She gave the painting to Ariana, and it was shockingly similar to Cleo. Seraphina had worn her hair in a more modern style, but soft brown curls clustered around her forehead, and her large brown eyes were full of anticipation for the joys of life.
No wonder he’d been shocked to his core.
No wonder he’d resorted to brandy.
Ariana stood up and gave the portrait back to Lady Cawle. “Your pardon, ma’am, but I must write a note to Mr. Peake.”
“Use my desk.”
Ariana sat to do so. Cleo must be hidden away. She must be preserved from the idly curious, but above all, Kynaston must not confront that mummy case again.
Within half an hour she had a reply to say that the mummy was now in a bedroom, which would of course not be open to the public. That didn’t solve the problem of what to do with Cleo in the long term. Perhaps she’d buy the mummy and secrete it at Boxstall, where it seemed she was destined to spend her days, unwed.
There was only one man she could marry, and even if she could in some way force him to it, it could be a cruel act.
•••
As Ariana prepared for the visit to Peake’s house, she said to Ethel, “My Town career has hardly ever beenpleasant, has it? Terror of dancing, impossible suitors, performances for cruel stares. Why can’t it be normal?”
“All things must pass,” Ethel said, which wasn’t one of her better efforts.
“Are you all right?” Ariana asked. “Has anyone been unpleasant to you over this?”
“They’d never dare,” Ethel said, so dismissively that Ariana envied her. “I’m just thinking about a lot of things.”
“Would it help to talk about your concerns? I’ve been wrapped up in my own affairs.”
“With reason. Are you not going to marry Lord Kynaston, then?”
Ariana merely said, “It seems unlikely.” She hadn’t told Ethel about Kynaston’s tragedy, and it seemed too intimate to share, even though to anyone accustomed to social news and gossip it was no secret at all. Lady Overstall’s comment in the theater now made sense. She’d hoped he was recovering from his grief and resuming a normal life. The understanding over him selling the lease of his house had been because of the memories that lingered there, of Seraphina both at her happiest and at her death.
“Why not?” Ethel demanded. “I’ve asked around, and no one thinks he’s bankrupt.”
“Don’t meddle. He doesn’t want to marry me.”
“I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”
“Ethel, stop! It won’t do and that’s an end of it.”
Seen in the mirror, Ethel’s expression was mutinous.
“You’re not to try to throw us together,” Ariana said. “I simply want to survive tonight, and then we’ll probably return to Boxstall.”
She was wearing the dusky blue again, but with the gold jewelry for boldness. The evening was cold enoughto warrant a fur-lined cloak that would cover everything. Just in case, and for those inside the house, she was wearing a black gauze fichu to fill in, or at least veil, most of the low neckline. Ethel was to attend her, in part because she’d been present at the crucial time, but also for support. She was wearing a gown made of red silk shot with black to excellent effect.
“That’s handsome,” Ariana said. “I haven’t seen it before.”
Ethel admired herself in the long mirror. “I had it made here, in case I needed anything grand.”
Ariana felt slightly unsettled, as if Ethel was changing, but any unease was only part of her trepidation about tonight. “And now you do,” she said cheerfully, “so you were very wise.”
“A problem foreseen is half-avoided. Let’s be off, then.”
•••
When Ariana emerged from the house with her mother, her brother, and Ethel, the coach was waiting. Some people still lurked, but Norris had hired guards to keep them at a distance and there was no shouting. Ariana did her best to look composed and confident, but was glad to be inside the coach and rolling on their way. She didn’t lower the blinds. Let people see.
As the coach passed by avid eyes, she tensed in fear of thrown dirt, or even a stone. Earlier in the year someone had thrown a stone at the Regent’s coach and broken a window. It seemed no one felt so angry at her, for they left the street unscathed.
