“Oh, dreadful,” Susan answered cheerfully, gazing around Evangeline’s chamber. “Easily as dismal as this one. No windows, same hideous painted babies with their odd little hands and misshapen heads, blood-colored décor splattered about the chamber…” She leaned a hip against the closest bedpost, running one finger along the ferocious grin of a tiny troll. “I say, but there has never been a man more in want of a wife than Lionkiller. First thing I shall do is sell this oversized mausoleum. And if he won’t let me do that, at least I’ll have windows put in every single room. Then sconces. And paint. Buckets and buckets of bright yellow paint.”
Evangeline stood, rearranged her chair to face her guest, and sat back down. “So,” she began slowly, unsure of how to respond to any of Susan’s statements. “You still wish to go through with it, then? Marry him, I mean?”
Susan laughed without humor. “Do I wish to? It’s the lesser evil, I’m afraid. Though I’d prefer to marry a title, I could do worse than marry a murderer.”
“You could?” Evangeline echoed, still rubbing her neck. “How?”
“Staying at home with Mother, for one.” Susan’s eyes lit with mischief. “I’d sooner marry a chimney sweep as commit myself to a lifetime ofthat.”
Evangeline could see her point.
“Lioncroft is the younger son of a viscount,” Susan continued. “What with his brother’s six or seven potential heirs in line first, there’s not much chance of inheritance. Except…With a man like Lionkiller, who knows how many people could turn up dead.” Susan wiggled her eyebrows above her spectacles. “I could be a viscountess yet.”
Evangeline gripped the edges of her chair. “You cannot possibly condone—”
“No, no, don’t be silly. I’m just having a bit of sport, is all. He hasn’t killed in years. I doubt he’ll start the habit back up again on my account, even if I say ‘please.’” She shrugged, as if this lack of action meant Mr. Lioncroft had become quite dull. “And now we—” A staccato knock interrupted whatever Susan had been about to say. She leapt from the bedpost to the door, twisting the knob as though it were her room, not Evangeline’s. “Why, good evening, Mother. I was just about to discuss you quite rudely in your absence.”
“Impertinent chit,” Lady Stanton said coldly, sweeping into the room without giving her daughter a second glance. “Miss Pemberton,” she said instead. “I am here to discuss strategy.”
“Huzzah,” Susan cried, slamming the door shut behind her. “How I love strategy!”
Lady Stanton ignored her.
“For Mr. Lioncroft, you mean?” Evangeline asked, rising to allow Lady Stanton the sole chair.
“Of course.” Lady Stanton sank onto the cushion with a scowl. “We begin tonight. Now, what’s the best motivator for a man to propose?”
“Love?” Evangeline suggested at the same time Susan said, “Money?”
“Scandal,” Lady Stanton corrected. “Although ‘money’ is a very good guess, Susan. The simplest method to bring a man up to scratch is to find oneself in a compromising position with him.”
“I don’t want him to ravish me,” Susan blurted out. “Not until after we’ve wed.”
Lady Stanton’s jaw clenched. “Compromised, notruined. Perhaps a kiss—”
“No kisses!”
“—or an embrace—”
“No embraces!”
“—or even simply being caught alone together should do.” After successfully ignoring her daughter’s many outbursts, Lady Stanton nodded to Evangeline. “That is your task. Be sure to appear both horrified and scandalized. As a gentleman, he will have no choice but to propose at once.”
“Except he’s a ‘gentleman’ by technicality,” Susan put in. “What if he doesn’t propose? Won’t I be ruined anyway?”
“You’ve already ruined yourself with your silly Town antics,” Lady Stanton snapped. “I have no doubt Lioncroft will do as he ought. You simply have to catch him alone, and Miss Pemberton will do the rest.” Susan and Evangeline exchanged a wordless glance as a chime sounded from outside the door. “That’s the supper bell,” Lady Stanton said. “Don’t dawdle, Susan. Tardiness does not become a future bride.”
With that, Lady Stanton rose, sent a frigid glance about the room, and strode out the door.
“Tardiness does not become a future bride,” Susan mocked, dropping into Evangeline’s chair before Evangeline had an opportunity to do so. “Be honest. What do you think of Mother’s stratagem?”
Evangeline swallowed the word “mad” and tried to formulate a safe response. Much as she hated to admit it, the Stantons were right about one thing—only death awaited her if she walked away now. She only hoped Lady Stanton didn’t suspect Evangeline had inherited her mother’s visions. “You don’t think the plan will work?”
“Of course, it will work. Half thetonmarriages are based on business decisions, the other half on indiscretions with bad timing.” Susan shook her head, a grin toying with her lips.
“Aren’t you frightened of marrying a murderer?” Evangeline asked, unable to imagine toying with such a man. “Or his reaction, once he realizes you have tricked him?”
Susan’s cheeks colored. “Ideally, he won’t realize that part. Mother believes the events will unfold naturally. Young ladies are compromised all the time, accidentally or otherwise. As to being frightened—well, of course I’m frightened. After all, he might kill me.”
