Emily Hendrickson (2 page)

“Perhaps,” Elizabeth replied in a noncommittal tone.

“When is your birthday?” Chloe inquired, while drawing little hearts around the edge of the paper.

“Mine comes in April, while Hyacinth’s is in March. Why?” Elizabeth knew that her aunt believed all sorts of things, and one could be entertained for hours listening to her ramble on. She appeared to believe in every one of her collection of superstitions.

“Mama says April has a precious stone, the diamond, which stands for innocence. March has a bloodstone, which means courage and presence of mind. I should say that fits Hyacinth admirably. I have yet to meet anyone with more presence of mind.”

“Chloe,” the redheaded Hyacinth cautioned. “That is nonsense, no matter how pretty it sounds. What else?”

“Mama says that two lovers can find out if they will suit by going out at night and picking a flower. If the stem is straight and smooth, their lives will be like that. But if the flower is crooked or spoiled, take caution.” Chloe’s eyes twinkled with delight. “And she also says that if you eat a piece of bride’s cake before you go to sleep, you will see a vision of your future husband.”

Hyacinth and Elizabeth exchanged guarded looks. Elizabeth tried hard not to laugh; Hyacinth appeared to reflect on the subject.

“Did you know that if you put a clover leaf in your right shoe, the first man you meet will be your love? Or at the very least someone who has that name,” Chloe continued, aware that her cousins did not agree with their aunt’s little notions. “Of course, you might recite a special verse first. It goes—”

“Spare us, Chloe. Since it is mid-winter, ‘tis unlikely we shall find a clover leaf. And we have other things to concern us.” Hyacinth ruthlessly stopped Chloe with her words, and the younger girl subsided warily.

“Well, Mama may follow tradition and have each person draw names as they enter the ballroom, the girls to be paired with the young man whose name she’s drawn.”

“I think that might be horrid,” Hyacinth observed.

“Not if your valentine presents you with a lovely gift, as is custom here,” Chloe replied. “Last year Mama received some very pretty gloves from her valentine, Mr. Smithers. He also sent her a very lovely valentine, embossed on paper from Dobbs, and very gallant it was, too. Although it was folded like a letter, it had hearts and cupids with love knots on it. I fancy I should like one like that, for it is superior to homemade ones, do you not think?”

“It is the message and intent that is most important, I suppose,” Hyacinth murmured.

“The homemade ones require talent as well,” Elizabeth added. Relieved to find no other superstitions associated with Valentine’s Day, she was only too willing to put aside her nearly finished engraving and join in completing the plans for the ball.

“Is it agreed that we shall extend invitations to Lord Norwood and Lord Leighton? Aunt Bel will be in alt if they accept, and surely they must, for anyone can tell them that her ball is most delightful.” Hyacinth cast a cautious glance at Elizabeth before proceeding to address two invitations in her flowing copperplate. “I shall send one of the footmen with these.”

“You sound as though you will take no chances,” Elizabeth joked.

“Indeed,” Hyacinth murmured as she gathered up a few papers with notes for the party before leaving the room. She paused at the door. “Is Norwood a rake as well?”

“I suspect he is.” Weren’t they all? Elizabeth could only hope that the illness that had affected Lord Crompton and had brought Lord Leighton on the run was serious enough to keep the young rake from attending the ball.

* * * *

Excitement ran high the following day when formal acceptances were received from both gentlemen.

Aunt Bel studied Elizabeth before offering her thoughts. “I believe we shall have the cream of parties, my dears. There is not a mother around who will fail to see that her children attend. The young ladies should hope to catch the eye of the titled gentlemen, the young men would strive to learn the manners of a London beau.”

“Even if he is a rake?” Elizabeth kept her eyes on her plate, pushing around the buttered eggs that had appealed to her a short time before.

“A titled, wealthy rake is always forgiven. Besides, everyone knows that a reformed rake makes the best husband,” Aunt Bel said complacently.

“Another of your beliefs?” Elizabeth nudged her plate away, concentrating on the scrap of toast in her hand.

“I have seen it happen more than once.” Lady Montmorcy finished the last of her chocolate, then consulted the locket watch she always wore. “Time to attend to the acceptances. I suspect others will quickly learn of our important guests. Word does spread. Not that our little affair would not be well attended all the same. I like to think the ball relieves the tedium of February. I only hope it does not snow.” This last remark was said with a worried glance out of the window.

Elizabeth rose from the table to walk to the windows. Outside the gray skies did not hold the promise of fair weather. “It may wait, or possibly it will rain, and I doubt that will be any more welcome. The roads are bad enough as they are.”

“Are London streets better? Neatly cobbled and even?” Chloe demanded to know.

“Cobbled, yes. Better? No. They smell, and are anything but even. One endures what one must, I expect.”

“How can you like the spring in London if it smells?”

“It is the company, love, not the condition of the streets,” Elizabeth said, then chuckled as she recalled the many times she and Victoria had dashed madly about London while using their individual talents for the government. Did she miss the excitement, the daring subterfuge? She wasn’t sure. She had welcomed the quiet haven at Aunt Bel’s, but now sensed all was due to change.

She expressed as much to Hyacinth when they went up to bed the evening before the ball.

“It is far and away the silliest thing I have ever heard,” Hyacinth scolded in her pretty manner.

“I cannot help it,” Elizabeth replied slowly. “I have this feeling, a sensation of complete reordering.”

“Well, I am going to put up my hair in papers and retire for the night. I rather envy those chestnut curls of yours. You do not have to sleep with little knobs all over your head beneath a nightcap. Do you know that I have the prettiest collection of nightcaps? Mine are all embroidered and trimmed in lovely lace.”

Near Elizabeth’s door they were confronted by the sight of Aunt Bel directing several maids. They were carrying Elizabeth’s clothes from the green room, where she had been residing. Hyacinth’s maid was carefully transporting all of her belongings across the hall to the green room.

“What is this. Aunt Bel?” Elizabeth demanded.

“I have decided that the pink room is to be yours, Elizabeth. The green one is more for Hyacinth. Her unfortunate coloring, you see.”

“I see nothing unfortunate about lovely red hair and beautiful white skin, even if she does have a freckle or two,” Chloe stated in ringing terms as she joined the others.

“You do like pink, even if you wear aquamarine most of the time?” Aunt Bel said with an anxious look at Elizabeth now that the deed was done.

“Of course. Aunt, it will be fine, as long as Hyacinth does not mind,” Elizabeth said, trying to soothe her aunt.

“I had this vision, you see. It clearly told me to switch you girls.” Aunt Bel stared off into space a moment before returning her attention to the maids.

“Who are we to argue with a vision?” Hyacinth said with rare good humor.

Elizabeth suspected that as long as Hyacinth’s clothes were in order, and the bed comfortable, she really did not mind. “I fancy you will like the green room, Hyacinth. The view is ever so pretty and the sun warms you in the morning.”

Aware it would not be proper to make a fuss, Hyacinth smiled and strolled into her new room.

Elizabeth watched until the door closed, then turned to her aunt. “Is that the real reason for the change? Not that I mind, for ‘tis a lovely room. But it has been hers all these months.”

“She misses her parents, it will keep her mind occupied.”

“They have been gone over a year now, she is out of mourning. I suspect the advent of two qualified London beaux will more than keep her busy.”

“She is exceedingly proper, and is not given to the ruses taken by other young ladies,” Aunt Bel assured.

Elizabeth wondered how her aunt could be so blind, then shrugged
off
the feeling that Hyacinth was being catered to while she, who’d lost her parents many years before, was not.

Actually, the pink peony room, as Aunt Bel delighted to call it, was more to Elizabeth’s taste than the green jade room. Around her, the walls bloomed with luscious peonies amid oriental traceries of leaves and vines. The bed hangings were a deep peony pink that ought to have clashed with her hair but didn’t. On the floor, a thick carpet with the same colors woven into peonies on a pale cream background looked lush and inviting.

The wardrobe doors stood open, revealing the rows of gowns in the aquamarine Elizabeth favored. The color matched her eyes, she’d been told often enough, and it was one of her few points of vanity. The aquamarine was also reflected in touches here and there about the room, much better than the conflicting jade.

The tap on her door some minutes later was not totally unexpected.

Hyacinth stuck her head around the door, then slipped inside. “What do you make of this exchange?” She spread her arms out to encompass the room.

“One of Aunt’s little oddities. I trust it does not upset you?” Elizabeth eyed her cousin with a few misgivings. Hyacinth might not throw tantrums, but she could make life very unpleasant if she decided to be annoyed.

“Mercy, no. But it is strange. One never knows what Aunt Bel will do or say next.” Hyacinth prudently seated herself on a slipper chair of rich peony velvet.

“Which makes for a life that is never dull, at any rate.” Elizabeth chuckled at the grimace that crossed her cousin’s face.

“I know you were teasing when you said you intended to remain in bed all day tomorrow. But really, you do not fear that Aunt Bel truly believes in that nonsense?” Hyacinth leaned forward, studying her cousin’s expression intently.

“I believe she does, but what she might do at the ball, I cannot say. She is not predictable,” Elizabeth concluded in a great understatement of the matter.

“I have noticed that you have behaved a bit peculiarly these past weeks. Even before I noticed that Lords Leighton and Norwood were in the vicinity.’’ Hyacinth studied the toe of her embroidered slipper, assuming a very nonchalant mien.

“I’ll admit I was taken aback to discover Lord Leighton was in this area,” Elizabeth confessed.

“Do I detect a romance?” said the ever romantic Hyacinth, perking up to watch her cousin as she brushed her curls, preparing for the night.

“That is absolutely the most utter nonsense! He treated me more like a sister. Lord Leighton is a monstrous tease. What a pity he did not have a string of siblings upon whom to vent his inclination—not that they would have enjoyed it any more than I did,” she concluded acidly.

“You do not like him?”

“I loathe the man,” Elizabeth declared, although quietly, and with less conviction than she ought.

“Fascinating.”

“Do not tell me that hate is akin to love, for I’ll not listen. Julia reminded me of that before I left London.”

“Your sister is most likely right, having been married and all. Marriage makes a woman a woman, or so my mother always said,” Hyacinth murmured wistfully.

“Go to bed, Hyacinth. I am worn to flinders what with the preparations for the ball. I should think you would be, too.” Elizabeth made shooing motions with her hands, but wore an affectionate look on her face that belied any cross feelings.

“I shall see you in the morning. Be careful who you meet after midnight!” Hyacinth giggled and fled to her room.

Alone, Elizabeth felt free to indulge in singing a little tune. As customary, she tucked her pistol beneath her pillow, something she had done for the past few years. A life in London that had been filled with spies and daring deeds had prompted her to keep the gun handy. Even though all that was behind her, old habits died hard.

She crossed to open the French window a crack, inhaling the crisp, cold air with relish. The windows led to a charming balcony. At least it likely seemed such in the summer, when the wisteria bloomed. There was no one out there now to hear her, for she was a dreadful singer, having what her family tolerantly referred to as a tin ear.

The melody was one she loved, and wished she could have done justice to, but alas, she couldn’t. So she sang and hummed in the privacy of her room.

A glance in the looking glass told her that her nightgown draped quite nicely about her in sheer cambric folds, its tiny bodice covered in exquisite embroidery. Over her head she pulled a dainty nightcap of lace and cambric, tying the ribbons neatly under her chin before crawling beneath the covers.

She had barely drifted into a good sleep when she heard it. A noise.

Suddenly alert, she stealthily sought the gun beneath her pillow. Her fingers groped for the not-so-very-small firearm. A crack shot, she knew how to handle the weapon once she had it balanced in her hand.

She waited, scarcely daring to breathe.

Another sound, a scraping noise that one might make while floundering about in the dark.

Elizabeth took aim at that noise, then cautiously waited to see if the intruder would identify him or herself.

Silence. Then another soft bump and a muttered curse.

Elizabeth was correct. Danger lurked, even in the heart of the country. She wavered in her resolve, reluctant to shoot yet fearful of what might befall her if she called for help. The intruder might attack her before help could come! She had never thought to actually shoot
at
someone, only fixed targets, tame round objects stuffed with straw. Too terrified to cry out a challenge, she knew she must defend herself the best she could.

Taking a careful breath, she squeezed the trigger, knowing she had but one chance to hit her target. A muffled cry told her that her shot had struck its quarry. Another sound prompted her to believe the person had fallen to the floor. With trembling fingers she placed the gun on the table, lit her bedside lamp, then slid from beneath the covers.