Without thinking Ella said, “Who is Countess Perruche?” Oh, fie!
“Ella!”
“Mama?”
“I shall rouse your papa at once.”
“I shall cry if you do.”
“No you won’t. You never cry. Where have you been?” Ella pressed her hands to her cheeks and willed herself to be calm and sensible. “To Sibley’s Club in St. James Street.”
Once more Mama’s voice failed. She backed to the little pink damask chair and sat again—with an audible bump.
“I had to—”
Mama held up a silencing hand. “That is a gentlemen’s club, Ella.”
“Yes.”
“You went inside this place?”
“Yes.”
“You… How did you get there?”
“Potts—”
“Potts!” Mama closed her eyes for an instant. “Naturally. How can I even think of chiding the poor man? He is butter in your wheedling fingers.”
“I seem to recall that he is also butter in your fingers, Mama.” Potts had been a coachman in the employ of Mama’s family for more years than he claimed to remember. After her marriage, Mama had persuaded him to work for the Rossmaras. “Papa has told me how you made some risky journeys in Potts’s company.” Potts invariably did his best to dissuade his employers from questionable excursions, but could always be relied upon to do as he was asked eventually—and to hold his tongue.
“We will not refer to those occasions. Why did you go to this club?”
“To make Saber see me.”
Silence followed. Mama sat further back in the chair. Saber was her cousin, and she loved him dearly. She plucked at the ribbons on her robe and turned her face away.
“Saber belongs to Sibley’s Club. He goes there frequently. I found out a legend about a ghost that only madmen see, and I pretended I was that ghost.”
“Oh, Ella, how could you?”
“You know how I could! I love him and he loves me, yet he will not even see me.”
“He will not see any of us. He has not seen any of us for years—not since, well, not for years.”
“I love him,” Ella repeated stubbornly. “You think you love him. You’re little more than a child.” Ella tossed the gray veil on top of her pink counterpane. “I am twenty. And, in case you have forgotten, I am in London at the urging of you and Papa because you want to get rid of me.”
“Ella!”
“Well, anyway.” Mama’s stricken expression chastened Ella. “I’m sorry. You don’t want to get rid of me, but you do want me to find a husband and marry. Children don’t marry, or they shouldn’t. So you must consider me a woman, mustn’t you?”
The ribbons suffered considerable punishment. “You will always try to twist my words,” Mama said.
“No. For three years you have urged me to make a Season. Surely that means I am all but an old maid by now.”
Mama’s chin rose. “Since there was a certain Lady Justine Girvin who did not marry until she was an ancient of five and thirty, I doubt if that same lady considers you an old maid.”
Mama referred to herself. Hoping only to be near him, she had followed the man she loved to Scotland and become not only his good friend, but his wife. Struan, Viscount Hunsingore, had swept Justine away and refused to accept less than her hand in marriage.
Orphaned Ella and her younger brother, Max, had already had the great fortune to be rescued from dire circumstances by the viscount. After the marriage the couple had promptly adopted Ella and Max. That had been three years earlier and there were now two more small Rossmaras at home in Scotland. Edward was two and his sister, Sarah, just a year old.
“I asked about Countess Perruche,” Ella persisted. A flush rose on Mama’s cheeks.
Ella tapped a toe impatiently. “What does it mean when a lady is referred to as demanding? And when a gentleman says he needs time away from her to regain his strength?”
Mama closed her eyes and kept them closed. “Is she a ladybird?”
“You know entirely too much, my girl.” Mama rallied and sat quite straight. “These are not matters for an innocent like yourself to consider.”
“Innocent?” Ella tossed her head. “I have seen things—”
“Do not mention that. You are an innocent. If your father and I could erase the memories, we would. We are grateful you were blindfolded through much of your time in that place. But regardless, what you were forced to witness did not touch your person, thank goodness. You are not only innocent, you are the dearest daughter any parent could have. I will not listen to you saying otherwise.”
Unfamiliar tears sprang into Ella’s eyes, and she turned quickly away. “I love you,” she said softly.
She heard Mama sniff before she said, “Come here. We must talk about this situation. We should have talked about it a long time ago.”
Ella went to her and sat on a plump tapestry stool near her feet. “He pretended he did not see me,” she mumbled.
Mama stroked her hair and placed a kiss on her brow. “I know the legend. Surely no man would admit to seeing a ghost at Sibley’s unless he was prepared to be considered insane.”
“True. But I took off my veil and I know Saber recognized me—even though he never looked at me directly.”
“Ella! What of the other gentlemen there?”
“All about two hundred years old and all pretending they saw nothing. They’ll never mention the incident. Saber could have remained behind if he’d wanted to.”
“That is an extraordinary gown,” Mama said, perusing the gray silk more closely. “What exactly is beneath it?”
Ella hunched her shoulders. “Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing, Mama. It’s supposed to appear ethereal. Undergarments might spoil the impression.”
“The lack of undergarments presents far too much impression. Where did you acquire the … Where did you get that thing?”
“I cannot say,” Ella told her. “Please do not ask again.” Rose, a favorite maid, had been coerced into buying the garment from a woman who made theatrical costumes.
“If your papa learns of this we shall undoubtedly ask about the finer points again.” A faraway expression entered Mama’s eyes. “How did Saber appear? Is he completely recovered from his injuries, do you think?”
Ella’s frustration resurfaced with fresh force. “His hair is long. It curls over his collar. I saw nothing more than his sideways glances while he pretended I was not there. But when he left he stood straight and walked well.” She swallowed. Sad longing crept about her heart. “He is Saber and I love him. Why has he decided to ignore me?”
“Who told you this ghost story?”
“Do not change the subject,” Ella said, changing the subject herself. “Tell me about Countess Perruche? Have you heard of her?”
“She is French,” Mama said simply. “A toast with a great many vague rumors circulating about her. Some refer to her as a courtesan sought after by many men who want …I cannot imagine Saber having any connection to her.”
“He said he would love me forever.”
Mama’s hand grew still in Ella’s hair. “You never told me that.”
“I was a child then. When Papa first brought Max and me to Cornwall and we all met you. Saber told me he would look after me forever—that I could always go to him. He helped me when I discovered my birth mother had died.”
“Ah, yes.”
“I have not forgotten even if he has,” Ella said vehemently. “And if he has forgotten I shall find a way to remind him.”
“Ella—”
“This French toast had best seek another admirer. Not that I believe for a moment that Saber would dally with such a person. I only agreed to this Season because I heard he was in London. He is trying to deny his natural desires, and it will not do. It will not do at all.”
“Oh, Ella, please—”
“No! No, I shall not be diverted. Some might consider this evening’s events
a calamity. I see them in quite another light.”
“You are so headstrong.” Mama held Ella’s face between her hands. “We will talk to your father, my poppet. I know he will consider your plea, but you cannot assume that his wishes and yours will be the same. And, in the end, we must abide by his decisions—even if we do not always fully appreciate his wisdom. Promise me you will go on no more wild excursions, and that you will allow us to deal with these matters for you.”
“By all means deal with whatever you can, as long as it means Saber and I are together at last.” She heard her own demanding tones but could not turn back. “If I made him uncomfortable tonight, just wait until I decide how to approach him next!”
“Sin’s ears! I shall have to watch you every moment. We cannot have you running around in the night. You will be ruined. And, lest you forget the way of things entirely, we are in London to launch you. We shall do so admirably, I assure you. I, too, embrace the power of love, but there can be no question of any hasty decisions regarding your future.”
Ella collected herself. She was being foolish. Under no circumstances must she risk her freedom. “I am being silly.” She laughed lightly. “This has been too much. Too long a day and night after all the excitement of arriving in London. The modiste. The shopping. Getting ready for such lovely affairs. Don’t worry for another instant.”
Mama narrowed her eyes. “You change your tune too quickly, my girl. Don’t think you can trick me so easily.”
“I mean it.” Lying was wrong, but her life was at stake— any chance she might have for happiness. “Isn’t there a soiree the day after tomorrow?”
“Yes,” Mama said slowly, still looking deeply suspicious. “The first major event of the Season. The Eagletons’ soiree. It will be good to see James and Celine again. It’s been too long.”
“I’m so looking forward to that,” Ella said. “I must decide what to wear.” What she wore concerned her not one bit. She would direct a note to Saber at once, informing him that she would hope to see him at the Eagletons’. Not that he would respond—or appear—but meanwhile she would contemplate her next move.
“There was a particular reason for my visiting your rooms this evening,” Mama said in a tone that assured Ella’s complete attention. “Your papa had suggested we await further developments before mentioning the subject to you. I decided I would at least give you a hint that something momentous may be afoot. Men do not always understand the way a woman’s mind works, do they?”
There was something indefinable, something ominous hidden in those words. “You are the expert on these things.” Mama had written a book on the subject of relationships between men and women, a famous volume that Ella had yet to be allowed to read. “What exactly is this momentous something?”
With the rustle of sumptuous satin, Mama got to her feet once more. “Nothing definite yet. Not until Struan has received them.”
Ella wrinkled her brow and got up too. “Them? Until Papa receives whom? What can you mean?”
“I really mustn’t go entirely against his wishes. You shall learn about it tomorrow if he decides there is something we should consider.”
“Consider?” Ella all but squealed. “Consider what?”
“Ooh”—Mama waved a hand airily—“I do not know them personally. I’m not even entirely certain how well Struan is acquainted with them.” She approached the door.
“I shall explode! You cannot leave me with such intriguing hints and nothing more.”
“Tomorrow, Ella. You must be patient until tomorrow. But I will tell you that serious interest has been tendered. Interest in you. In your hand in marriage.”
Chapter Two
Ella remembered the smells, the sights, the feel of London in the early hours of the morning. She remembered them too well.
Smoke and dust, and a suggestion of animal sweat and leather… and old fear. A bite to the air. And over and around it all, a faintly silvered mist unfurling beneath the blue-black sky.
Tonight the scent of fear was imagined, of course—a recollection of her wretched days in Whitechapel. There, in the eastern reaches of the city, the buildings crowded meanly together and most of those about at this time of night were about mean business. She was not in Whitechapel now. Between Hanover Square and her destination lay nothing but the fine homes of the wealthy. The wealthy who were all tucked into their sweetly scented sheets preparing for the next day of pampered appetites.
The wheels of the Rossmara town coach ground through the streets, echoed over the sounds of the horses’ hoofs and creaking tack. Ella huddled in a corner and tried to feel nothing but the jarring sway of the carriage.
Not thinking about what she had set out to do was impossible. She was on a desperate mission. Nothing less would have sent her to awaken poor Potts and beg him to perform yet another service guaranteed to make him grumble fiercely, if quietly.
Desperate. Desperate. Desperate.
The word repeated with the turning of the great wheels. She had no choice but to take desperate steps to avert a desperate situation.
Papa was to receive some people who would discuss the disposition of her person as if she were a body without a mind? Never. She would die before she would submit to such horror.
The coach slowed.
Perhaps she should just die anyway.
The coach crunched to a halt.
Ella covered her mouth. Her heart felt in danger of leaping away completely.
There was no expected sag of the springs under Potts’s dismounting weight.
“You’ll change your mind, Miss Ella,” he said when she’d at last coaxed him into making the journey. “At least, I hopes t’Gawd you changes your mind.”
Now he was waiting for her to do exactly that.
Beyond the windows lay the dark facade of a terrace of grand houses. Very dark. Barely a glimmer of light showed anywhere.
Ella reached up and rapped for Potts.
The trap slid open. “Miss?”
“Oh, Potts, don’t be so difficult.”
“Difficult? Me? Oh, no, I mustn’t be difficult, must I? Drivin’ around in the middle of the night. Runnin’ the risk of ’is lordship ’avin me guts fer garters.”
Despite her agitation, Ella grinned. Potts had never been one to temper his language. “I shall pay my visit now, if you please.”
His grumbling fell so low, she no longer heard the words.
When he handed her down, she requested, “Await me here, please, Potts. And do not concern yourself. I shall be quite safe.” She did not tell him she’d come to the house in Burlington Gardens once before—when she’d been certain Saber would be out. On that occasion she’d found an unexpected accomplice in her cause, but “safe” hardly described the way he’d made her feel.
“It’s almost three of a mornin’, miss. What’ll anyone think—?”
“Hush,” she told him. “I am in no danger, I tell you. I have a message to deliver and then we’ll return to Hanover Square at once.”
“That’s what you said when we went to that gentlemen’s club last night. You was gone—”
“That was then. This is now.” She left him, ran up a flight of stone steps to the front door, and pulled the bell before she could change her mind.
Somewhere inside the building a faint jangle sounded.
Ella waited. She felt Potts’s eyes on her back but would not turn around.
She pulled the bell again.
Almost three in the morning. Mama and Papa were asleep. Ella had waited long enough to be certain of that. And she must return and be asleep before they awoke or her world would crack apart.
Her world was already threatening to crack apart. Everyone was asleep here too.
A burst of jewel-toned glow through the fanlight above the door made her jump. The soft swish, swish of footsteps approached, and the door opened.
Ella looked directly into the face of the wiry little man who stood there. She whispered, “Good evening, Mr. Bigun
.”
“Bigun,” he said shortly, scowling his annoyance at being disturbed. Worn over full, white trousers, his red brocade tunic was wrongly buttoned. “The evening is gone. The morning has come.”
“Bigun,” Ella amended hastily. “And it’s not quite morning, although I do know it soon will be. That is why I’m so anxious to complete my business and leave you to resume your rest.”
He inclined his head. “So you say.” He wore a slightly askew gold turban, the same gold turban she’d seen on the occasion of her first visit. “Had you not disturbed my rest, it would not have to be resumed.” His voice bore a mysteriously clipped foreign accent quite unfamiliar to Ella.
She smiled brilliantly at him. The effort was wasted. Haughty disapproval remained on his fine-boned, bronzed face. Ella continued to smile. “I wanted to thank you for telling me about Sibley’s Ghost. And to report on my progress in the little matter we discussed.”
His right hand shot out and he jerked her into a vestibule hung with lengths of silk that matched his tunic. “Do not speak loud,” he said, bringing his large, dark eyes nearer to her face. He closed the door. “I told you. Nothing more. Nothing repeated. Now you go, miss.”
But he had given her a weapon to make certain she did not have to go—not immediately, anyway. “You do not wish me to speak loudly?”
He shook his head. “Then I won’t…. But I do need to talk to you about Sibley’s—”
Bigun’s fingers closed on her wrist once more and he hauled her with him across tessellated black and white tiles. Her kidskin half-boots made no more sound than the servant’s soft, gold slippers.
The room into which he drew Ella completely stole her carefully prepared and persuasive speech.
Bigun closed them in and set about lighting too few of the candles held aloft by an extraordinary company. Ivory and jade figures, some more or less human, some reptilian or beastlike, offered up thin, white tapers in golden vessels. On her previous visit Ella and Bigun had conversed in the vestibule. She rather thought she might prefer to return there.
“I came to see Lord Avenall,” she said shakily when her voice at last returned.
“You did not make progress at Sibley’s.” Bigun faced her. The scanty flickerings from the candles wove fingers of yellow through the shadowy crowd. “You failed. My decision was wrong. What occurred there troubled my master.”
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