“We shall not discuss—”
Thankfully, the parlor doors opened and Gransdon announced, “The Dowager Marchioness of Ardsmere and Lady Ardsmere, as well as the Dowager Countess of Rydleshire and Lady Sophie, are here to call on Your Grace and Lady Ceci—Miss Bening.” He flinched as though struck by an unseen force and bowed his head. “Forgive me, Miss Bening. I shall endeavor to do better.”
“Thank you, Gransdon. Please do try to remember.” Celia tried not to be too harsh with the poor man. For whatever reason, Mama had chosen to reveal Celia’s true identity, and she prayed that decision would not be their downfall. “And please show the ladies in. We were expecting them.”
He bowed again, then quickly retreated from the deluge of Sophie and Frannie’s joyful shrieks as they burst into the room without waiting for his escort.
“Celia!” Frannie squealed, her dark blonde ringlets fluttering wildly. She came up short and offered a quick curtsy to the duchess. “Your Grace!”
“My Celia!” Sophie shouted with even shriller effervescence. “I have missed you so very much!” She aimed a running curtsy at the duchess. “Your Grace! It is so good to see you too.”
“Sophie! Frannie!” Celia vaulted into their arms and hugged them both tightly. She could be honest with these dear souls and not fear retribution, because they too played the game of stealing the life denied them because they were born female. “I have missed both of you so very much. Letters simply do not do our friendship justice.”
“Our sisterhood,” Frannie corrected her, with an arm around Celia and the other around Sophie. She hugged them both closer. “You two are my sisters, and I shall not hear you addressed as anything less.”
“My goodness, girls,” exclaimed the Dowager Marchioness of Ardsmere as she swept in behind them. “All of London surely heard that entrance.” Before the young ladies could defend themselves, the marchioness beamed a teary-eyed smile at Celia’s mother. “Thea, my dearest Thea.” She hurried over, scooped up both of the duchess’s hands, and lost the battle to hold back tears.
The duchess teetered on the verge of tears as well. “It is so good to see you, Emmie.”
“I took the liberty of ordering more tea and whatever brandy you have on hand,” announced the Dowager Countess of Rydleshire as she strode into the room like a war hero. Her thin face softened with a sad smile as she rushed to take one of the duchess’s hands away from the marchioness. “Share, Emmie. I have missed her as much as you have.” She leaned in and pecked a quick kiss on each of the duchess’s cheeks. “Darling Thea. You should have sent for us sooner. We could have just as easily come to you in Germany.”
“Oh, Nia… I needed to see my beloved London one last time. And all of you here with me. Where we began our friendship.” The duchess bowed her head and gave way to her sorrow. The countess and marchioness knelt on either side of her and hugged in close, clinging to her as they all sobbed unashamedly.
Celia blinked furiously and turned away from the heart-wrenching sight. Mama never openly wept. Never.
Sophie caught hold of her arm and gently whispered, “Is there a drawing room where we might go?”
“Good idea.” Frannie glanced back at their mothers. “They need their privacy, as we need ours.”
Not trusting herself to speak, Celia waved for them to follow her. The library would do. Especially since she wished to eventually go over a few of the ledgers with Frannie and benefit from the girl’s brilliance about some business projections. Sophie could offer advice regarding the Bow Street Runner’s reports on the servants and perhaps even help with the infuriating Lord Raines. Sophie’s expertise lay in stealth, tactical planning, and defense.
If Celia’s heart didn’t ache so much for her precious mother, she would laugh. Rather than excel at needlework, painting, or the pianoforte, Frannie, Sophie, and she had magnificently conquered the successful running of businesses, the making of promising investments, and spy warfare with a feminine touch.
Gransdon met them halfway down the hall. “Might I be of service, Miss Bening?”
“A tea for the three of us in the library would be much appreciated, Gransdon.” Celia offered the gray-haired giant a sympathetic smile. It was more than a little obvious that he still berated himself for his earlier slip of the tongue.
“Right away, miss.” He bowed, then disappeared down an adjoining hallway.
“Did you bring your servants from Germany?” Sophie asked as they continued on to the library.
“Only a few. I wish we had brought more, since they are more accustomed to keeping our secrets safe from the light of day.” Celia ushered them into the disheveled library of books, papers, and partially unpacked trunks. “Mr. Elkin validated these London servants, but I still find them questionable.”
“If Mr. Elkin scrutinized their backgrounds, theyshouldsuit.” Sophie’s auburn brows drew together in a frown that resembled more of a studious pout. She twiddled with a coppery red curl, wrapping it around her finger. “Elkin is a senior member of the Bow Street Runners. Mama and I have worked with him frequently and found him to be quite infallible.”
“I fear their suitability is not the sole issue here.” Celia cleared stacks of books off the chairs, then allowed herself a heavy sigh as she motioned for her friends to sit. “For our ruse to be convincing, the servants must be accomplished actors as well.”
“And as fiercely loyal and protective as trained hounds.” Frannie perched on her seat as though ready to spring to her feet at a moment’s notice. Her nervous trait of jiggling her leg made her skirts quiver. “Whenever Mama and I travel from Belgium, the entire household comes with us.”
“But how do you keep your properties tended to when they’re empty?” Celia assumed the very unladylike position of propping back against the edge of her desk and crossing her feet at the ankles. That was the beauty of Frannie and Sophie’s company. She could behave any way she liked. These sisters by choice loved her unconditionally. “Do you merely keep the houses closed until you intend to use them?”
“Absolutely.” Frannie’s sapphire-blue eyes flashed beneath her fair brows, and she twitched her leg faster. “It is much more cost-effective to only open properties whenever we are here in London. Our trips have become more frequent of late, but not so much as to warrant employing more staff to see to the residence while we are home in Belgium.”
“Back to the most important matter at hand,” Sophie said. “Your letter was most alarming. I can see your mother is unwell, but from your report, I expected her to be too weak to leave her bed, much less travel from Germany to London.”
Celia hugged herself and stared down at the floor. “She has her good days and bad—and the bad days are becoming more frequent than the good, I fear.” She lifted her head and fixed her dear friends with a despondent look. “But you know how our mothers are when they set their minds on something. She refused to be deterred. Not even by illness. She insisted on coming to London.”
“There is more troubling you than your mother’s mortality,” Frannie said, with the cutting bluntness that made her advice indispensable when reviewing contracts.
