“I will take care of everything here,” Althea said. “You are not to worry. I have my list and will be done in a quarter hour.”
Jocelyn brought in a bonnet and pelisse. Black ones. Red and black. She would look like a harlequin. “Jocelyn, please help Althea finish counting out the booklets. I must leave at once.”
She hurried to the door, to go hire a hackney for the long ride to Mayfair.
Almost an hour later she entered Gifford House, only to learn her grandmother had not come down yet. Praying that she would not be drawn and quartered for the presumption, she went up to her grandmother’s apartment.
She paused outside the door. She never intruded here. She had not since she was ten years old and had snuck in to explore her grandmother’s dressing table. Fascinated by the jewelry and paints, she had tried them on, admiring herself in the looking glass. Even now she could see her reflection, then the shock of seeing her grandmother right behind her.
She had paid dearly for putting on that necklace and rouge. Her grandmother had whipped her with a switch while forcing her to gaze at her sins in the looking glass the whole time. Then she had ordered her imprisoned with only bread and water to eat for a week. Her father had been away and did not return and grant a reprieve for two more days.
She could not look at this door and not see herself in that looking glass while a cane stung her bare bottom.
Taking a deep breath and putting the image of herself all painted and bedecked out of her mind, she ventured inside.
She found her grandmother just as her maid was about to fit on her wig. Hair mashed under a net cap and body ensconced in an undressing gown with layers of lace, her grandmother did not notice her until the maid touched her shoulder and pointed to the door.
Those large, pale eyes gave a scathing glare, then turned back to the looking glass. “Take care of me, Margaret, so that I can talk to my intruding granddaughter.”
Margaret fitted the wig, tweaked a few gray curls, and stood back.
“Now go and get Theo. Tell him I need him here.”
Margaret scurried out of the dressing room.
“Clara, did you wear that dress to provoke me? It is hideous at any time, but especially now.”
Clara sat on a divan near the fireplace. “I received your note. I thought it better to hear this sooner rather than later.”
Her grandmother turned on her chair. “Later was not much later. You could have waited until I dressed, at least. Or until you had reconsidered your own garments.”
“My apologies. It sounded very important, so I came at once.”
Her grandmother turned to the looking glass once more and pinched her cheeks until two pink splotches formed.Don’t pretend you do not paint. We both know you do. You whipped me once for discovering that.
“You did not want me seeing that house of yours, is what you really mean.”
Theo rushed in then. He noticed Clara, averted his eyes from Grandmamma’s dishabille, and sat in a chair. “I hope this will not take long. I was on my way out to ride in the park.”
“Not long at all. I wanted you here, however, when I explained matters to your sister.”
“What matters?” Clara asked. A funny little worry branched through her. She doubted these matters would please her, considering her grandmother’s tone.
“I have heard about Brentworth’s party. Several of my friends wrote to me. I am pleased to say that their opinions of Emilia’s behavior were unexceptionable.”
“I tried to be a good chaperone.” At least this was not about Harry.
“They also wrote that Stratton was there.”
“Yes, I believe he was.”
“Believe he was, do you? The way I read it, he spent over an hour in your company.”
It seemed as though the dressing room had grown smaller. “Not an hour, I am sure.”
“At least an hour, two of my friends reported. Of equal interest is that he spent no time at all with Emilia.”
“That is not true. I was present when he and she chatted.”
