“And Maudsley, he was there? Has he been about every evening as well?”
Lady Dankworth seemed surprised at the question. Or perhaps, more accurately, surprised at the answer Lorelei’s question provoked. “No,” she said softly. “Last night was the first I’d seen of the man since the night of the Martindales’ masquerade.”
Was it possible Lord Brockway was covering for Ginny? A disappearance from the social events of the season coinciding with her friend’s would send talk rampant, and in a much different vein.
A chill snaked up her spine. And where had Lord Maudsley been this past week?
The drawing room drapes were drawn back, letting in overcast skies from the late afternoon. The fire in the hearth, however, warded off the chill. Cecilia lay on her tummy, chin propped in her palms held up by her elbows; she slowly turned the pages of another large tome of botanicals.
Irene, of course, sat ladylike in a chair near the hearth, thumbing through a book of something Lorelei hadn’t selected. Sarah, too, held a book, but she stared into the fire.
“Lady Kimpton?” Corinne spoke softly, leaving Lorelei to wonder if Corinne would ever relax in her company.
“Yes, Miss Hollerfield?”
Corinne lifted a guilty gaze. “I-I…”
Lorelei smiled, doing her utmost to set her at ease. “Please, Corinne. I’d hoped by this time, and after all we’ve endured, that you could ask me anything.”
A blush tinged her cheeks. “Of course, Lady Kimpton.” She took a deep breath as if preparing for a walk off the plank on a pirate’s ship into the frigid depths of the Atlantic. “It’s just that, well, I’d like to send a note to my sister’s household informing them of her…” Tears shimmered in her eyes.
“Of course, my dear. I’m sorry I didn’t think of it myself. They deserve to know.”
Corinne nodded.
“What happened to your sister, Miss Hollerfield? Is she dead?” Cecilia’s blunt questions hung in the air.
Corinne’s effort to hold back tears was valiant but unsuccessful; they spilled over at her sharp nod.
“It was very recent, Cecilia. Miss Hollerfield has not had much time to deal with her grief,” Lorelei said gently.
“Oh.” Cecilia’s attention turned back on her open book.
“My mother may be dead too,” Irene said.
Lorelei shot her a sharp glance. Yes, her expression was quite serious. “Irene, we discussed—” She stopped at the sudden stillness that had come over the room. All eyes were upon Irene. Even Sarah’s brooding gaze, drawn away from the fire, burned with curiosity.
Irene seemed oblivious. Her eyes were trained on her book, flipping the pages in slow, methodical increments. “She could have died by now.” Her solemn tone broke Lorelei’s heart.
“Irene. Please,” she snapped.Please, what?Lorelei was at a loss. How was she to shake Irene from her expectations of doom? The girl’s exposure to violence was something Lorelei had no experience with. She snatched up her embroidery. “We shall talk again later.”
Sarah’s gaze snapped to Lady Kimpton, startled by her severe tone. She would have wagered her last pence that Satan’s little angel would never draw someone’s ire. And certainly not Lady Kimpton’s.
Her stomach fluttered in fear. Blasted rain. How was she to sneak away to meet Lord Maudsley’s demands? She’d never been frightened of him before. But he’d slammed her against a tree. He’d almost killed her. She was so confused. His voice had remained congenial. Did he hate her? Love her?No.He was a vicious, vicious man.
She closed her eyes against the memory of her last visit to the park. The memory refused to be quelled. She on her knees, tears streaming down her face, his hand trapping her head while he’d shoved his… his thing down her throat. She swallowed back bile, shifting her gaze back to the fire, quickly blinking. If anyone learned what he’d forced her to do, she’d be turned out on the streets, she would.
“Miss Elvins, are you quite all right?”
Lady Kimpton’s kindness turned her stomach. “I… I’m not feeling quite myself today, my lady.”
“You’re free to retire to your chamber, dear. I’ll have a tray sent up.” She smiled, and Sarah truly thought she would vomit right there on the drawing room carpet.
“Yes. Yes, I think I will, my lady.” Sarah stood, offered a short curtsy, and somehow restrained herself from an out-and-out run from the room. She rushed into the hall and up the stairs to her chambers. She jerked the chamber pot from beneath the bed and cast up her accounts with the force of a violent hurricane.
She swallowed her tears. Nothing could come of them anyway. What good did crying do one besides? She rinsed her mouth then went to the window and cracked it. The damp air cooled her hot face. Once Peg brought her tray, it would be safe to steal away for a time.
The knock sounded. “Enter.”
