A School for Unusual Girls (16 page)

“Tess, my darling girl,” she cried, and followed this affectionate greeting with an exuberant hug and kiss.

Tess remained rigid as stone.

“It has been much too long.” Lady Daneska caught our friend's cheek in her gloved hand. “Look at you, you are become most lovely.” After giving Tess a pointed inspection, she grinned. “Almost you look civilized. No, that is not quite right. How does one say…” She frowned, struggling with the language. “
Tamed
. Yes, that is the word. Tamed.”

“I assure you, Daneska, I still bite on occasion.”

She grinned. “Always with the wit.” When Tess refused to grant her even the hint of a smile Lady Daneska's mouth formed a perfect O. Like a wounded kitten, all helpless and sad, she pouted. “Never say you are still vexed at me? Not after all these many long months.”

Tess didn't answer or move a muscle.

Miss Pinswary's puppy, however, barked at a more excited pitch and tried to wriggle out of the reticule.

With an annoyed little huff Lady Daneska said, “I see you still have the effect of
magnétisme
on animals. That much, at least, has not changed.” In a whiplike movement, she delivered a hard flick to the puppy's nose.

His bark instantly changed into a yip, and then a muted whimper. “Daneska!” Miss Pinswary clutched her whimpering pup protectively.

As if she'd done nothing at all, Lady Daneska ignored her cousin's outcry and continued, “Come now, Tessie, it is not like you to hold the grudge.”

“Don't call me that.”

“Unless you had one of your terrible dreams about me. You haven't, have you? Not about me?”

Tess ignored the question and left Daneska standing alone in the middle of the room. She went to comfort the whimpering dog who waggled happily and licked her fingers.

“Never mind.” Lady Daneska dismissed Tess with a wave of her hand. “What does it matter? Is only silly dream, yes?” Her accent got heavier. “These things mean nothing, nothing at all.” But she looked worried, a golden-haired cherub with a frown marring her porcelain brow. Then, in one quick breath, her face cleared and she laughed—a delicate laugh, an angelic trill—so light the sound floated on the air like the tinkling of a crystal chandelier being raised. Altogether too perfect.

“Why is she worried about Tess's dream?” I asked.

Jane and Sera exchanged furtive glances, but gave me no reply. The three of us watched in silence as Lady Daneska approached Lord Ravencross. “It is the pleasant surprise,
ma bonne chance,
to see you here, my lord.”

She stood very close to him and dropped into a deep curtsey. I'd never seen a curtsey like hers. It was so charming and engagingly done that before I realized it, I was mimicking her movements.

Jane nudged me and whispered, “Practicing seduction, are we?”

I straightened immediately. She was right. Lady Daneska had arranged herself at such an opportune angle that Lord Ravencross could not help but see directly into her cleavage. And that clever dress of hers—all shimmering silk and fluttering organza—was cut so low I blushed to think how much of her bosom he had in view. The gown was a sensuous shade of lavender, not old-lady lavender, it was a frothy purple that shifted colors depending upon the light, and it was trimmed seductively in black. Which meant— “Oh, my goodness, she's in half-mourning.”

“Her father died last year at Leipzig.” Jane held my arm and leaned so close her breath tickled my ear when she spoke. “Not that she was excessively fond of him. Except for the fact that, during the march through Prussia, Napoleon made her father a duke, which in turn elevated Daneska to a countess, she had very little good to say about him.”

I mouthed my question, “Did her father send her to Stranje House?”

“No.” Jane caught her lip for a moment. “He sent her to live with Lady Pinswary, her mother's sister. It was Daneska who insisted she must come to Stranje House.”

“Why?”

“To study English manners. Or so she said.” I could tell Jane knew more, but she merely shrugged.

Lady Daneska remained deep in her curtsey with her hand extended up to Lord Ravencross, as if she was Anne Boleyn awaiting King Henry to raise her from submission.

“Minx.” Sera scowled. “She has him completely flustered.”

Lord Ravencross stared at Daneska's proffered hand as if it were a three-eyed fish and he had no idea what to do with it. His gaze shot to Tess—Tess, whose lips were pressed together in obvious vexation.

I nudged Sera. “Has Lady Daneska formed a tendresse for Lord Ravencross?”

“Hardly,” Sera said. “She despises him.”

Given her coquetry, how could that be? “But that curtsey?”

I bent my head to hear her soft reply. “Study her face when she doesn't think he's looking. Watch closely. There. Did you see it?”

A flash of pure venom distorted Lady Daneska's features, but only for the briefest instant, then it vanished, replaced by her bewitching smile and glimmering teeth.

I was speechless.

“Sera sees everything.” Jane glanced sideways at me. “Daneska resents him taking his brother's place. She was quite, er,
fond
of the late Lord Ravencross.”

A hundred questions raced through my mind, all of them beginning with
why
. But I knew they would have to wait.

Lady Pinswary aimed her massive prow at Lord Ravencross. “We never expected to see you here, my lord. We heard you were wounded in the war, but I see it was all a hum. You look perfectly fit to me.” She paused to sniff. “Pity about your brother. We shall miss him.
He,
at least, had the good sense to wear a cravat when making calls.” Over the end of her stubby nose, she peered at him. “I see you're out of mourning already. Rather soon, isn't it?”

Miss Stranje cleared her throat. “My lady, one cannot properly evaluate the depth of another's grief by the color of their clothing.” With an upraised eyebrow, she glanced at Lady Daneska. “It is a woefully unreliable custom. Clearly Lord Ravencross is deeply distressed by the loss of his brother. As are we all.”

Lord Ravencross's jaw tensed. He could not seem to find any point in the room on which to focus comfortably. “I assure you, this was not a social call,” he blurted. “And now, if you will excuse me, I shall see myself out.” With that he limped rapidly toward the exit, but hesitated in front of Tess. “I am relieved you were not injured.”

“Not completely uninjured, my lord.” She looked up at him without even a wisp of girlish timidity, or any concern that everyone was eavesdropping on her remarks. “You said some rather harsh—”

“I—I…” He clamped off the stammer. “Have you forgotten? It was you who startled my horse and nearly got yourself killed.”

“An accident. And your horse shied only a little. You spooked the poor creature more when you bellowed at me. That's why he reared again. It was your foul temper that nearly got me killed.”

He clenched his jaw, glanced over his shoulder at their spellbound audience, and snapped a curt bow to Tess. “My apologies. However, as my temperament is unlikely to improve, I suggest you stay well away from my property. Or next time you may not be so lucky.”

Before Tess could respond Lord Ravencross thundered out into the hall, loudly demanding the servants bring him his blasted hat.

Lady Daneska flounced to the sofa and settled herself squarely in the middle. “Such a pleasant fellow, that one.”

Lady Pinswary huffed at Tess. “You needn't have driven off the only eligible male for miles around.” She whirled to her hostess. “Clearly, Miss Stranje, you are failing to teach this one any manners.”

“I shall make a note.”

“Take my advice, girl.” Lady Pinswary navigated to the large chair beside the tea table. “If you want a husband you model your behavior after my Alicia, or my niece.”

Tess snorted at that and dropped into a straight-backed chair near the door.

Miss Stranje directed Miss Pinswary to a seat and asked her guests, “Would you care for some tea?”

Lady Daneska surveyed the biscuits and sweetmeats laid out on the table. “But this is lovely. You are the perfect hostess, Miss Stranje. Always thinking ahead.” This last bit of praise she delivered with a sly peek at our headmistress. “And you remembered strawberries! My favorite.” The impertinent girl seized one from the plate with all the familiarity of a family member, plucked the stem and popped it in her mouth.

Lady Pinswary waved away the offer. “No, no. We haven't time for tea. We're here on an important errand, a matter of life and death.”

Alicia Pinswary held her dog tightly in her lap as she squeezed onto the far end of the sofa beside Lady Daneska.

“Oh, Auntie, there is always time for tea, is there not?” Lady Daneska mewed. “Look at all these delicious sweets. Our dear Miss Stranje has made
le grand
effort
to please us. It would be rude for us not to partake, yes?” She placed a small ginger cake in the center of a plate and held it out to entice her aunt.

Her aunt eyed the platters of crumpets and chocolates on the table and the cake her niece held out. “Well, they say ginger is soothing for the stomach, and molasses is exceedingly good for the bowels. Oh, very well, if you insist.” She snatched the plate.

“Good.” Lady Daneska beamed. “Now, we can all sit together and have the pleasant chat.” I would've sworn she waved her fingertips at us in our hiding place before her gaze whipped toward Tess. There it was again, that split second of anger before her expression shifted. “We are friends, are we not? Breaking bread? That is what friends do.”

Tess sat mute in the chair.

Miss Stranje handed Lady Daneska a cup of tea laced heavily with cream. “Have you had word from your family? In light of the current political situation, how do they fare?”

Lady Daneska's shoulder lifted in a half shrug. “They have a saying on the continent, what Napoleon
giveth
the Vienna Congress
taketh
away. I expect they will dissolve my father's duchy. When next we meet, I fear you may be reduced to addressing me as a simple miss.” She laughed again, that perfect trill, like the strumming of frozen harp strings.

“I assure you, there are far worse things.” Miss Stranje offered her a platter of shortbread biscuits. “However, I was inquiring after your father's family. They are in danger, are they not?”

“Oh, that.” Daneska accepted one of the cookies and added a few strawberries to her plate. “That is why they sent me here, to England, where I am safe.”

“And yet you went back?”

“Not to Pomerania.” She shot back and arched, like a startled cat.

“No? I had thought…” Miss Stranje studied her former student. “But of course, now I remember. You accompanied the former Lord Ravencross to Saxony, before his most unfortunate death.” Brash of Miss Stranje to mention such an indiscretion.

Lady Daneska snapped the shortbread in half. Crumbs scattered across her lap. She made a great show of brushing them away, as if a morsel of dry cookie would ruin her gown forever.

Miss Stranje shook her head mournfully. “He died at Mockern, did he not?”

The puppy wriggled from Miss Pinswary's grasp, intent on lapping up a crumb or two from Daneska's dress. He yipped when she rewarded him with a quick swat.

“Dani!” Miss Pinswary scooped him up and cuddled him to her breast. “Toby meant no harm.” She cooed to the dog and Lady Daneska ignored her completely.

“It is all this talk of war. It is too much sadness.” Lady Daneska brushed the remaining crumbs to the floor. “We must speak of less distressing matters. Auntie Prue, you brought a letter you wish to discuss, did you not? Something about a fire.”

Lady Pinswary had just bitten into her second ginger cake. “Hmm, oh, yes.” She set the plate down and held up one finger before digging through her reticule. With a great flourish she produced the missive and paused to dab crumbs from her lips, before saying, “My cousin wrote to me. You are housing a criminal, one Georgiana Fitzwilliam.” She glanced up making certain all eyes were on her. “An arsonist.”

Arsonist
.

It felt as if Lady Pinswary had rammed the prow of her ship straight into my stomach.

Wondrous quick my status dropped from
wayward daughter, lacking in social skills and having too many disturbing interests,
to dangerous criminal.

Sera leaned close. “Don't worry. Most of us had thorny reputations that chased us here.”

“Look at Daneska,” Jane hissed. “Sitting there taking it all in, trying not to smile. Wicked little cat.”

Sera absently twisted a ribbon from her dress around one finger. “I'm not sure Dani can help herself.”

Jane issued a hushed order to Sera. “Stop giving her the benefit of the doubt. And you”—she fixed her gaze on me—“don't underestimate her. Daneska learned to scheme before she left her nurse's teat. And she probably bit that off on her way out.”

“Why are you so upset with her? What did she do?” I asked.

“She betrayed us,” Jane snapped, almost too loud. “And England.” Softer, she added, “She overheard things she shouldn't have and ran straight to him, to Lord Ravencross's older brother. The two of them rushed off to warn Napoleon. Lord knows how many men died because of her.”

“You mustn't be so hard on her,” mumbled Sera. “Her father's life was at stake.”

“She never cared one wit for her father. It was his title she cared about. That and her attachment to Lord Ravencross's brother.” Jane crossed her arms.

“We don't have any proof,” Sera insisted.

“You're too soft.” Jane's hands balled into fists. “It didn't take much for him to get Dani to play the traitor, did it? For all we know she was involved with him before she even came to Stranje House.”