“Nor do I.”
“Mr. Upchurch showed this to you?”
Helen hesitated. “Yes.” She considered. “I cannot say he seemed terribly upset about it.”
A flash of hurt stung Margaret. What was wrong with her? TheMorning Postwas speculating about her death, and she was disappointed Nathaniel Upchurch wasn’t more affected by the news?
She skimmed the article again...thebody not yet officially identified... anonymous source... authorities speculate... deceased might be...
Dear God in heaven, whose body?
Was the report mere speculation, based on the fact that she had yet to be found, alive or otherwise? Clearly, Sterling had reported her disappearance to the authorities. Had he done more than that? Had he resorted to violence? Or simply made convenient use of some other poor girl’s death to suggest, anonymously, that the body was that of his missing stepdaughter?
Margaret!she scolded herself.You’re being ridiculous. Melodramatic.Certainly Sterling Benton would not stoop so low, would not carry out such a desperate act.
Yet who would receive Margaret’s inheritance if Margaret was dead or officially declared so? Her mother, or her sister? Either way, the Benton men were sure to profit.
“Thank you for showing me,” Margaret murmured.
Helen’s eyes widened with sympathetic concern. “What will you do?”
Margaret slowly shook her head. “I have no idea.”
The next morning, a cloud of dread and uncertainly hovered over Margaret. She plodded through her duties, thoughts heavy with the news of her death and what, if anything, she should do about it.
After Margaret dressed Helen’s hair, Miss Upchurch turned from the mirror to face her. “I have been giving it a great deal of thought and have decided you and Nathaniel are right. I have shunned society for too long.”
“I... am relieved to hear it,” Margaret said, though in truth her mind remained on the more pressing matter of news of her own demise. “Will you begin paying calls, then?” Margaret hoped she wouldn’t be expected to accompany her.
“Something better. I have decided we should host a party here. It has been far too long since the Upchurches have entertained.”
Here?They would be inviting a houseful of guests—some of whom Margaret was sure to have met, since they had acquaintances in common—to Fairbourne Hall, her hideaway?
She asked hopefully, “A small party with local friends...?”
“A big party with local friends and friends from town. Many have quit London for their country estates, but a fair number live near enough to attend. I am thinking of a ball—as I so enjoyed my two dances at the servants’ ball. Perhaps even a masquerade, since that was the last event I attended before...”
“A ball...?” Margaret’s mind was a whirl of worry and worse-case scenarios—London friends, perhaps Sterling Benton and her mother, or even Marcus Benton. She might be asked to serve them, or stand ready in the ladies’ dressing room to assist female guests with their wraps or with using the chamber commode. Surely her mother would recognize her.
Helen frowned at her. “You don’t approve?”
Margaret hesitated. “No, I...” What if someone saw through her disguise? The thought abruptly stilled her.Disguise...
She drew in a long breath. “I think you are absolutely right, Miss Helen. A masquerade ball is the perfect idea.”
At breakfast, Lewis piled sausages on his plate and grinned at his brother and sister. “A masquerade ball, you say? Delightful notion! Why, I shall help plan the soiree myself. Do be sure to include Miss Barbara Lyons on the guest list. You know she is a favorite of mine.”
“And with your friend Mr. Saxby, I believe,” Nathaniel said dryly.
Lewis pulled a face. “Oh, a little friendly rivalry never hurt anybody.”
Nathaniel’s gut twisted. His brother’s rivalry had hurt him a great deal two years ago. He avoided Helen’s gaze and said evenly, “At all events, I don’t think we should expect many of our London friends to come down. Besides, where would we put them all?”
“Never fear,” Lewis said. “Miss Lyons has relatives nearby and might stay with them.” He shrugged. “Or she could have my bed.”
“Lewisss...” Helen reprimanded, drawing out his name as was her habit when vexed.
“Only a jest, old girl. Don’t go getting all holier-than-Nate. One killjoy in the family is ample sufficient!”
