“Except the clothes on your back. You ought to be kissing my toes.”
“Kissing your—”
A knock interrupted a bout of spluttering Evangeline had meant as an outraged tirade. She stalked across the room and flung open the door without asking Lady Stanton’s permission.
Carefully avoiding casting his gaze about the frozen countenances of the persons within, the footman handed Evangeline two squares of paper and quickly took his leave.
“Well, you meddlesome creature, what is it?”
Evangeline tossed the missive marked “Lady Stanton” to the floor and unfolded the one bearing her own name.
DEAR MISS PEMBERTON,
JANE HEATHERBROOK CORDIALLY INVITES YOU TO JOIN IN THE CELEBRATION OF HER THIRTEENTH BIRTHDAY. WE SHALL MEET OUTSIDE THE FRONT GARDEN FOR A PICNIC AT ONE O’CLOCK, FOLLOWED BY KITE-FLYING AND PALL-MALL.
YOURS SINCERELY,
JANE
“Maid,” Lady Stanton ordered. “Fetch me that paper.”
The lady’s maid flashed Evangeline an inscrutable look before placing pearls and hairbrush atop the vanity in order to retrieve the fallen paper. Evangeline imagined she’d strangle her mistress with those pearls if she could.
“One o’clock,” Lady Stanton exclaimed. “But that’s barely an hour from now. I must finish my toilette. Make yourself useful for once, Miss Pemberton. Go see that Susan is looking her best. She has a husband to catch.”
Evangeline shook her head. “I won’t help you.”
“Fine.” Lady Stanton sniffed. “I’m sure we don’t need you. Susan can ensnare him entirely on her own.”
Probably so. And for some reason, that made Evangeline feel…ill.
Chapter 26
At first, Evangeline had no intention of visiting Susan. But as her fury was at the mother and not the daughter, her desire to speak to a friend outweighed her desire to spite Lady Stanton.
First and foremost, she needed to change into fresh garments. She selected the most flattering gown in the dressing room. Not because Lady Stanton had called her a ragamuffin incapable of catching Mr. Lioncroft’s eye. Because she wished for a fresh gown, that’s all.
As to Evangeline’s hair, well…as usual, there wasn’t much that could be done with it, but she spent the better part of an hour sitting stock still so Molly could give the tangled mass her best effort. Not because Lady Stanton had called Evangeline an urchin useful only as a receptacle for Mr. Lioncroft’s excess virility. Because her chignon had disintegrated earlier in the day and she happened to have time to fix it before the picnic, that’s all. Well, somewhat fix it. Her hair managed to look…chignon-esque. Most of the pins were even staying put.
After thanking Molly for repairing her unruly locks twice in the same morning, Evangeline squared her shoulders and stepped out into the hall.
Susan glided directly toward her, looking every inch the well-put-together figure of Quality her mother had proclaimed her to be.
“There you are!” She fell into step alongside Evangeline. “Did you see Jane’s invitation? I looked for you after breakfast and couldn’t find you anywhere.”
“I was…chatting with your mother,” Evangeline hedged. “I did receive the invitation. It was darling. Are you on your way to the picnic now?”
“I was hoping we would both be.” Susan linked arms with her. “You know how I am with directions.”
“The front gardens mean the front lawn,” Evangeline explained, careful not to smile. “It’s the first thing we’ll see when we exit the house.”
“Yes, well, easy for you to say. And what were you discussing with Mother? Please don’t say I’m to be compromised during the picnic. She already informed me today was The Day, come hell or high water, but honestly…I should like to eat a sandwich or two before linking my name with Lionkiller’s forevermore.”
So today really was The Day. Evangeline forced her teeth to unclench. “Please stop calling him Lionkiller. I doubt he’s the murderer.”
“Truly?” Susan gaped at her. “Did you have a vision? Or are you just saying that because you’ve made friends?”
Friends? Evangeline bit back a humorless laugh. Did friends plaster each other against the nearest wall and melt into each other’s kisses? Did friends demand services from each other in exchange for boons; visions for freedom, vindication for coach fare? She shook her head. Her relationship with Mr. Lioncroft might be indefinable, but whatever they were—they weren’t friends.
