Chapter Sixteen

C HAPTER S IXTEEN

But before Lady Long-Nose and Christina could form a plan, a tall, lean fairy appeared before them. He had the coldest silver eyes Lady Long-Nose had ever seen.

He said, “The Fairy King has read the letter written by Sabinus’s true love and would like to meet her. Now.”

Christina looked at Lady Long-Nose in utter horror.…

—From Lady Long-Nose

“You’ll leave tomorrow morning,” Freya said. “Kester has a carriage ready to take you to Scotland, and he’s hired guards for you as well. Everything is arranged, except you’re not listening to me, are you?”

Elspeth started guiltily. “I am. Truly I am.”

She’d arrived back at Harlowe House only that afternoon, after two days spent returning from Adders. It was now evening, the curtains pulled against the dark sky as they lounged, just the two sisters, in Freya’s sitting room, warmed by the lit fire.

Elspeth rather thought she might never want to leave the room, even if Freya was planning just that. After all, she couldn’t go back to Whispers now that she’d betrayed Messalina’s brother, and she wasn’t at all sure she should take Maighread’s diary to Scotland now that she’d finally found it. Wasn’t that ironic? She’d accomplished her mission, discovered a treasure lost for decades if not centuries, held the hope of the Wise Women right in her hands, and she couldn’t move.

“Elspeth?” Freya called her back to the present. “Something’s wrong, I know.”

Something was wrong indeed.

“I don’t know what to do now,” Elspeth said blankly. Plum shoved his big head into her lap, and she absently stroked his head.

“Do?” Freya sounded exasperated. “You only need to worry about how you will present the diary to the Hags when you return.” She frowned. “It won’t be easy. They obviously don’t want to see Maighread’s writings.”

Yes. Yes, that was absolutely what she should do, what she’d always planned to do, but now the problem was… “What was it like when you married Kester?” Elspeth asked slowly.

Freya turned to stare at her. “What?”

She could feel the heat of a blush moving up her cheeks. Freya was looking at her as if she were mad now. “How did you know you were in love with him?”

“Know?” Freya wrinkled her brow. “Well, Kester listens to me, for one. He’s interested in my thoughts and opinions, even if he doesn’t agree with them.”

“There must be more than that,” Elspeth said a bit desperately.

“Yes, naturally,” Freya said dryly, “but I don’t think you want to know about our bedsport.”

Elspeth merely looked at her.

Freya stood and walked over to a cabinet in the corner of the room. She opened it and removed a decanter and two glasses before returning to the settee and pouring them both a drink.

“Brandy,” Freya explained, answering the unspoken question as Elspeth sniffed at her glass. “Ladies aren’t supposed to drink it, hence the cabinet.”

Elspeth took a sip and sighed at the warmth in her throat.

“We didn’t get along at first,” Freya said. “I thought he’d helped cripple Ran, and, too, I wasn’t best pleased that he didn’t remember me.” She snorted and took a sip from her glass. Her expression softened. “But in the end, we discovered each other. I wouldn’t trade what we have together for anything in the world.”

Elspeth frowned at her glass. “What do you mean by ‘discovered each other’?”

“Well…,” Freya said slowly, “I suppose I mean that we discovered who each other is. No, that’s not quite it.” She thought a moment and then looked up. “Do you remember those roses that Caitriona used to have in her garden? The great, puffy ones that have layers of petals that open when they bloom?”

Elspeth nodded.

Freya turned her glass thoughtfully. “Imagine that the outer petals of the rose are all of society—everyone you don’t know. And that the center where the pistil lies is you.”

“I can never remember which part the pistil is,” Elspeth confessed.

Freya gave her a look. “How many times did Caitriona explain this to you? The pistil is the part in the center that becomes the rose hip when it’s pollinated.” Her sister set aside her drink and cupped her hands together. “These are the outside of the rose, the petals that guard against the world that doesn’t know you at all.” She slowly opened her fingers. “Inside are more petals—they represent your acquaintances. The people whom you greet on the street or whom you might talk to at a ball. They know you, but they probably couldn’t tell you that strawberry tart is your favorite pudding.”

“Ohhh,” Elspeth said, “I’m beginning to see.” Though she still wasn’t sure how the rose pertained to love.

“I hope so,” Freya said. “But remember that there are even more petals beneath those.” She let her hands drop as she smiled at Elspeth ruefully. “I can’t demonstrate with my hands, so imagine that rose with all the petals curled each within the other. The third layer are your closest friends and family. The people you live with. The people you grew up with. They know you better than the outer two groups of petals, don’t they?”

Elspeth nodded. Rings within rings, each smaller than the last, each closer to oneself.

“These people know you very well,” Freya said. “They know what you like and dislike, they know the type of person you are. But there’s a last ring.” She wrinkled her nose. “No, not a ring. Perhaps the stamen sitting next to your pistil at the very center of the rose.” For some reason, her cheeks pinked as she smiled privately. “That is the person who knows you best of all. The person who knows your mind and your soul and your heart. That is what Kester is to me.”

For a moment Elspeth said nothing as she considered Freya’s words.

Julian knew her. Could he be the man at the center of her rose? She rather thought he might be. She caught her breath. But if that was so, she’d already ruined their relationship. She’d selfishly taken his trust and trampled it without thought.

“Elspeth?”

She didn’t realize she was crying until she heard the alarm in Freya’s voice. “I betrayed him,” she sobbed.

Freya was always quick. Perhaps too quick. “Julian Greycourt?”

Elspeth nodded. “He was there, at Adders, and we became close. Very close.”

She felt Freya’s arms wrap around her. “I don’t approve of him, you know that, but I’m sorry.”

“I need to apologize to him.” Elspeth knew it—had known it since she’d left him—but her resolve was certain now.

She could feel Freya nod. “Perhaps you should clarify what happened that night at Greycourt. I haven’t shown you the letter we received from Ran while you were gone. He seems determined to remain a recluse. I’d like to change that if we can.”

Elspeth felt worse. How could she forget her oldest brother in all of this? “If I can only—”

Her words were interrupted by a shot that would’ve taken Elspeth’s head off if she hadn’t chosen that moment to lie down on Freya’s lap.

Freya swore horribly and stood, looking like an Amazon as she shook a long knife down from her sleeve and threw it at the woman standing just inside the door to the salon.

There was a shriek and then a horrible silence as the woman slumped to the floor.

Belatedly, Plum barked.

Elspeth shakily stood and looked at the stranger and realized that she had a scarred lip. The knife was lodged in the woman’s throat and by the amount of blood she was quite dead. Elspeth gulped. “That was a very good throw.”

“Wasn’t it?” Freya grinned viciously before tutting. “They always forget that they only have one shot with a pistol.”

Kester came running into the room. “What?” He looked down at the body. “Who?” He knelt and pressed his fingers to the assassin’s throat before shaking his head. “She’s dead, whoever she is.” He looked up. “Are you all right, darling?”

“Of course,” Freya said. “She meant to kill Elspeth.” She cocked her head, examining the body. “I don’t think we’ll have to worry about her anymore. That is…” She looked at her husband. “You will help me dispose of her, won’t you?”

Kester sighed. “Naturally. Whatever my wife wants. Though I do wish you could advise me in advance next time you decide to murder someone in your salon.” He sounded put out, but Elspeth couldn’t help noticing the small smile that he sent Freya.

If only Elspeth could regain Julian’s trust so easily.

The next day Elspeth saw Julian again.

She was sitting in St Martin-in-the-Fields with Kester and Freya and the Holland family, watching as Arabella Holland married the Earl of Rookewoode. The bride was lovely in a pink gown with lace at the elbows and overskirt, and the groom cut a dashing figure in silver velvet.

“So romantic!” Regina Holland exclaimed, rapt, while observing her sister. She turned to her fiancé, who was seated beside her. “Mr. Trentworth, we really must marry on a sunny morning. See how the sunbeam halos them as if in a painting?”

“Yes, indeed,” Mr. Trentworth murmured for perhaps the fifth time since they’d been seated.

Normally Elspeth would be watching the wedding with interest. She’d never been to one in London, or indeed outside of the Wise Women. But she found she couldn’t make the effort to pay attention. Everything seemed gray even in the sunlit church.

There was a clatter from the back of the church, and Elspeth turned to see what it was. Most of the people behind her were watching the wedding, of course, though there was a florid man who’d already fallen asleep, his chin resting on his chest. No one else was looking around so perhaps—

The ramble in Elspeth’s head stopped, for she’d met Julian’s eyes. He was seated at the back of the church all alone save for his brother, and he was glaring right at her. She swallowed. Even with the cold light in his eyes she felt longing for him rise in her breast.

Elspeth faced forward, conscious of all the people around her. But when she cautiously glanced, no one seemed to pay her any mind. That at least was a relief. She’d looked for Julian since she’d returned to London. Looked and not found him. Messalina had given her the address of an inn where Julian was staying with his brother, but he hadn’t been there. She just wanted to apologize to him. Even if there wasn’t ever anything else between them, she must tell him how sorry she was. Why hadn’t she given him the book when she’d found it? At the time her reasoning had seemed sound, but now she knew she was a fool.

Now she saw only the justification of a selfish woman.

Elspeth pressed a handkerchief to her eyes, hoping that Freya wouldn’t notice. She needn’t have worried.

“He looks so self-satisfied,” Freya muttered, frowning. “Like he’s doing her a favor by marrying her.”

Elspeth blinked and glanced at the wedding couple.

Arabella nearly glowed with joy, and she looked at her husband as if he were a god and she some supplicant. As if she would die for him gladly, she was so in love.

The earl was smiling at his bride, but his expression was indulgent and, now that Elspeth was looking, just a bit smug.

Her sister was correct. There seemed to be an imbalance in their regard for each other.

But did she truly understand how a woman and man in accord might look at each other? She’d spent only a few days with Julian. It had felt momentous, a seismic change to her very being. But had it been the same for Julian? Did it matter when he stared at her so coldly now?

The thought was a jolt straight through her heart, that she’d almost had the center of the rose, so precious, so rare, but she’d crushed it between her fingers instead.

The audience rose suddenly, and Elspeth stood belatedly. The bride and groom were already retreating down the aisle. The new Countess of Rookewoode beamed delightedly. The earl grinned as if he’d finalized the purchase of some long-coveted land. Once seen, the disparity in their emotions was impossible to forget. The realization made her impossibly sad.

The wedding guests began to slowly file out of the church, the crowd jostling a bit. For a second, Elspeth saw a woman’s face, oddly familiar, over Kester’s shoulder. Then a gentleman moved, and she was gone.

Elspeth frowned to herself. It almost looked like—

“Are you all right?” Freya asked at Elspeth’s side.

Elspeth nodded but then shook her head. “I thought I saw someone from the Wise Women.”

“Who?” Freya was immediately searching the mass of people.

“Deidre Dungrave,” Elspeth said slowly.

Freya’s eyes snapped back to her. “The Nemain?”

“I think so.” Elspeth nodded slowly. She continued to look around. Did she have another assassin after her? She found it very hard to care.

Freya swore under her breath.

Elspeth leaned into Freya as they made the doors. “What do you think it means?”

“I don’t know,” Freya replied. “The Crow said she didn’t know where the Nemain was.”

“Could she still be loyal to the Hags?” Elspeth asked. “Could they have sent her?”

Freya bit her lip. “I hope not.”

“What are you whispering so conspiratorially to Elspeth?” Kester bent to ask.

“My—our—other life,” Freya replied significantly, since Kester knew about the Wise Women.

He nodded. “Can you break long enough to attend the wedding breakfast?”

Freya took his arm, leaning close to her husband. “I suppose we’ll have to, won’t we? Now take us to the carriage, please. I don’t like Elspeth being out in the open.”

Kester nodded. “Right away.”

The ducal carriage was only around the corner, but it took several minutes to get there, as they had to make their way through not only the wedding guests but also the common people who had gathered to catch the coins thrown out by the earl’s servants. Elspeth could feel sweat rolling down her back the entire time.

They arrived at the carriage and got in before Kester knocked on the roof to let the driver know they were settled.

Elspeth waited for the carriage to pull away before saying, “Perhaps she’s doing other work for the Hags.”

“Maybe,” Freya said thoughtfully. “But I don’t think so. Not after the Hags declared that they’d separated from the outside world.”

“Dare I inquire what you are talking about?” Kester asked with uncharacteristic diffidence.

“A possible second assassin after Elspeth,” Freya said bluntly.

Kester winced. “The more I hear about the Wise Women, the deadlier they seem.”

“Only sometimes,” Freya said, patting her husband’s hand.

Elspeth frowned out the window. She’d not yet made plans to return to the Wise Women’s compound with Maighread’s diary. Part of her hesitation came from the fact that she’d like to have others backing her when she returned. The other part, she had to admit, was pure procrastination.

The thing was, she rather liked living outside the compound. It was a strange world to her, it was true, but she had so much freedom. There was no one to decide the course of her life for her. She could move as she wished, talk to people as she wished, see things as she wished. She loved living in London. And a small, reckless part of her whispered that if she was here instead of the far north of Scotland, then perhaps she could attempt a reconciliation with Julian.

As unlikely as that might be.

The carriage stopped.

“Shall we?” Kester said, descending and holding out his hand to Freya and then Elspeth.

She stepped down, shaking out her skirts before looking up at Rooke House’s edifice. It was classical, but there was also a hint of the baroque in the extravagant curls decorating the cornices and the grand tympanum over the entrance.

Inside, the house was lavishly appointed in the baroque style with wildly carved tables, chairs, and mirrors and, naturally, a painted ceiling.

“Why is it always naked babies?” Elspeth wondered.

“What, dear?” Freya asked distractedly.

The guests were being ushered into a dining room lined with portraits, presumably the earl’s ancestors. A life-size sugar swan surrounded by flowers and sweetmeats was the centerpiece of the long table.

“Messalina and Hawthorne are over there.” Freya waved and then moved toward the head of the table. “Pity we can’t sit with them. You’re too high ranked, Kester.”

Elspeth looked around. If Julian was at the wedding, surely he’d attend the breakfast? But she couldn’t see him. Her spirits sank.

“I’m going to visit the necessary,” Elspeth murmured to Freya.

“Be careful,” her sister whispered. “I don’t see Deidre, but that doesn’t mean she’s not here.”

Elspeth turned and sidled to a discreet door in a corner of the dining room. She entered a small room reserved for ladies to refresh themselves in. Fortunately, there was another door across from the first, leading into a small corridor.

Elspeth slipped out.

Perhaps Julian had decided to skip the breakfast. Or he might be somewhere with other male guests. Gentlemen had so much more freedom to do as they pleased on occasions like this. They might even be toasting the groom.

Oh, this was a fool’s errand.

But she couldn’t stop herself. Just one more chance to talk to him, to see his gray eyes and know his attention was on her.

Love was a terrible affliction.

Elspeth tiptoed down the hallway, hoping she wouldn’t meet anyone. She was peeking around the corner to see if the next hall was occupied when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

She was pulled into a dark room and spun around.

Julian glared down at her. “Was everything you said to me a lie?”

He’d been angry since he’d seen her at St Martin-in-the-Fields, sitting so primly, her glorious hair standing out like a beacon in the crowded church. No, even before that. Since he’d discovered her letter at Adders. It was a creeping, grudging, despairing anger.

How could she?

The room was dark, but he could see the whites of her widened eyes. “I’m so sorry, Julian.”

He tightened his grip on her shoulders. “Why?”

“I…” She cleared her throat. “That is, I have lied to you, I suppose, from the moment we met, but that was because of Maighread’s diary. It was—is—important to me.” She licked her lips and said in a whisper, “Perhaps too important, since I prioritized it over you.”

“You could’ve trusted me.” He felt like shaking her. Why apologize now, when it was too late?

“I should have,” she agreed readily. Her eyes looked so sad, but could he trust them? “That was my mistake. But… but surely you’ve lied to me as well, by omission if nothing else. You’re keeping secrets from me.”

“That was before,” he growled, knowing he was exposing himself to her. “Before we were at Adders together, before I told you about my family and how close we were to danger, before I knelt at your feet.”

She bit her lip but carried on bravely in the face of his wrath. “And Ran? I think I deserve to know what happened that night. Did you help beat him? Did you stand back and let others do the work for you?”

He reared back as if he’d been slapped. The guilt nearly overwhelming him. His voice was low and harsh as a result. “You’re trying to draw attention away from your own lies.”

“Oh,” she gasped. “I never—”

“Did it mean nothing to you?” He felt as if his chest were being torn asunder. “Did I mean nothing to you?”

“Julian,” she whispered, so sweetly, so softly, “I’m sorry. I should never have hidden your mother’s book. But you see, I needed to find Maighread’s diary, and I wasn’t sure if you’d let me stay once your mother’s book was found. My search was just as important to me as yours was to you.”

“Was it?” he growled. “Are your sisters in danger?”

She inhaled, her eyes wide in what looked like shock, and for a moment said nothing.

He was glad. He wanted her to be shocked, to realize the injustice she’d done him.

“No,” she whispered, his domineering goddess brought low. “Your sisters are more important than the diary. I was a fool. But Ran—”

“No.” He shook his head. “Not here.” They were no longer at Adders. That dream had shattered.

“I’m sorry,” she said again. “I thought…”

“What?” he replied bitterly. “What did you think?” He could hear footsteps hurrying by in the hall outside and more distantly the murmur of voices from the dining room. They had stayed too long here.

Julian grabbed Elspeth’s hand, dragging her to the door.

“Julian, wait,” she protested, far too loudly.

“Hush,” he hissed. “We need to return to the party.”

“No,” she protested. “Can’t we stay here just a little longer?”

Too late, too late, too late. Everything they’d had was fallen to ruins. He opened the door gingerly. Thank God, the corridor was empty. “Go.”

He could see her mutinous expression in the light. Even now, as his heart beat with trepidation, he wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her until she saw reason.

Until she stopped her lies and kissed him back.

But that moment was past. He had no right anymore to her.

Elspeth stepped into the hall and was gone.

Julian waited a moment more and then walked in the opposite direction. He was almost to the dining room when he nearly ran into Leander Ashley, the Earl of Rookewoode.

“Greycourt,” the newly married man exclaimed. “Just the man I wanted to see.”

Julian pulled himself together. “Congratulations again. Your bride is lovely.”

“She is, isn’t she?” Rookewoode grinned. “But I want to talk business with you, if you don’t mind.”

“Won’t your countess miss you?”

Rookewoode waved away the concerns of his new wife. “Just for a moment. She won’t mind. Come to my study. It’s just here.”

The earl indicated a room down the corridor. Inside the curtains were pulled and the fire was lit.

Rookewoode leaned against what looked like a Jacobean desk, heavy and solid. “Now. I’ve had a word with Lord Admiral Swanson, and the old man turned the color of the inside of a blood orange when he read your mother’s words. He might look aside for many things Windemere had done, but murder—murder of his brother’s wife—is quite another matter. Thought Swanson might drop from apoplexy right there, and then where would our plans for him to spread the word be?” The earl made a wry face.

“But the old boy rallied round and proceeded to rant and curse Windemere for the next hour. Never heard such words. But of course, he was in the navy.”

“Good.” Julian nodded distractedly. His mind was still on Elspeth. On their parting. On the innocent way she’d glanced at him in the church. But she wasn’t innocent, perhaps had never been. It had been his own blind stupidity to even think so. She’d maneuvered him with the seasoned ability of an old card sharp.

“You don’t look enthused,” the earl interrupted his thoughts, eyes much too intelligent. That was the thing with Rookewoode—he acted the careless rogue right up until he surprised you with a sudden word or act of perception. “What’s bothering you, Jules?”

Julian shook his head. “Nothing to do with this matter.”

“You know we have him,” Rookewoode said. “Your uncle can’t escape from the charge of murder in your mother’s own handwriting. He might never be brought before Parliament, but he’s ruined.”

The thing was, Julian did know. He was on the very cusp of finally winning against his uncle, yet all he could think about was Elspeth and her betrayal.

Of losing her.

Julian straightened. He’d never had Elspeth. That had been a fallacy of his own imagination. She’d been using him for her own interests the entire time.

He looked at Rookewoode seriously. “Thank you. I don’t know if I could have pulled this together without your contacts.”

Rookewoode shrugged. “You just would’ve taken a bit more time. The end would’ve still been the same.” But the earl grinned, looking quite pleased with himself.

“Shall we return to the breakfast?” Julian asked. “They’ll be wanting to toast you and the countess.”

“Already started before I left,” the earl replied cheerfully. “But yes, let’s return. Shouldn’t want to disappoint the aged female relatives.” He mimed an exaggerated shiver of horror.

The dining room was loud when they entered, people talking to their neighbors. The bride’s face lit up when she saw Rookewoode, and he grinned at her as he sauntered over. Julian made his way to his designated seat somewhat farther down the table from the bridal couple. He caught Kester’s measuring eye as he sat, and Julian looked hastily—guiltily—away. Elspeth was right. She did deserve the truth.

Elspeth was poking at a piece of seedcake the next afternoon when Freya asked, “What happened at the wedding breakfast yesterday? You haven’t told me a thing, and I’m quite frustrated.”

They sat in Freya’s salon, the sun coming in the windows, Plum pretending to sleep while Daisy batted at his ears, trying to get the other dog to play. A whole tray of cakes and tarts and savory little pies sat before Elspeth and Freya, and it all should’ve been perfect.

Except Julian had dismissed her, and Elspeth had no idea how to fix it.

Or if she even could.

Her shoulders slumped. He’d been so angry at the breakfast yesterday. It all seemed hopeless.

“Elspeth?”

She glanced at her sister. “Yes?”

“What is it, dear?” Freya nodded to the plate. “You’ve destroyed that poor seedcake, and I don’t think it’s done a thing to you.”

“It isn’t my favorite.” Elspeth wrinkled her nose at the crumbs on her plate and set it aside.

“And the haddock this morning for breakfast?”

“Well, fish .”

“You love fish.” Freya gave her a stern look. “Last night at supper you didn’t touch the ham and potatoes, and you refused a slice of apple tart. Apple tart , Elspeth.”

Elspeth sighed. The problem with sisters was that they were much too observant. And didn’t mind sticking their noses into other people’s business.

Freya bit her lip. “Darling, something’s troubling you. Please tell me.”

And cared far too much.

Elspeth tangled her fingers together in her lap. “I’m afraid I’ve done something you’ll find quite foolish.”

Freya tilted her head and waited.

And waited.

Maddening. Freya had always had the ability to make Elspeth talk.

“I’ve fallen in love with Julian Greycourt.”

Freya dropped her teacup.

“Oh dear,” Elspeth exclaimed gratefully, “I should call for a maid.”

“No.” Freya halted her with an outstretched hand. “Leave the spill for now. Let’s talk some more.”

Elspeth sat back down a little sulkily.

“Sometimes when a woman beds a man, she becomes caught up in the emotion of the act,” Freya said very carefully. “Could that perhaps be the case here?”

“I enjoyed very much what we did in bed.” Elspeth closed her eyes, carefully pushing away the memories. “But that’s not why I love him. Julian is such a proud man. He cares very much, perhaps too much, for his family. He loves intensely, and I rather admire that. He likes so many things—books, dogs, sweets—and yet he hides his likes because he sees them as weaknesses. He doesn’t know how to peel potatoes, but he tried for me. His words can be so sharp they cut, but inside he’s so soft and caring, that he’s the one in the end who bleeds.” She opened her eyes and looked at her sister helplessly. “I love him. And I think he might’ve loved me.”

Freya hummed. “But?”

“But I apologized, and he will not accept it.” Elspeth felt her voice go thick with tears. “Trust is perhaps the most important value to him, and I broke it.”

A sob shuddered through her, and suddenly Freya was beside her, wrapping her arms around Elspeth.

“I shall gut him,” Freya snarled, “for making you weep.”

“No,” Elspeth gasped, pressing the handkerchief that her sister gave her to her eyes. “You can’t. I love him, and it’s my fault, truly, that he’s angry at me. I lied. And I hid something important from him so that I could stay at Adders longer, looking for the diary.”

“I refuse to believe that you’re the villain of this piece,” Freya said fiercely.

“I’m certainly not the heroine.” Elspeth looked up at Freya’s ceiling, trying to stop the tears. “I don’t think there’s any villain or hero. It’s just that he doesn’t feel the same as I. He doesn’t love me in return and”—a sob caught her, making her voice break—“and I must live without him. And Freya, I don’t know how .”

Her emotion overwhelmed her again, the sorrow and tears making her gasp. This ache in her chest was unbearable. Why should she feel such pain when weeks before she’d not even talked to Julian? Couldn’t she simply pretend she’d never met him, never talked and laughed with him, never felt his mouth on hers?

But love was like an infection of the heart—once settled, it couldn’t be cleaned out, sinking in without cure, taking hold, until the entire body throbbed with it.

Until she might die of it.

Elspeth wasn’t sure afterward how long she stayed in Freya’s arms, racked with tears and sorrow, but she had begun to still. To sit limp with itching eyes and flushed cheeks.

Then the door flew open.

Messalina rushed in. “I came as quickly as I could. I didn’t find out until just an hour ago at Lady Greenhill’s salon. I…” She stopped short, her eyes widening as she saw them. “Oh, you’ve already heard. I’m so sorry.”

“Heard what?” Freya asked. “What are you sorry for?”

Elspeth sat upright, the sodden handkerchief still pressed to her nose.

Messalina was watching her with pity in her eyes. “That my brother is rumored to have… unusual tastes in the bedroom. That he seduced you, Elspeth.”