“Our situation is dire, my dear. I’m afraid we must throw good etiquette to the wind. You are days behind on the gossip, and wedon’t have time for blathering in the bath. We must make a statement to the press.”
Mrs. Rose came toward her, taking a stack of newspapers from her underarm. She smacked them on the small table next to the tub. “Read.”
Elswyth took the first paper and then sighed. “‘Lady Poisoner Strikes at Syon.’”
She looked at Mrs. Rose and rolled her eyes, but Mrs. Rose gestured for her to continue. She grabbed the next paper. “‘Elderwood Heir Errs Early,’” she said. “Well, that’s at least catchy. Better than ‘Girl’s Gown Grows Gruesome Garden.’”
Elswyth flipped the page once more. “‘Poison Woman Gives Men the Itch’! What exactly are they implying?”
“They all think you did it on purpose. To make some kind of statement about your sister, or about politics. Some are even saying that you poisoned Captain Burr!”
Elswyth sunk deeper into the tub. “It’s been a week. Perhaps we simply wait. In a few weeks’ time, the gossips might have forgotten. Moved on to the next drama.”
Mrs. Rose scoffed indignantly. “Ladies are like elephants, dear. They never forget.”
“A charming comparison, one that I’m sure any lady would love to hear,” Elswyth said.
“There’s that foul humor again. My, I’ve missed you so much during your melancholy.”
“So what would you have me do? Go door to door and grovel for pity, hoping that some in London would forgive me?”
“That is one course of action. Convince enough ladies that it was an accident, and you may be able to garner some pity.”
“But it was not an accident, was it? It was a deliberate attemptby Miss Forscythe to ruin me. So why not tell them the truth? Anyone with eyes can see that she is a schemer. I can’t have been the first woman to be victimized by her. I have no qualms about revealing what I saw in the hedge maze now.”
“That is a battle you will not win, I’m afraid. It is your word against hers, and she has everything you don’t: wealth, popularity, status, beaut—”
Mrs. Rose stopped mid-word. Her eyes flicked down Elswyth’s naked body, following her scar from her face, to her throat, to her left breast. It coiled around her heart in a bramble and then reached out in new branches, up to her left arm, down her belly. Lacy red lines flowed over her hip, ran down her thigh, and finally ended on her left foot.
Mrs. Rose pretended that she wasn’t looking, but Elswyth didn’t blame her. She could appreciate a degree of natural curiosity, and Mrs. Rose had been much more tactful about mentioning her scar in recent weeks.
“Venus Forscythe is a schemer, you’re right about that, and she’ll scheme circles around you. No, it’s better to avoid her for now. Perhaps, if she thinks she’s won, she’ll get bored with you and move on to some other newcomer to terrorize. She might think that she invited every agreeable match to that dance, but for every one she invited, I shall find you ten more. She may be clever, but she’s never met Madame Vivian Rose!”
Mrs. Rose posed dramatically as she said her own name, and Elswyth couldn’t help but laugh. She saw a hint of amusement in the woman’s expression.
“Still, you must admit that my marriage prospects are not what they were a week ago.”
Mrs. Rose inclined her head. “That may be so—but they arenot nonexistent. In fact, there may be ways that we can use this debacle to our advantage.”
Elswyth raised an eyebrow. “Somehow, I doubt that.”
Mrs. Rose smiled slyly. “No news may be good news, but no press is bad press, as they say. Not that long ago, you were a newcomer, just another face in a sea of identical, droning debutantes. A thousand boring sheep in ostrich feathers and kidskin gloves. But now, well, now every gentleman in London knows your name.”
Elswyth laughed. “They know me, certainly. At best, they know me as an imbecile who accidentally wore a gown of poison ivy, and at worst, they know me as some kind of malicious witch, hell-bent on poisoning every gentleman in London.”
“And you don’t think any of them are at least curious about you? A beautiful young woman… possessing mysterious gifts and motivations… There are so few compelling emotions, Miss Elderwood, and curiosity is one of them. Why, yes, a good helping of curiosity can easily become love, with the right encouragement.”
“You think that the morbid curiosity of some man would turn into love? Even if it did, what man in their right mind would propose to a woman who might poison him?”
She shrugged playfully. “My darling dear. Men don’t want what’s good for them. They never have. In fact, most of the men I know are actively trying to poison themselves with drink or gambling. They crave a bit of danger; it makes them feel alive. And you’ve just established yourself as a very dangerous woman—and a quite notorious one at that. Oh yes, I do think that there will be some men who are quite titillated by you.”
“So what do you suggest? I admit to poisoning Lord Forrester? Confirm their suspicions that I am some sort of man-hating witch?”
“Heavens, no. That would make their curiosity dry up in a snap.They can never know your motivations. Keep them dangling on a thread, unsure of what your next move will be. A little curiosity, a little fear… These things can be intoxicating.”
For a moment, Elswyth entertained the possibility. Then she frowned.
“You forget, Mrs. Rose. What you say may be true, but it is all dependent upon one small factor: beauty. Men may say they want a bride unlike any other, but that bride must be beautiful, above all. Beauty is the difference betweenuniqueandstrange. And I am not beautiful.”
