“No, no. None of that.” Her arm trapped Evangeline’s closer. “I refuse to sew alone.”
And in short order, Evangeline found herself in a large rectangular room decorated with a smattering of sofas and chaises, gold-papered walls, a small crackling fire, and an overstuffed wicker basket teeming with threaded needles and bits of cloth. No windows filtered light into the stuffy interior. Instead, oil-on-canvas landscapes filled the walls, just as they did in almost every other room.
Susan flounced over to the sofa nearest the basket of samplers, yanked a half-finished pattern from the pile, and hurled herself lengthwise across the worn cushions. She closed her eyes. She placed the wrinkled cloth across her face like a death mask. She moaned as if in bitter agony. And then she bolted upright, not bothering to snatch at the small square cloth when it fluttered to the floor.
“Stop toying with me,” she huffed. “As you cannot embroider, you must know I’ve engineered your company so that you may recount all details regarding the missing twins. The countess is only saying that they are returned safely to the nursery. Lionkiller is saying nothing at all. As is his wont. I swear, the moment we wed I shall demand regular sessions of interactive conversation. Nothing less than fifteen minute segments will do.”
Evangeline settled at the edge of a chaise near the fire and tried not to imagine Susan in long postmarital conversation with Mr. Lioncroft. “I thought you weren’t looking forward to the match.”
“I changed my mind.”
“What?”
“He may portray himself as a taciturn recluse, but in the few days we’ve spent in his company, I’ve now come to realize where he goes, trouble follows.”
“And that’s a good quality?”
“That’s a fascinating quality. Life with Mother is dreadfully dull.”
Evangeline wasn’t sure which horrified her more: that Susan was utterly convinced Mr. Lioncroft was an unrepentant killer who would strike again at any moment…or that danger to herself and others seemed a diverting source of entertainment. Evangeline had seen Mr. Lioncroft’s face when he’d heard the girls were missing, heard his rapid-fire footfalls as he ran from out of doors to the secret passageway, felt the burning heat of his disgust and disappointment when the best she could do was hover nearby and offer feeble directions.
Susan did not know him at all. She feared him, judged him, and dismissed him. And yet she would marry him. Because she found the idea amusing. Acid coated Evangeline’s gut—a strange, horrible, desperate feeling she was determined not to name.
“Well?” Susan demanded. “Where were they? Had he put them in danger?”
“He did not.” The words came out short, choppy, the final word enunciated too clearly. “Why would he?”
Susan shrugged. “How should I know how an animal thinks? But if you say they are safe from him, I believe you.” She shoved her spectacles up her nose and fixed Evangeline with a sudden stare. “Do you believe I should be safe from him when we marry?”
Although Evangeline’s mouth opened, neither words nor breath escaped. While she often had to keep the truth about certain things to herself, Evangeline tried very hard not to out-and-out lie. To frighten Susan away from Mr. Lioncroft by confirming the volatility of his nature, Evangeline would be perpetuating rumors she already knew to be exaggerated.
And to what purpose would such deception serve? Mr. Lioncroft was hardly likely to offer forher,and even if the stars aligned in just such a way to provoke such a turn of events, her stepfather would never grant permission. Not when his goal was to harness her “witchy” powers for himself.
So she mumbled, “Of course you’ll be safe with him, goose,” and turned to face the fire. The roiling in her gut increased exponentially.
“Excellent.” Susan jabbed her needle through the tattered cloth. “And I shall be good for his circumstances, as well. Father doubled my dowry after last Season failed to result in matrimony. If it weren’t for these infernal spectacles, Mother is convinced I would’ve been an Incomparable from my very first ball. Our family has connections from London to the Continent, and bloodlines that intertwine with royalty. I’m accomplished in every way that a proper young lady ought to be. I am quite gifted when it comes to—”
The door swung open and the one person Evangeline held even less interest in conversing with glided into the room.
Lady Stanton harrumphed. “I’m glad to see Susan minded my instruction for once. I hope you did the same, Miss Pemberton.”
“I—” Evangeline’s gloved hands twitched in her lap, quite devoid of samples to embroider. “You wished for me to sew?”
“I wished,” Lady Stanton bit out, “for you to take advantage of opportunity when we left you in the Green Salon to secure a vision about the murder from Mr. Lioncroft. Pray tell me you did so.”
Evangeline jerked her gaze from Lady Stanton to Susan and back again. She had confided in Susan about her visions only that morning, and already Lady Stanton was discussing them freely before her.
She turned to face her. “You told your mother I confided in you?”
Susan frowned, cocked her head to one side, and frowned some more. She stabbed her needle into the center of her sampler, threw it atop the basket, and glared at Evangeline through narrowed eyes.
Blinking, Evangeline recoiled.
“Are you talking about your silly visions?” came Lady Stanton’s sharp, cutting voice. “Susan knew about those before we left the house. How else could I get her to cooperate with my stratagem to ensnare Lioncroft? Which is only to her benefit, the ungrateful chit.”
Evangeline’s jaw fell open. “You…didn’t tell me,” she said to Susan.
Susan jerked one shoulder up, then back down. “And you didn’t tell me about your visions until today. I wanted us to be friends. And I figured you’d confide on your own when you felt you could trust me.”
