Ariana turned to stare. “Goodness, how arrogant to think they’re all waiting for my nod! And indeed, why should tall men particularly wish to marry a tall woman?”With big feetslithered out from the back of her mind. “Most men seem to want wives shorter than themselves.”
“The better to look down on them.” Ethel picked up the gown from the bed and put it deftly over Ariana’s head. “But what’s to say a man who’s interested in you will be in a hurry? That Lord Dauntry, though. He might be. You could cut through the dither by asking him yourself.”
“I couldn’t possibly!”
Fastening the back, Ethel said, “Reckon you can do anything you set your mind to.”
“I can’t stand for Parliament, or join the army or navy, or go to a university. Or vote.”
“True enough,” Ethel said calmly, passing over ablack lacquered fan. “But youcouldask a man to marry you.”
“I could walk down the street in my shift,” Ariana retorted. “Ability and possibility are not the same thing. I’m not made to be outrageous.”
“True enough.”
Ariana eyed her. “Would you ask a man to marry you?”
“I might,” Ethel said, “if it seemed he wouldn’t get around to it himself.”
That was probably true. Ethel had no allegiance to conventional ways.
Ariana turned to survey herself in the mirror. She did look striking. Too striking?
Outside of mourning, black was rarely worn, and within strict mourning all color was avoided. The gold against the black was truly magnificent, and it seemed to pick up the color of her hair. She’d much rather be in plain, dull black, but if she had to do this, she’d do it boldly.
“I’ll wear the golden parure.” Gold was a little bold for mourning, but this was an odd sort of mourning.
The set of golden ornaments in an Egyptian design had been a gift from her father on her twenty-first birthday. Soon she was wearing the coiled gold necklace and matching earrings. The snake bracelet should be worn on the upper arm, but with long sleeves that was impossible.
Ariana considered herself again and realized that the colors and some aspects of the design recalled the mummy. But here, instead of that brown-eyed, quizzical face she saw her porcelain complexion and blue eyes. Eyes that looked fearful rather than inquisitive.
Who are you, Ariana Boxstall, and what do you truly want?
She turned away but was still tangled in thoughts of that poor girl, trapped in her coffin in a basement. It didn’t seem right, but where could she be put with decency? Even a museum would put her on public display—but that would avoid the danger of her being ground up to make potions. No wonder Kynaston had been so upset. He might have been showing a sensitive side.
Or a guilty conscience, she reminded herself.
That was much more likely, and at least he wouldn’t be escorting them tonight. Lady Cawle had already stated that. He had other commitments.
With a brandy bottle, Ariana assumed.
•••
Ariana couldn’t believe her state as they traveled to the Russian ambassador’s residence on Harley Street. Her innards felt knotted, and it was all she could do not to grip her black-gloved hands tightly together. At least she didn’t have a suitor to contend with. For escort, Lady Cawle had summoned Norris. At heart her brother was an amiable man, so he was doing his duty with good grace, and looked very fine in his black evening wear.
His elaborately tied gray silk cravat was pinned with silver. Ariana’s mother was in black with jet jewelry. Lady Cawle was not traveling with them, but in one of her elaborate sedan chairs. “Four in a carriage is a crush,” she’d declared, and it certainly would have been with her hoops. She, too, had been dressed in black, but a glossy black striped with deep blue. With it she was wearing magnificent sapphires. She’d approved of Ariana’s golden touches.
As they rolled along the streets, Ariana noticed Norrisstudying her, as if to assess the danger. In the end she said, “No. I haven’t chosen a husband yet.”
“I didn’t say anything,” he protested.
They completed the journey in silence. Conversation, even dispute, would have been a welcome distraction from the coming trial.
A crowd had gathered outside the ambassador’s house to witness the fashionable guests going in. Their eager faces were illuminated by flambeaux, which weren’t truly needed on the gaslit street, but which created drama.
Ariana would rather have slipped inside in the dark, but she would not show fear. However, she was grateful for the fact that Lady Cawle’s chair opened first. The countess could have been carried into the house, but the weather was fine and perhaps she liked display. She emerged, cloak open, sapphires flashing, creating a ferment in the crowd, then swept into the house without acknowledging the attention at all.
Ariana tried to follow her example, but it wasn’t in her nature to be arrogant. She was pleased by some overheard appreciation of her appearance—until one person said, “Mighty tall, though, i’nt she?” She entered the house feeling rawly exposed.
