Whenever Hannah met Lady Loburn, she wondered how the lady’s daughter had not inherited her looks from either her mother or her lean father. It was a matter that aroused Hannah’s scientific curiosity, but good breeding kept her tongue silent.
“Lady Loburn.” Hannah bobbed a curtsey. “I have the entertainment for tonight. My mother said not to open it until the exact moment arrives.”
“Oh, brilliant. Thank you, Hannah.” She took the box from Hannah and brushed a hand over the top.
“May I do anything to assist?” Hannah asked.
Her hostess reached out and patted her cheek. “My little angel of efficiency. Could you please ensure the housekeeper has everything in hand below stairs, and then run up and see how our Lizzie progresses?”
“Of course. I do wish to see Lizzie before the ball commences. I have a letter for you from Mother.” She extracted the letter and set it atop the box.
A warm smile softened Lady Loburn’s sharp features. “Thank you. I do so look forward to news from Sera. I shall tuck this away to savour later, when I am alone.”
With tasks allocated, Hannah headed back along the main corridor to the hidden servants’ stair.
When her mother and father had been called to battle, the young Hannah was left in the care of Lady Loburn. She imagined an army camp preparing to meet the enemy looked a lot like the marquess’s kitchens. Maids in starched white aprons and men in their fine livery marched back and forth. Serving trays and dishes were arrayed on the long table, waiting to be filled and carried upstairs. Orders were shouted and staff jumped to fulfil the demands.
She spotted the housekeeper in her black uniform. The efficient woman had everything in hand, down to the timing of the hors d’oeuvres and the correct temperature of the champagne for the celebratory toasts. Satisfied the evening would run smoothly, Hannah headed back up the stairs and knocked on the door of a second floor bedroom.
“Come in,” someone said.
She pushed open the door into quite a different battlefield, the complete opposite of the ordered routine of the kitchens. Up here, chaos reigned. Women dashed back and forth, clutching clothing or accessories. The wardrobe doors hung open as though the piece of furniture had tried to fan itself in exhaustion. Drawers were half open, their contents draped over the sides. Even the bed was unmade, as though the occupant of the room had only recently arisen.
Three maids clustered around the dressing table with its large and ornate mirror. Their charge sat before it on a padded stool.
“Hannah!” Lizzie exclaimed from under all the attention. “Come tell me which earrings I should wear. We simply cannot decide.”
Hannah bent down and kissed the air next to Lizzie’s cheek and considered herself fortunate to have such a friend. Their mothers had been firm friends as girls and while one had married up and the other down, the two women had remained close. When they bore daughters at the same time, it seemed natural to continue the bonds of sisterhood to the next generation. When war intervened, Hannah had been raised under this roof with Lizzie; the two young women considered themselves sisters by friendship, rather than blood.
Hannah cast a critical eye over her best friend. Lizzie wore a pale pink silk gown with silver embroidery that offset her delicate complexion and blonde hair. The long curls were wound up on her head. A three-strap headpiece embellished with pearls kept the mountain of hair in place.
Next, she studied the fortune in jewellery scattered over the dressing table’s surface. Rubies, diamonds, and emeralds were tossed down as though they had been made of paper or paste. Hannah frowned. What were they thinking, trying to match a coloured gem to pink—to say nothing of her friend’s fair colouring? It would never do for her to clash with her earrings and necklace on such an important night.
“The diamonds. The colour won’t detract from your ensemble, but the sparkle will add to the effect.” She picked up the long drop earrings and handed them to the maid.
She watched to make sure her friend’s evening was perfect. “Your mother sent me to make sure you would be suitably late to go down.”
Lizzie laughed. “But how can I keep my darling Francis waiting? How I long to dance with him and feel his arms around me.”
Hannah waggled a finger in Lizzie’s face. “Don’t even think of being early. As a future duchess, you would spark a trend. You simply cannot have people arriving on your doorstep early. It won’t do.”
Lizzie shooed away the maids and rose. She was exactly the right height, with a plump bosom, enviable curves, and the alabaster skin of a woman who never encountered sunlight. Coupled with blonde hair and vivid blue eyes, Lizzie was the storybook beauty.
By comparison, Hannah’s brown hair and brown eyes allowed her to practically blend into the wood panelling, and she was too tall and flat-chested to ever attract the glances her friend’s form elicited.
Lizzie took her hands and a rare serious glint entered her gaze. “I cannot believe that I will soon be an old married woman.”
“It is no mystery to me. You have been inundated with suitors ever since you came out.” Hannah had watched the whirlwind of Lizzie’s debut. For three years she had considered her options. Many late nights had been spent in this bedroom discussing the merits of each suitor, but only one had captured her heart.
“If only we could find a suitable match for you.” Lizzie frowned and then chewed her lip. “I swear, as duchess it will be my first task to see you wed. Then we’ll have children to raise together, just as we were.”
Hannah shook their clasped hands and stopped her friend from a review of her discarded suitors. “Don’t, Lizzie. You know I have no desire to marry. Do not torment me so.”
The Fates had decreed she would walk a lonely path, but she didn’t want her sad state to remove some of the shine from Lizzie’s evening. Nothing should spoil her grand engagement party.
“At least, dear Hannah, do say you will consider being my companion once I am wed? I cannot imagine embarking on married life without you by my side. Who else will I discuss all the horrid details of my wedding night with?” Lizzie winked.
Hannah laughed. “But you could not possibly tell me tales of your wedded passion. It wouldn’t be seemly.”
“I don’t give a fig for seemly. Promise we are sisters forever? I cannot live without your friendship.” Lizzie held out her hand, pinkie finger extended.
Hannah drew a deep breath and smiled, then wrapped her pinkie finger around that of her friend. “I promise. When the day arrives that Mother and Father no longer need me, I shall devote myself to you and your family.”
Yes, she was loved and wanted.
Just not in the way that a woman longed for.
2
As the evening flowed, so did the champagne and the conversation. Hannah listened to the music and watched the dancers. There was comfort in being on the periphery of society. She could enjoy events as an observer without having the eyes of everyone upon her. In that regard she pitied the newly engaged woman, as every aspect of her person was minutely scrutinised. It reminded her of the samples her father placed on glass and peered at under his microscope.
Yet Elizabeth shone all the brighter with the attention and outsparkled the diamonds at her throat and earlobes. She took to the floor with her duke and everyone remarked upon how elegant and attractive they were as a couple. Francis Voss, the Duke of Harden, possessed the same blond colouring as his fiancée. While not a tall man, he had straight limbs and a finely hewn face with open, honest blue eyes. Overall, his countenance made women, both young and old, sigh as he passed.
Lizzie was besotted with her intended and would make a fine duchess. Hannah had no doubt her friend would mature into the sort of matron that others looked up to and sought out for her patronage.
Just watching them, it was obvious it was a love match and not one orchestrated by Lizzie’s parents. The couple had eyes for no one but each other, and they could have been dancing alone and not in a crowded ballroo
m. The duke adored his fiancée and a pang shot through Hannah’s chest. What would it be like, to have a man look at you like that and to know there was someone in the world who loved you in such a manner?
A dark shadow flowed across Hannah’s line of sight and she blinked. A wraith stalked the edges of the ballroom, marring the happy atmosphere with a mist of gloom. A shiver ran over her skin and she wondered if the man was really there, or if it were a nightmare apparition conjured by a mage. Perhaps she should have asked her mother to set wards around the mansion to ensure no demons or foul magic ruined the evening.
“I see Viscount Wycliff darkens our evening with his foul presence,” the heavily veiled woman beside her whispered.
Hannah recognised the outline and voice of the late Lady Albright. When her pulse had stopped, her husband had set her aside to subsist on the charity of others. Because noble ladies still walked among them, society had had to invent new rules to cope with the dead. The deceased Lady Albright was referred to as the late so as not to confuse her with the current Lady Albright.
“Who is he?” Hannah asked. She had never heard of the man, and was relieved that he was flesh and blood and not an evil spirit come to steal Lizzie’s happiness.
The Afflicted woman leaned closer to Hannah and she caught the faint whiff of cloves, used to disguise the sweet rot that consumed her flesh. “Once, they were a fine family, but no more. His father was the worst kind of wastrel and money ran through his fingers as though it were water. Jonas Balfour is now the Viscount Wycliff but lacks any fortune to sustain the title.”
“A fortune is not the only thing he lacks,” a matron in puce silk interjected. “Manners also escape him. With his abominable rudeness, he scared off the only prospects who might have allowed him to rebuild his estate. His only hope now is to find some oblivious woman who is equally rude, like a title-hunting American heiress.”
The women murmured agreement and then fell silent as a black gaze swept over them. Had he heard them from across the room? Impossible.
Hannah looked away, choosing instead to study a floral arrangement on the side table next to her chair. She counted herself fortunate that she was not the sort of woman to blush, but why didn’t the viscount look away? She wanted a man to look at her with a heated stare, not one that seemed filled with scorn and, from the way his brows had drawn together, disapproval.
“Hannah, there you are.” Lady Loburn swooped in, like the hawk who had spotted the mouse hiding in the long grass. “Would you fetch your mother’s surprise from the marquess’s study for me? I left it just inside the door.”
“Of course.” Hannah was relieved to escape the ballroom and the dark presence who absorbed all happiness with a look.
As she passed through the assembly, she brushed by the group clustered around Lord Albright and the current Lady Albright. Glances were cast toward the black veiled form of his previous wife, still talking to the other matrons. Hannah hoped there wasn’t going to be a scene. Society loved to feast on the spectacle when the legally widowed lord paraded his young wife in front of his deceased, but still ambulatory, former wife.
The marquess’s study was not far from the ballroom and Hannah headed along the hallway toward the front of the house. As she passed the parlour door, a sob caught her attention. She peered through the open door and saw a young woman sitting on a chaise, her shoulders heaving as she wept.
Unable to walk by a woman in distress, Hannah stepped inside. “Miss? Is everything all right?”
The woman raised her head and wiped tears from her cheek with the back of her hand. She was of an age similar to Hannah’s, with dark brown curls that bobbed around her face. Sad brown eyes reminded Hannah of a shivering puppy she’d once seen on the street.
“Yes. Thank you. I foolishly spilled red wine on my dress and it is quite ruined.” She picked at a series of red marks on her pale green gown.
Hannah squinted at the splatter. It didn’t look like red wine, but something darker and thicker. Like tomato soup, but she was certain no such course had been served this evening. “Would you like me to fetch a maid? We might be able to clean it off.”
“Oh. No. I don’t want to be any bother. Silly to cry over a dress, I know, but it’s new.” Her hands scrunched the fabric and the stain disappeared within the folds.
Hannah well understood the despair of ruining a new gown, especially among those who seldom had the extra coin to keep abreast of fashion. She had stayed away from any food on the buffet that might have dribbled onto hers. “If you are sure you do not require assistance, I do have an errand to run for the marchioness.”
The other woman rose from the sofa. “I’ll go back to the party. I’m sure no one will notice the mark but me.”
Hannah followed the woman out and then turned in the opposite direction to continue on to the marquess’s study. The wooden box sat on a sideboard just inside the door. She longed to know what her mother had created to mark Lizzie’s engagement, but could wait a few more minutes for her curiosity to be sated.
With the box clutched to her middle, Hannah hurried back to the ballroom. She hummed to the music, but a chord froze in her mouth at the sight of the cool blonde by the double doors. A vivid blue dress clung to her form and revealed the swell of her bosom. A tall man with dark hair rested one arm on the wall by her head. Hannah didn’t recognise the man, but she did have the misfortune to be acquainted with the young woman.
The man glanced at Hannah and then leaned down to whisper in the woman’s ear.
A throaty laugh mingled with the music from within. “Oh, that is no one important. Only Miss Hannah Miles fetching and carrying, as her sort should.”
“I do hope you are having a pleasant evening, Lady Gabriella,” Hannah murmured, and ignored the noblewoman’s barb. She was only making sport for her latest beau.
Hannah stood at the top of the ballroom stairs and surveyed the crowd. She spotted Lady Loburn now in a cluster around the happy couple. Sir Hugh stood in the entrance to the billiards room talking to a group of men, no doubt explaining to them all how his research advanced. The upper echelon were keenly interested in whether he had identified a cure, wanting their wives and daughters retrieved from death’s clutches. Men who had already remarried, such as Lord Albright, were less keen on a cure.
Viscount Wycliff circled the outer edge of the group, like a shark about to dive through a school of fish. What interest had he in her father’s work? Perhaps an Afflicted sister or cousin? How odd that the men all kept their backs to the nobleman. Every one declined to acknowledge his presence in a public snub. In that case, why had the man been invited at all? She would have to ask Lizzie the reason later.
He glanced up and in her direction. Hannah gripped the box more tightly and concentrated on the stairs beneath her feet. It wouldn’t do to fall and tumble the box to the floor. She made her way toward the evening’s hostess and caught the lady’s eye.
“Perfect timing, Hannah. Come along.” Lady Loburn took Lizzie’s hand and that of the duke and led them out on the dance floor. She said nothing, but simply waited for the crowd to fall silent.
Anticipation raced around the room as people shuffled toward the walls, leaving the four of them alone in the centre. Elizabeth rested her hand on the duke’s arm and her eyes sparkled with happiness. Hannah held the box and reassured herself that everyone was looking at Lizzie, not at her.
When Lady Loburn held the attention of everyone present, she spoke. “We have gathered tonight to celebrate the engagement of Lady Elizabeth to his grace, the Duke of Harden. To mark this occasion I have a special surprise. A gift created by the mage, Lady Seraphina Miles.”
Lady Loburn gestured to Hannah. Taking her cue, Hannah set the nondescript box on the floor and undid the brass catch. Then she flicked the lid open and stepped back. Her mother had not whispered a single word about the gift and Hannah had not a clue to prepare her for what might emerge. It could be a unicorn or a troop of dancing mermaids.
The light grew into a pillar rising from the small box. It reached two feet, then four, and soon it was six feet tall and still reaching toward the ceiling like a magic beanstalk in a fairy tale. As the shaft of light grew, the candles in the ballroom dimmed until the room was in darkness except for the glow from the enchantment.
A murmur ran through the crowd as the luminescent shape continued to climb until it brushed the ceiling. Then the column began to pulse and hum. A few seconds passed, then it exploded, to a surprised gasp from everyone present. As though it were made of glass, the pillar shattered into thousands of pieces that flew outward. Women cringed and men held up their arms to ward off the shards, but before the slivers could reach anyone, they transformed into glittering butterflies.
Cries of wonder arose from those assembled as crystal butterflies circled the room. As they flew, their wings emitted a musical refrain. With each beat, they caught and refracted light and sent rainbows spinning in every direction. Twice around the room they swooped. Then they turned like a flock of birds and descended on the engaged couple.
Lizzie and her fiancé disappeared under a glittering curtain. Tinkling noises and giggles came from behind the living wall. Over a number of long moments, the butterflies reformed until the couple were clothed in the dazzling artificial insects. Lizzie wore a tiara and gown composed of butterfly gems. The duke wore a bespoke suit of tiny vibrating crystals, including one clinging to his cravat to become a stock pin.
The duke took Lizzie’s hand and the two of them experimented by taking a few steps. Murmurs of wonder came from the watchers as the butterflies swayed with the couple and their wings gave off a musical note to accompany the movement.
Manners and Monsters, #1 Page 2