Elswyth inclined her head to him, unable to meet the man’s gaze. He passed Elswyth as he made his way to the door, so closely that she could smell him: sweat, yes, but faint traces of juniper cologne and something like the smell of the sea. “I’ll see you very soon, Miss Elderwood,” he whispered. And then he was gone.
Elswyth stood fixed in the entryway. “My apologies, Miss Forscythe, if this is a bad time…”
Miss Forscythe stepped forward, folding her hands before her. “No need for such formality, Miss Elderwood. I believe we’ve already met—albeit under less-than-ideal circumstances. I would hate for you to judge my character based on our first meeting. I hope this will be our chance to start fresh.” She smiled, and her cheeks dimpled pleasantly.
“Yes, well, all the same, it is good that we should receive a formal introduction.”
“Indeed,” Miss Forscythe said. A lady’s maid had entered the room, head down, and began unbuckling Miss Forscythe’s fencing jacket and skirt. To Elswyth’s surprise, she wore a silvery blue gown of silk charmeuse beneath her padding, bare-shouldered for ease of movement, with a tulle skirt that sprung up around her like a cloud. No sweat stained the bust; not a single hair fell out of place. Elswyth blushed and then cursed herself for it. She was sure she’d never met a woman as beautiful as Miss Forscythe.
Miss Forscythe handed her padding to the maid without acknowledging her, and then said, “I know how this must look—but certainly you understand how busy the schedule of a young lady can be. I barely have an hour a day for exercise! A versatile wardrobe is simply essential.”
Miss Forscythe flared out her skirt, taking a deep breath. “Much better,” she said. Then she turned to the footman who’d entered with Elswyth. He was a man of about forty with round shoulders and thinning brown hair. “Please fetch my guest some tea.” The man nodded, bowed, and then retreated out of the room without ever turning his back to them. The lady’s maid followed, and then Elswyth and Miss Forscythe were alone.
“I really do need a different sparring partner,” Miss Forscythe said, sighing. “Silas is a natural with a blade—not to mention experienced, what with all his adventuring. An excellent teacher, but he uses his left hand when we practice; otherwise, I wouldn’t have a chance. I don’t suppose you fence?”
“I’ve never been the physical sort. I prefer my books.”
Miss Forscythe smiled, all dazzling white teeth. “Pity. Of course I am the physical sort, as you might have guessed.”
Elswyth’s mouth fell open. She was unsure what to say.
“Merely a jest. Please, come sit,” Miss Forscythe said. She gesturedto a set of chairs and a table in the corner of the room. Spring light poured through the window and shone on Miss Forscythe’s hair. Outside, the estate sprawled, filled with gardeners hard at work preparing for the season ahead.
She sat, and Miss Forscythe was silent for a while, appraising her. Elswyth shifted uncomfortably under the gaze of the woman’s blue eyes. Miss Forscythe sat blade-straight in her chair, skirts folded around her. Her saber hung on the wall behind her, gleaming and sharp. The footman brought a tray of tea, poured two cups with mechanical efficiency, and dismissed himself. Miss Forscythe never took her eyes off Elswyth, even as she sipped her tea.
“So, Miss Elderwood, did you enjoy your walk through the hedge maze? Lovely this time of year, is it not? So much to look at.”
Elswyth swallowed. “Erm… Miss Forscythe, if you are under the impression that I saw anything untoward in the hedge maze, I assure you that I did not. Even if I had, I would never speak of it.”
“Curious,” Miss Forscythe said, sipping her tea. “My good friend Sir Silas said that he happened upon you at the Royal Gardens. And that you had no qualms about implying all kinds of things about what transpired that day.”
Elswyth gripped her china saucer. “Perhaps there was some sort of miscommunication. I hardly know Sir Silas. Our conversation was strictly about our scholarly interests. But Miss Forscythe, even if I had witnessed the two of you… unsupervised, I would not care. Your paramour is of no interest to me.”
Miss Forscythe laughed as if surprised. She stood, moving toward the window and looking coyly over her bare shoulder. Daylight shone on her wry smile. “Paramour? Heavens, no, Miss Elderwood. Sir Silas is a diversion. Nothing more.”
Elswyth raised an eyebrow. “Apologies. He is rather dashing. I merely assumed.”
“He is, isn’t he? But no. He is unmarriageable, especially for the daughter of a duke. Could you imagine? A bastard, and a mixed-blood one at that. No. My beloved is away, currently, on tour in India. I should like to think that he will propose when he returns.”
Elswyth wondered how Silas would like being calledunmarriageable. “Well. I wish you both the best.”
Miss Forscythe appraised her for a moment. “Yes—you see, the man I truly love is Prince Oliver. He is such a wonderful man. And next in line for the throne, since his parents died all those years ago. When I marry him, I will be the next Queen consort.Queen Venus Forscythe-Plantagenet. Don’t you think that has a ring to it? And so you can imagine how detrimental it would be if you were to continue implying falsehoods about myself and Sir Silas.”
Miss Forscythe cocked her head and smiled at Elswyth—the picture of feminine perfection. She traced her ring finger along the rim of her cup.
“What exactly do you want from me, Miss Forscythe?”
She shrugged one shoulder. “It’s not about what I want, not really. You see, an unfortunate turn of events like this could easily make us enemies. But the best way to deal with an enemy is to make them your friend, don’t you think? So what does the enigmatic Miss Elderwood want in exchange for her friendship?”
“Truly, Miss Forscythe, there is no need. I have no interest in the intrigues of court. Your secret is safe with me by mere virtue of my apathy. I promise.”
“A promise is a flower that fades so quickly when hard weather comes. I would prefer something more durable.”
Elswyth took another sip from her tea, then set her cup in her lap. She looked again at the fine drawing room, at the expensive china, at the window over the immaculate gardens. She thought of her father, of their decrepit house, of the very reason she came to London: to find a financially beneficial match. Miss Forscythe had the funds to fix their financial problems—if Elswyth could convince Miss Forscythe to part with some of those funds, Elswyth wouldn’t need to marry at all. She could return home, perhaps with enough money left over to attend Oxford. All of these possibilities arose in her mind’s eye like paths branching away from the city, away from the life that had been chosen for her. And then an image of Persephone appeared, blocking those paths, laid out in an alleyway with asphodel growing from her womb.
“Perhaps there is something that you can do for me.”
“Oh?”
