Adeline’s life with the Burgess family was built on lies, a masquerade bound to eventually collapse. She could not allow herself even the thought of belonging more deeply. But the notion of losing this feeling of contented security left her saddened. The idea of never seeing Winston again left her bereft. She wondered at the strength of the feeling as she imagined a time when she was no longer employed by Cordelia or Winston, when she would go her own way.
She took a deep breath, schooling her face to stillness, concerned that her emotions were written plainly. Cordelia misread the shadow on her face.
“Oh, forgive me, storm-bird. I speak without thinking, as always. I did not mean to embarrass you.”
Adeline forced a smile, though her throat ached.
“You need not apologize, Your Grace.”
But Cordelia pressed on, blithe and mischievous.
“He cannot brood forever. He needs a woman of patience, of sense. Someone who might soften those hard edges.”
“I agree,” Adeline forced herself to say.
It is my job. I am Her Grace’s Lady-In-Waiting. It is my purpose to carry out her wishes and if they are too difficult, I am free to resign and go…but go where?
It was only natural for a mother to want something like that for her son. And only natural that her Lady-In-Waiting should help in the achievement of such a goal. Adeline managed another polite smile, but her hands curled in her skirts, hidden from view. Despite every thought trying to convince herself, something sharp and cold twisted in her chest.
“We must be vigilant at all our social engagements from now on, beginning with the garden party. We have done our book research. Now we study in real life. If you spot anyone, report her to me at once.”
“Of course,” Adeline said, her voice steady though the words burned. “I will do whatever I can.”
Cordelia nodded, satisfied, and moved away to try on a hat so outrageous that Adeline could not help but laugh when Louisa declared it “a cockerel’s crown.” The milliner gasped in horror, but Cordelia brayed with laughter, and soon all three of them were giggling in the middle of the shop.
For a moment, Adeline let herself bask in it, the warmth, the silliness, the safety. But the shadow lingered beneath. If her father truly hunted her, all of this could vanish in an instant. What stood between her and him? A name. Wilkinson instead of Warren. A flimsy disguise. But enough to condemn her among her new family if they discovered her subterfuge. That brought her thoughts to Grebe and his threats.
Adeline’s vision was obscured as Louisa placed a hat on her head that was too large by half. Adeline felt an outrageously large plume of feathers in its crown as she raised her hands to straighten it. Louisa was laughing, Cordelia smiled indulgently. Adeline found her spirits lifting with the simple, childish prank. She removed the offending headwear and examined it.
“I think not, Louisa. Even if the fit was better. It was clearly made for a Queen. A Duchess at the very least.”
“You can be anyone you wish to be,” Louisa said, a tape measure held about her head by the milliner.
“That goes against everything English Society stands for, surely,” Adeline protested.
“Piffle. I agree with my granddaughter. A progressive and even radical opinion, Louisa. Well done,” Cordelia said, lifting her chin as she was approached by the milliner and her measuring tape.
I chose who I wished to be. Adeline Wilkinson. Orphan. Jilted fiancée. But how long will I be allowed to be her?
Steel rang against steel, a sharp note that reverberated down the length of the great hall. Winston pressed forward, rapier flashing, his stance as steady as the ancient beams that held the vaulted ceiling aloft. Opposite him, Oswald parried with an easy grace that set Winston’s teeth on edge. They had sparred together for years, the contests usually ending in parity. But today, Oswald was carving him to ribbons.
“Again,” Winston growled, lunging.
The Earl of Duskwood danced back, his blade flicking in quicksilver arcs. Winston felt the sting as the flat of Oswald’s rapier tapped his ribs. A hit.
“That makes five,” Oswald said lightly, barely winded, turning away airily.
This room is too hot in the summer. How can I duel when I am drenched in sweat?
Winston leaned his rapier against the wall as he tore off his shirt, tossing it aside. Conveniently forgotten was the knowledge that he and Oswald always used the Great Hall for their dueling. It was long and empty with a stone floor that gave good grip. No, the heat was putting off his sword-work. That was it. Winston’s chest glistened with sweat, muscles working harder than they ought. He drew a ragged breath, rolling his shoulders as if force of will alone might restore his rhythm.
Have to focus. Must clear my mind.
Unbidden, he saw Adeline in his mind’s eye. Sitting on the floor of her bedroom, her wounded finger held in his hand, linen pressed to it by his strong fingers. He saw her eyes, her beautiful face. The perfect femininity of her body.
Enough! I am not some weakling to be ruled by my desires!
“Something weighs on your mind,” Oswald observed, circling him. “You’re slower than usual. Distracted. By what, I cannot imagine.”
