For laughter had a tendency to overcome Lina when situations were preposterous, which is what this one seemed to be.
As she walked through the corridors, and upstairs to her bedroom, however, she placed her hand on her stomach, for something there felt funny, though it was not an illness, and when she recalled the sound of the stranger’s voice, it fluttered wildly inside of her.
Chapter Four
Anna met her at thedoor with her finger to her lips. “Shh,” she hissed. “I believe she really has gone to sleep.”
The two girls looked at Evangeline, who was lying in her bed, frock and all, but indeed appeared to be asleep. Evangeline often feigned sleep, but her attempts were so silly that no one ever believed her. Lina closed the door behind her carefully and turned her back to Anna to have the clasps undone.
“Did you really dine in the dining room?” Anna whispered, unhooking the buttons.
“Yes, but there is something stranger still,” Lina said, smiling, turning to divulge the secret in a whisper. “The man is from London, and his name is Mr. Blackstone, and he dined alone at a table by himself.”
Anna furrowed her brow. “That’s very unusual, is it not?”
Lina faced the wall again. “I think so,” she said, her own brow furrowed. She had, after all, been to very few formal dinners herself, and they had been parties, so there was no room for a table to the side.
Anna giggled. “I hear the Americans put their children at a private table,” she said. “Was he a child? What did he look like? Why is he here?”
The low, firm voice of the stranger echoed in Lina’s mind again, and gooseflesh rippled over her shoulders. “He’s not achild,” she practically snapped. “But neither did I see him, he was... in the shadows.”
“Maybe you are to marry him,” Anna said cheerfully.
The strange sensation in her stomach returned, cooler and more forcefully than before. “Don’t be foolish,” she said sharply, and then felt instantly unkind. “He’s a wealthy man,” she said more gently, though even as she said this, she did begin to wonder if Anna might be on to something. “If he were here for marriage he would...” her voice trailed off as the brief hope that had fluttered, inexplicably inside of her, receded, and she felt the sting of disappointment.
A wealthy man, after all—a man with the traces of a middle-class accent—would marry one of the Harlowe sisters for a title and social status. That was plausible.
Lina frowned. Not because she had arrived, yet again, at the undeniable truth of her life and her fate, for she had long ago accepted it. She frowned because she had experienced such an unfamiliar, momentary feeling of hope.
“How silly,” she said aloud, to herself, and Anna made a noise behind her.
Lina turned quickly to console her. “Oh, no, not you, dear. No, no. Me. I was speaking to myself. I promise.”
Anna still looked dejected.
Lina slipped out of the dress shamelessly and hung it up. Her hand rested on her night shift momentarily, and then she took out a frock and slipped it over her head.
