Percival leaned in, pulling her closer on his arm and hurrying toward the door. He whispered to her conspiratorially as they walked. “It’s one of the many reasons we despise each other.”
Elswyth had no time to respond before Percival dragged her into the rain.
When they arrived at Syon House, a dour-looking butler announced them at the door—“Lord Devereux accompanying his niece, Miss Elswyth Elderwood”—and then guided them toward the drawing room. Beyond the silver-plated doors was a high-ceilinged room dominated by a marble fireplace. A sprawling sitting area of gilded wooden furniture and towering ferns sat in the center, dotted here and there with exotic vases and sprawling bouquets.
A crowd of people turned to look at Elswyth and Percival. Her face flushed, blood rushing to her cheeks and following the trace of her scar. Percival inclined his head in a shallow bow, and she curtsied, ducking her face away, making sure to hold the uncomfortable posture for the proper amount of time.
Miss Forscythe appeared in front of her. Percival had already limped across the room and was kissing the hand of Lady Narcissa Forscythe enthusiastically. Lord Forscythe looked on with a stoic expression, but Percival soon cornered him with a vigorous handshake. If they did loathe each other, Percival was determined to make it seem otherwise—with uncertain results.
Miss Forscythe took Elswyth by the arm and lifted her from her curtsy. “Oh, come now. Friends don’t bow to friends. I’m so thrilled that you came.”
“I must thank you again for the invitation, Miss Forscythe.”
“And I must insist that you call me Venus. And I will call you Elswyth. As friends do. Settled?”
Elswyth looked at the woman and was struck again at the perfect beauty of her face: the blade of her jaw and the twin sapphires of her eyes. “Of course, Venus. I am quite nervous, I must admit.”
“Oh, don’t be. Everyone here is fine stock. All close friends of mine—and Persephone’s. You’ll get on swimmingly.”
She had lingered on Persephone’s name, fixing Elswyth in a stare as if to punctuate the significance of her words. Elswyth looked around the room. Almost all of the guests were young people, well-bred, around her age. Most were quite attractive, and many looked bored despite the grand palace and the abundant wine. Yes, she could see these being her sister’s friends.
Venus walked her to where two women stood talking. “Ladies, meet Miss Elswyth Elderwood—dear Persephone’s sister. Elswyth, meet Miss Hyacinth Thatcher and Miss Drusilla Wilton.”
The two women looked at her, then at each other. “Charmed,” Drusilla said coolly. She was olive-skinned and long-limbed, in a violet silk gown that showed her bare shoulders. She didn’t seemed charmed; her eyes wandered from Elswyth as if bored.
“So charmed,” said Hyacinth, nodding enthusiastically. She was a head shorter than Drusilla and Venus, with mousy brown hair and a busy yellow gown with a wide skirt and rows of cream lace.
“Where’s Cassia?” Venus asked, looking between them.
Drusilla pouted. “Her mother wouldn’t let her come.”
“What? Why not?”
“Haven’t you heard?” Hyacinth said, conspiratorially. “There’s been another flower girl.”
“A flower girl?” Elswyth asked. The women looked at her as though they were annoyed she’d spoken.
“TheReaper,” Drusilla said. “Don’t you read the papers? He cuts them open and leaves flowers inside. This is the sixth woman. It’s horrible.”
“So horrible,” Hyacinth said, nodding enthusiastically. “I can see why Cassia’s mother keeps her at home. But I’m sorry all this has gotten in the way of your party, Venus.”
“It’s no matter,” Venus said, although she sounded irritated. “I was planning on introducing her to Captain Burr. Oh well. More for the rest of you.”
Hyacinth smiled hopefully. “Oh, that’s wonderful! Why don’t you introduce Miss Elderwood to Captain Burr instead?”
“And why would I do that?” Venus asked. Elswyth noted a certain sharpness in her voice.
“Since he liked Persephone so much, perhaps he’ll like her sister,” Hyacinth said, grinning. “He was always trying to talk to her. I even saw them alone in the garden together at Begonia Pritchett’s birthday party, and—”
“Don’t spread nasty rumors, Hyacinth,” Venus snapped. “Persephone would not have stooped to the likes of a ship captain, and neither will Elswyth.”
Hyacinth flinched. She looked nervously between Venus and Elswyth. “Sorry. Of course. Just a rumor.”
Drusilla only sipped her drink, looking wryly amused.
Venus leaned in to whisper in Elswyth’s ear. “Come away now. I want to introduce you to someone.”
Before Elswyth could protest, Venus took her by the arm and dragged her to the center of the room, directly through the crowd. Elswyth kept her eyes up, as much as she wanted to look away—an embarrassing habit, Mrs. Rose called it, but a difficult one to unlearn. She had been avoiding the eyes of others since the day she got her scar. Now, in London, it seemed that she must do the opposite.
