Page 42

Scale down. Adapt.

She nodded. “We can bring in flowers,” she said. “To liven it up.” Not cut flowers from the florist, wildflowers she would gather herself. Foxglove and daisies and heather, and others that Neal had pointed out on their walk along the stream into the valley and up into Juliot woods. Willow herb, toadflax, sea carrot, yellow iris, pennywort.

“Kelyn could make her ginger biscuits.” Emmeline was pacing too. “Loveday’s the best on piano. Or I could ask Emily Polwhele. She’s even better. Mr. Hichens plays the hornpipe.”

Hornpipe. Lavinia stopped short. How to object without giving insult? One didn’t put on a Worth gown and dance to hornpipe.

“Perhaps a violinist?” she said. Emmeline snapped her fingers.

“Mr. Barnett!” she exclaimed. “He fiddles.”

Fiddle. She shrugged. Good enough. They had all the pieces. Location, musicians, refreshments, decorations. Now they needed to get to work. There were only so many hours.

“Let’s go find this Mr. Barnett, and Emily Polwhele.” Lavinia made to spin on her heel but Emmeline spread her arms, looking down at the table.

“Lunch,” she said glumly. “Kit’s in a choking phase. I have to watch him like a hawk.”

She set two bowls of milk pudding on a lacquered tray.

“Oh.” Lavinia frowned. Lunch. She squared her shoulders, stepped up to the table, and selected an egg from the basket. “I’ll give the twins lunch, then.”

More hands made light work. Wasn’t that the saying?

She examined the egg. One had to break the shell, then peel it off. She picked up a spoon and rapped the egg sharply. To her gratification, a wide crack spread halfway around the egg’s circumference.

Clear slime welled and slid onto her fingers. She dropped the egg with a cry and it split open on the table.

Emmeline pursed her lips. “Those ones aren’t boiled.” She took an egg from a black-bottomed pot and passed it to her. “Try this one.”

Lavinia didn’t meet Emmeline’s eyes. She focused on rolling the new egg back and forth on the table so the shell crinkled beneath her palm.

Anyone could have made that mistake.

Let Emmeline poke fun at her.

But when she looked up, she saw that Emmeline had clasped her hands to her chest and was staring dreamily into space. She glanced at Lavinia and lowered her hands, a blush mantling her cheeks.

Lavinia returned her attention to the egg. She didn’t want to embarrass the girl in the midst of some romantic reverie. The egg was spiderwebbed with cracks. Shouldn’t all the tiny pieces of shell fall off?

“Do you think—” Emmeline clattered two spoons on the tray, then leaned forward, unable to contain her nervous excitement. “Do you truly think people will come?”

Lavinia’s gaze shot up. “Of course people will come.”

There wouldn’t be a line of carriages, and dozens of glittering aristocrats spilling out of them, but there would be people. The whole village, if Emmeline wanted. Exclusivity wasn’t an option. Not at the guildhall. Besides, best not to leave out any potential partygoers, given the size of the total pool.

“We’ll tell everyone,” she said. No guest list. No invitations. They’d spread the news by word of mouth. Shout it from the cliff tops.

“People will come.” Emmeline nodded. “People will come,” she assured herself, and traced a circle on her cheek with the tip of a loose curl.

People. Lavinia hid her smile.

“You could invite him personally,” she said, picking at her egg with as innocent an expression as she could muster. The shell was somehow still stuck together.

Emmeline stood bolt upright, blushing furiously.

Ah. Just as she’d suspected.

Did Kelyn and Loveday know that Emmeline had a sweetheart?