Camille had scoffed at the ridiculousness of it all, making the mistake of asking why she couldn’t go to the lady of the house first thing and offer the letter so she wouldn’t need to suffer the festivities at all.
Whip in hand for its monthly oiling—an orchestrated ploy used for intimidation—Madam had smacked her palm with a nastycrackbefore replacing the leather rod to its rightful place, successfully ending the discussion.
“Are you going to ignore me the entire way?”
Camille eyed her allotted and wildly inappropriate ‘chaperone’ and the startling transformation from gang leader to young woman. “You told me not to look at you.”
Syd picked at her finery, having protested more emphatically than Camille when Madam had demanded they change into presentable outfits. Nevertheless, the younger woman wore the mauve, satin dress with an innate grace Camille could never duplicate.
“I didn’t appreciate the staring, considering you look far sillier than I and won’t stop fidgeting,” Syd said.
Noting how she absently played with the lace at her collar, Camille dropped her hand. The rules she’d inherited since birth had never come easily. While she never forgot a single ridicule of her manner, her body had always worked independently from her mind when stressed.
“You gonna tell me why we were sent out on this embarrassing errand, anyway?” Syd asked.
“You didn’t have to tag along.”
“Sha-dow,” Syd stressed. “Hawkins is still unaccounted for; I’ll see this job through till the end.”
Neither of them voiced the thought that Hawkins would show up soon, probably face-down in the Thames.
Camille pasted on a smile and backtracked. “Most women would call the opportunity to dress well and mingle with the peerage a novelty.”
Syd snorted. “Most women have boring lives. Any chance they’ll turn me away, seeing as I am without invitation?”
“As I am an unmarried woman, Lord and Lady Quickner will assume I have a chaperone.” She smirked at Syd’s disappointment. “I’ll introduce you as my married cousin to make your younger age more acceptable.”
“A good girl introduces mutual acquaintances with care: a commoner to a lord, a woman to a man, inferior to superior.”
Camille never imagined she’d be grateful for the years of etiquette drilled into her by her mother.
“A refugee from Ireland sharing the same table as the elite?” Syd said. “Talk about novelty. What excuse did you give your lover for leaving?”
The horses veered suddenly—most likely from another insufferable pothole—and Camille locked up her response behind clenched teeth until the victoria had settled back into a smooth pace.
She glanced at the driver’s stiff shoulders and whispered at Syd, “Keep your voice down.”
Syd rolled her eyes but lowered her voice. “Like our driver cares. He was probably hired by Madam just like everyone else.”
“Not everyone need know my business with Renard.”
“‘Renard,’ is it?”
“Don’t look at me like that,Sydney Laundry. Where does Scarlet think you are right now?”
Syd shrugged. “I told Pops the game. That’s good enough. And don’t change the subject. What didRenardsay when you told him you were leaving?”
“I didn’t.”
Her smug expression pinched.
“For the love of—we are not wed. I may come and go as I wish.”
Syd shook her head. “After all the rain he suffered through to get your attention.”
“Whose side are you on?”
“Yours.” Syd didn’t hesitate. “Which is why I’m telling you the man is perfect for you.”
