Part 23 (1/2)
”Even Susan said she isn't ready.”
”That's irrelevant. You'll recall I also asked you whether Lioncroft would hang for his crimes.”
Evangeline took a breath. ”He didn't kill Lord Hetherington.” Probably Probably.
Lady Stanton arched a thin brow. ”Did you see that in a vision?”
”No.”
”Then you don't know that, do you? That was another agreement unfulfilled. We are running short on time, but Susan will wed Lioncroft with or without your help.”
”You don't even know if he's a coldhearted killer,” Evangeline pointed out.
Lady Stanton lifted a dainty shoulder. ”You just said he wasn't.”
”You don't believe me!”
”Miss Pemberton, do try to view the world as an adult. Susan has ruined her chances with respectable gentlemen, and I refuse to allow her to grow into an old maid, like you'll undoubtedly become. Lioncroft is the rich, attractive, intelligent son of a respected viscount. He'll have to do. Another strand of pearls, girl. I'm to be the mother of a bride.”
”You are not,” Evangeline snapped. ”He doesn't want her.”
Lady Stanton's smile could freeze lava. ”That hardly matters.”
Evangeline threw out her hands. ”Of course it matters. He's in charge of himself, and he's quite determined to remain a bachelor.”
”I'm even more determined that he shall wed my daughter.” Lady Stanton frowned. ”Look, you've dirt on Susan's gown. I have never seen seen such a ragam.u.f.fin-” such a ragam.u.f.fin-”
”You don't understand.” Evangeline resisted the urge to peer at her reflection. ”He knows about your stratagem and is unimpressed. Mr. Lioncroft refuses to marry Susan, with or without a compromise.”
”And how would you know this if you weren't sneaking around with him unattended, you little strumpet? If you had a reputation to ruin, you would've done so long ago. Don't look at me like that-it's true. You are a n.o.body, and shall remain so until you die. I know it; you know it; Lioncroft knows it. Why else would he be sniffing around you, but to rut without fear of the parson's trap? You're practically servant cla.s.s, Miss Pemberton. I'm sure he entertains himself with the maids whenever he pleases, so why should you be any different? You are not the sort of chit a man of n.o.ble blood marries. True gentlemen-those who belong in Polite Society-settle down with young ladies like my Susan. She is beautiful, well-bred, well-educated, lineaged, and rich. You are none of those things. You are nothing.”
”I am nothing?” Evangeline advanced forward until she loomed behind Lady Stanton and the perimeter of the vanity's looking gla.s.s was filled with her dirtstained gown. ”I am Evangeline. I am a woman. I am a daughter. I am a person. I've spent my entire life helping other nothings like me improve their lives. You've never helped anyone but yourself.”
”And my daughter. She and I are my primary concerns, and we should be yours as well. Those of your cla.s.s should seek to enhance the lives of their betters, not selfishly dwell on your own lot. If you had a thoughtful bone in your body, you would cease being so impertinent and start helping me match Lioncroft with Susan. I command you to do so.”
A choking laugh escaped Evangeline's throat. ”You command me? In penning a letter to my stepfather, you've long since compromised whatever leverage you might've once had. I owe you nothing.”
”Except the clothes on your back.”
”I owe them to Susan, not you. However, if you so choose, you can have them.”
”What are you going to do, run about naked? I suppose you might catch Lioncroft's eye that way, slattern that you are. Mark my words, in his eyes you're nothing more than a temporary outlet for his pa.s.sion-if that. How anyone can look at you and see something besides a pathetic guttersnipe is beyond me. Perhaps Lioncroft is afflicted with excess virility. You'd better continue wearing Susan's clothes for the duration. Unfas.h.i.+onable as they are, I daresay you've never worn anything half so dear. You ought to be kissing my toes.”
”Kissing your-”
A knock interrupted a bout of spluttering Evangeline had meant as an outraged tirade. She stalked across the room and flung open the door without asking Lady Stanton's permission.
Carefully avoiding casting his gaze about the frozen countenances of the persons within, the footman handed Evangeline two squares of paper and quickly took his leave.
”Well, you meddlesome creature, what is it?”
Evangeline tossed the missive marked ”Lady Stanton” to the floor and unfolded the one bearing her own name.
DEAR M MISS P PEMBERTON,JANE H HETHERINGTON CORDIALLY INVITES YOU TO JOIN IN THE CELEBRATION OF HER THIRTEENTH BIRTHDAY. WE SHALL MEET OUTSIDE THE FRONT GARDEN FOR A PICNIC AT ONE O'CLOCK, FOLLOWED BY KITE-FLYING AND PALL-MALL.YOURS SINCERELY, JANE.
”Maid,” Lady Stanton ordered. ”Fetch me that paper.”
The lady's maid flashed Evangeline an inscrutable look before placing pearls and hairbrush atop the vanity in order to retrieve the fallen paper. Evangeline imagined she'd strangle her mistress with those pearls if she could.
”One o'clock,” Lady Stanton exclaimed. ”But that's barely an hour from now. I must finish my toilette. Make yourself useful for once, Miss Pemberton. Go see that Susan is looking her best. She has a husband to catch.”
Evangeline shook her head. ”I won't help you.”
”Fine.” Lady Stanton sniffed. ”I'm sure we don't need you. Susan can ensnare him entirely on her own.”
Probably so. And for some reason, that made Evangeline feel...ill.
At first, Evangeline had no intention of visiting Susan. But as her fury was at the mother and not the daughter, her desire to speak to a friend outweighed her desire to spite Lady Stanton.
First and foremost, she needed to change into fresh garments. She selected the most flattering gown in the dressing room. Not because Lady Stanton had called her a ragam.u.f.fin incapable of catching Mr. Lioncroft's eye. Because she wished for a fresh gown, that's all.
As to Evangeline's hair, well...as usual, there wasn't much that could be done with it, but she spent the better part of an hour sitting stock still so Molly could give the tangled ma.s.s her best effort. Not because Lady Stanton had called Evangeline an urchin useful only as a receptacle for Mr. Lioncroft's excess virility. Because her chignon had disintegrated earlier in the day and she happened to have time to fix it before the picnic, that's all. Well, somewhat fix it. Her hair managed to look...chignon-esque. Most of the pins were even staying put.
After thanking Molly for repairing her unruly locks twice in the same morning, Evangeline squared her shoulders and stepped out into the hall.
Susan glided directly toward her, looking every inch the well-put-together figure of Quality her mother had proclaimed her to be.
”There you are!” She fell into step alongside Evangeline. ”Did you see Jane's invitation? I looked for you after breakfast and couldn't find you anywhere.”
”I was...chatting with your mother,” Evangeline hedged. ”I did receive the invitation. It was darling. Are you on your way to the picnic now?”
”I was hoping we would both be.” Susan linked arms with her. ”You know how I am with directions.”
”The front gardens mean the front lawn,” Evangeline explained, careful not to smile. ”It's the first thing we'll see when we exit the house.”
”Yes, well, easy for you to say. And what were you discussing with Mother? Please don't say I'm to be compromised during the picnic. She already informed me today was The Day, come h.e.l.l or high water, but honestly...I should like to eat a sandwich or two before linking my name with Lionkiller's forevermore.”
So today really was The Day. Evangeline forced her teeth to unclench. ”Please stop calling him Lionkiller. I doubt he's the murderer.”
”Truly?” Susan gaped at her. ”Did you have a vision? Or are you just saying that because you've made friends?”
Friends? Evangeline bit back a humorless laugh. Did friends plaster each other against the nearest wall and melt into each other's kisses? Did friends demand services from each other in exchange for boons; visions for freedom, vindication for coach fare? She shook her head. Her relations.h.i.+p with Mr. Lioncroft might be indefinable, but whatever they were-they weren't friends.
Susan's spectacles b.u.mped Evangeline's ear as she leaned over to whisper, ”Do you think he'll be a gentle lover?”