“Why not?”
“Because at the end of the season, you will be settled, I hope, or at least safely established, and I shall return to France.”
Clara stared at her. “You cannot mean that.”
“I do.”
“But Lord Westbridge—”
“Will remain in England,” Aurelia ended the sentence for her. “As he should. And if I am fortunate, England will forget me completely.”
Clara’s face crumpled with protest. “But I do not want England to forget you.”
Aurelia softened and crossed to her, taking both her hands. “My dear, England remembering me has never been of any use to anyone.”
Before Clara could answer, there came a knock at the door.
The maid entered with a small folded note upon a tray. “This has just come, miss.”
Aurelia took it, expecting some last change of hour, some ordinary social inconvenience. There was no seal and no name, only the direction written in a hand she did not know.
She unfolded it.
Clara leaned closer. “What is it?”
Aurelia read the first line and felt the blood leave her face.
“Miss Finch and Miss Blackmore would show greater wisdom in remaining at home this afternoon. Their presence is neither desired nor appropriate among respectable company. If either lady possessed any pride, she would not be in London at all.”
Clara had gone very still beside her. Aurelia lowered the note slowly.
“That is the same hand,” Clara whispered.
Aurelia did not need to ask which note she meant.
For a moment, neither of them moved. The room, so lively only minutes before, seemed suddenly airless. The blue gown, the ribbons, the gloves laid out in neat pairs, all of it looked painfully foolish now, as if they had been dressing for a welcome that had never existed.
Clara’s eyes filled. “They do not want us there.”
“We do not know that.”
“It says so.”
“It says someone wishes us to believe it.”
Clara’s mouth trembled. “What if it is true?”
“If Lady Davenant did not wish to receive us, she would send a proper note. She would not hide behind malice and poor manners.”
Clara pressed a hand to her mouth. “I cannot go. Aurelia, I cannot walk into that room knowing this.”
Aurelia looked down at the paper again. Anger moved through her, clean and bright beneath the fear.
“We must go.”
Clara recoiled slightly. “How can you say that?”
“Because if we stay away, whoever wrote this succeeds.”
