Becca dug her fingers rather painfully into his leg. He dropped his knife to his plate, where it landed with a clatter. “Father, I—”
But Kate rushed into speech over him. “Oh, I heard the most scandalous tale today. Do you know that folly at the Letheridge estate? Well…”
Henry slowly relaxed, letting the women of the family smooth over his anger. That was the problem, wasn’t it? He loved his mother, loved both Becca and Kate—and his actions affected them, too. He was the heir, and everything he did was examined, not only by his father but also by all of society. If he did something scandalous—such as bowing out of an engagement made when he was in leading strings—the taint would fall on Becca and Kate as well. Their standing in society, their invitations to events, even their marriage prospects might fall.
It was no use arguing with his father when it was his sisters and mother who, in the end, bore the cost.
Besides. He’d won his point.
He’d make Lady Cecilia his bride.
The next morning Mary inhaled shakily in her new bedroom at Angrove House. The room was the size of the dormitory she’d slept in as a child at the orphanage. That room had held twenty girls.
This room was intended only for her.
Mary stared around and tried to beat down something that felt very much like panic.
The walls were painted a delicate pale green, like leaves when they’ve just opened in spring. Slender white pilasters divided the walls into panels, and within each panel was a pretty bas-relief of flowers and birds, painted in pink, blue, red, and yellow. A bed draped in yellow curtains stood to one side of the room, opposite the white-tiled fireplace. Delicate chairs upholstered in blue damask sat before the fireplace, and an elegant dressing table, a chest of drawers, and several tables stood around the room.
It was beautiful. Refined. Aristocratic.
She didn’t belong here. She wasn’t a lady. She wasn’t prepared to marry the son of an earl. She wasn’t even sure what she was supposed to do next.
Mary swallowed, wondering what would happen if she simply turned and fled back down the grand staircase of the house and out the front doors.
Jo and Lady Angrove had greeted her warmly at the door, but the earl—her father—had been detained by business. Mary wasn’t at all sure what to think of that. Perhaps he didn’t want to see her?
Perhaps he wished she’d never been found.
She smoothed damp palms down her skirts.
“Is this all, my lady?” the young woman who had been introduced as Mary’s lady’s maid asked. Her name was Lane, and her dress—red-and-white striped with small panniers and an abundance of ruffles on the skirts—was much nicer than the plain gray gown Mary wore.
Lane had bright-red hair and a round freckled face. The maid held up a clean but well-worn chemise, pursing her lips. She had been very polite from the moment Lady Angrove had introduced Mary to her. She’d addressed Mary respectfully and kept her face expressionless.
Even so, Mary could tell the maid was not best pleased to be serving a woman who two days ago would’ve been under Lane on the social scale.
Mary had never ordered anyone about.
On the other hand, if she didn’t take the reins at once, the lady’s maid might never respect her.
She inhaled and glanced at the soft bag Lane had placed on the bed. Inside was everything Mary owned in the world. She looked at the lady’s maid steadily and said, “Yes. That’s all.”
Lane hesitated for a fraction of a second and then folded the chemise. “I see, my lady.”
The maid crossed to the chest of drawers and began transferring Mary’s possessions into it.
“My mother,” Mary said, with slight emphasis to remind the lady’s maid of who she was, “informed me that the dressmaker would call this afternoon. I’m sure I’ll soon have new clothes.”
“Yes, my lady. But in the meantime I’ve been instructed to help you dress in one of Lady Joanna’s gowns today.”
Lane walked to a tall cabinet and opened it, revealing large shelves above a row of drawers. She took down a folded dress and shook it out before laying it on the bed. The dress was cream colored, with a pattern of delicate blue, red, yellow, and pink flowers woven into the fabric.
Lane cast a sly sideways glance at her. “I suppose this is the grandest dress you’ve ever worn.”
Of course it was. The gown might be Jo’s castoff, but it had cost more than Mary would’ve made in a year. She’d never worn anything but plain, practical linsey-woolsey.
But she couldn’t let Lane get away with her cheek.
Once Mary had seen Lady Caire set an impertinent housemaid right with a mere look.
Mary lifted her chin, not replying, her gaze steady and calm.
After a moment Lane bit her lip and looked down. She stroked the dress, her gaze averted. Her voice was softer when she said, “Two years old but still quite in fashion. Come, let me help you dress, my lady.”
Mary nodded and stepped forward.
It was strange having another woman undress her as if she were a small child. The lady’s maid efficiently stripped her of her worn gown and stays and then eyed Mary’s chemise.
It was plain and had several mended spots.
Lane turned back to the cabinet and pulled open several drawers. “It’s quite lucky that Lady Joanna is your twin, isn’t it, my lady? Her underthings should fit you as well.”
The maid produced a lovely lawn chemise, so fine it was nearly transparent, and a pair of silk stockings. Mary inhaled and took off her old chemise and stockings, fighting not to cover herself. A lady wouldn’t think anything of standing naked in front of her lady’s maid.
She was a lady now.
Mary stood still as the chemise was dropped over her head and Lane laced her into new stays. Next came the stockings, and then the lady’s maid was tying the pannier cage around Mary’s waist. The thin wooden frames arched like little mounds, one on either side of her hips. Mary had never worn panniers before, and they felt strange, making her overly aware of her hips.
The dress came last, first the skirts draped over the panniers and tied around her waist, and then the bodice and overskirt in one piece. The entire thing was drawn on like a banyan or robe. The sides of the bodice were pinned to a stomacher in the front—a lovely embroidered V-shaped insert—from the décolletage to her waist. The overskirts fell open in front, revealing the skirt beneath. Behind Mary a great curtain of fabric draped from her shoulders to the floor in elegant excess.
Lane knelt to hold two heeled slippers for Mary to step into. Then Mary sat at the dressing table while Lane brushed out and redressed her hair.
“There,” the lady’s maid said, sounding satisfied. “You look lovely, my lady. That gown does suit you.”
Mary stared at her reflection in the mirror above the dressing table. A lady stared back, clad in an elegant robe à la française, her hair in curls and ribbons atop her head.
The lady in the mirror looked calm and serene—not at all as Mary was feeling inside. Would Lord Blackwell find this woman attractive?
Perhaps alluring?
She shivered, not sure if she wanted him to see her in her finery or not. Would he think she was something she wasn’t if he did?
Mary turned away from the mirror.
She might be dressed like a lady, but she didn’t feel like one. “Thank you, Lane.”
The lady’s maid dipped into a curtsy as Mary left the bedroom.
Her skirts swept the floor with each step when Mary descended the stairs. She was careful to keep one hand on the banister, for she wasn’t used to either the weight of the dress or the tilting of the panniers as she moved.
She was to join Lady Angrove and the marchioness in one of the sitting rooms on the floor below. Mary had been shown the way before being led to her new bedroom, but now she paused as she reached the lower level. The hall ran both to the right and to the left, and there were doors in either direction. Which way was the sitting room?
Mary felt sweat bead at the small of her back.
She turned to the right, her panniers swaying gently as she walked in the heeled shoes. She was more used to practical buckled shoes with a wide square heel. The dainty slippers she wore were embroidered with tiny flowers over the toe and had a pointy little heel. They’d be ruined within a day if she wore these slippers on the street in St Giles.
Mary shook her head. She needed to find the sitting room, not contemplate beautiful, frivolous shoes.
She paused at the third door to the right. This might be the correct room, but she wasn’t entirely sure.
Mary squared her shoulders and opened the door.
She knew at once that she had the wrong room. Unlike the light and airy sitting room she sought, this was a dark-paneled room with no windows. A large desk took up nearly one half of the room, while at the other end several chairs were grouped before a roaring fire.
A stout gentleman in his middle years sat behind the desk, his head bent as he wrote on a piece of paper.
He looked up as Mary stood frozen in the doorway and peered impatiently at her over spectacles. “I told you I’m busy, Joanna.”
Mary swallowed. “I’m not Jo.”
Chapter Five
One day a land prince fell into the sea and sank beneath the waves. Clio seized the beautiful man and brought him to the shore. She watched from the sea until he regained his senses.
Once Upon a Maiden Lane Page 4