Ivy had made this pronouncement. She was suddenly beside Drew, pointing discreetly at her sister, who’d turned her face to the wall. Beside Imogene stood Lady Tribble, her expression panicked; she looked like someone who’d been suddenly asked to pray aloud in church.
Drew reached blindly for Lachlan, her question about their special evening forgotten. The baroness bent to whisper something to her daughter, but Imogene spun, presenting her back to her mother. And now the girl’s profile was revealed to the room, and ah, yes. Ivy was correct. Imogenewascrying. The tears were discreet, shown mostly in blotchy skin and a bit bottom lip. Drew’s heart broke, just a little, to see proud Imogene losing composure—and here, of all places. Drew had never seen her so distressed.
“What’s happened?” Drew whispered, coming up to them. She looked back and forth between the baroness and Imogene.
“Imogene?” Drew gently pressed. “How can I help? Should we go? This outing was meant to be exciting and fun but it’s certainly not worth tears.”
“We are outcasts,” hissed Imogene lowly, bitterly. “Oddities. Everyone can see it.” Angrily, she swiped a tear from her cheek and glanced at the circle of pretty girls near the door.
Ah, thought Drew. She stepped up to shield the girl from view.
“We’ve had no proper schooling,” whispered Imogene, “we’ve no notion of how to behave in polite company. We have almost no clothes—”
“That’s not true,” said Ivy, “think of the hours we spent at the dressmaker’s.”
“But the dresses haven’t been delivered yet, have they?” shot back Imogene.
“Mrs. Tavertine’s staff has worked day and night to make the gown you’re wearing, Imogene,” said Drew. “And it’s very pretty. I assure you, you look just as lovely, if not lovelier, than anyone in this palace. I would not have brought you here if I wasn’t confident you were suited for royal company.”
“I hate relying upon you to tell me what is appropriate or reasonable or how to behave. I hate being ignorant of what to do.”
“London was too ambitious,” Lachlan remarked, coming to stand behind them. “I knew this, and yet—”
“No,” said Imogene, swiping away another tear, “I adoreLondon. I should never leave it, given the choice. What Ihateis not knowing how to manage it. I hate being the... the bumpkin who must rely on Miss Trelayne or risk looking like a fool. And mostly—” she swiped away another tear and glared at her mother “—Ihatethat I was locked away in the bloody, bleeding Temple of Order in Eden forfiveyears, only to emerge the village idiot.” Her voice rose on the last “I hate,” and she turned angry, narrowed eyes on her mother.
Drew inhaled slowly, hoping to demonstrate calm. She glanced at Lady Tribble. The baroness wore a look of pained shock, almost is if she’d taken a musket to the gut. Then, not unlike a gunshot victim, she squeezed her eyes closed and began to sob.
When Ivy saw this, she too bowed her head and began to whimper.
“Alright,” sang Drew cheerfully—quietly, but cheerfully—“let us stepoutof the antechamber and find some private place to collect ourselves, shall we?” She looked to Lachlan. “Your Grace, can you lead the way?”
“Right...” he said, looking around. “You are all too large, I suppose, to fit out the window. We’ll simply... go out the way we came in.”
He led the way to the corridor doors, opening them just wide enough for the five of them to file out. At the far end of the landing, a footman approached with a smartly dressed young couple and a babbling baby.
Lachlan frowned, looked right and left, and opened the very next door he came to. The room was dark inside and he snatched a candle from the wall and disappeared within. Drew paused, eyeing the approaching footman. The couple stopped to admire a mural on the wall, pointing out some feature to the baby, and Drew saw their chance.
“In we go, after Lachlan,” she chirped, leading them into the dim room. When everyone was inside, she quietly, discreetly shut the door.
“Calm,” she called gently. “Let us all endeavor to keep calm.”
“I’ve found the lamp,” said Lachlan, his face suddenly washed in light.
The room was hardly illuminated but brighter now; it allowed Drew to see that Imogene had chosen the opposite of calmness. The girl burst into proper tears.
Lady Tribble came next, her cries only muffled as her face fell into her gloved hands.
Last was Ivy, who came from nowhere to Drew’s side and fell into her arms, crying against her chest.
This is my reward, thought Drew,for becoming distracted.The romantic night with Lachlan seemed as unattainable, and indeed, as frivolous, as a proverbial golden egg.
If she felt more disappointment than was strictly appropriate, especially as three females sobbed around her, she endeavored to put the entire idea out of her head. These young women needed her, and there were worse things than being needed.
Across the room, Lachlan swore, collided with something loud and clattery, and swore again. After more profanity, he managed to light a second lamp, and then a third. Light spilled from the rear of the room and Drew looked about over the top of Ivy’s hat.
Thankfully, the room appeared to be used for storage. Unused chairs and empty tables crowded the large space in no particular order. Vacant tea trolleys lined one wall, and empty vases were clustered like penguins in a corner.
Drew took a deep breath, kissed Ivy’s forehead, and disentangled herself. Grabbing the first available chair, she pushed it like a baby pram across the room and parked it behind the baroness.
