A School for Unusual Girls (29 page)

I dashed off, keeping as low as possible without looking absurd, and finally evaded her. I looked toward my goal, the side door, and saw Lady Daneska headed in my direction. Like a queen taking a stroll through a garden, she wove gracefully in and out of the crowd. Clever fox, she smiled and fluttered her fan at the gentlemen, when all the while she was sniffing after a hare.

Well, this rabbit planned to give her the slip. I dashed behind a cluster of people and tried to blend in. I spotted a servants' entrance in the paneling behind a bank of potted plants. Even if Lady Pinswary or Lady Daneska saw me, neither of them would dream of following me through a servants' door.

At the same moment I cracked opened the door, a trumpet blared, and the page announced, “His Majesty, Prince George, Regent of England.”

As the entire company turned to observe his entrance and bow low, I whiskered through the side door and shut it tight behind me. For good measure I flipped the latch before taking off down the secondary hallway.

Breathing easier, I ignored the quizzical expression on a footman's face and, as if I knew exactly where I intended to go, hurried toward the more lighted end in search of a staircase leading downstairs.

In my rush from the hall into the west foyer, I tripped over an outstretched foot. It sent me stumbling into a side table, where I nearly toppled a Chinese vase. My reticule clanged against it and I prayed none of the ink vials had broken.

“Hey ho, cuz,” said the owner of the offending foot. I recognized the bully's drawl immediately. It was one of my uncle Brucklesby's obnoxious sons.

“Good evening, Roderick,” I said through clamped teeth as I righted the vase. Turning to greet my smirking cousin, I discovered, to my great displeasure, not one, but two cousins leering at me. “Freddie.” I nodded, acknowledging my uncle's youngest son.

Freddie, three years my senior, liked to think he was too good to breathe the same air I did. He lifted one of the coiled ringlets hanging over my shoulder with two fingers, as if it was a loathsome caterpillar he meant to squish. He let it fall and circled me like a tomcat does before pouncing. “Can this be our own little Georgie?”

“Nah,” said Roderick. “This girl is almost passable. Our Georgie is a wild-haired little urchin, too busy reading books to be caught dead in a ball gown.”

I brushed the stupid ringlets back and folded my arms, trying to imitate my mother at her irate best. “Lovely to see you two, but I'm afraid I must be going. Isn't there a housefly somewhere whose wings you haven't plucked off?”

“Zounds! But the chit has grown a sharp tongue. I'm wounded.” Freddie pressed a hand over his breast in mock anguish.

“No one says
zounds
anymore, Freddie. Last century. Completely passé.” I shook my head pretending a great deal more sophistication than I felt. “Now if you will kindly step aside I have business to attend to.”

“What business?” Like a pair of stray dogs, they circled tighter. “Come to think of it, where's your da?” said Freddie. “Don't recall seeing him or your brothers on the guest list. But then he isn't an earl, is he?”

I shrugged. “I doubt you are privy to Lord and Lady Castlereagh's guest list.”

Roderick imitated his brother's inquisition-like tone. “Uncle Henry doesn't know you're here, does he? And why are you roaming the halls? Up to something, aren't you?”

“Dangerous for a young girl to be caught alone, even in a place like this.” Freddie pinched my arm.

I jerked away. “I'm not alone. I have an escort and a companion with me. I was simply making my way to the ladies retiring room. I don't need an escort for that.”

“Oh, I don't know.” Freddie sneered, leaning in to sniff my hair. “Never know who might be lurking—”

“Hold on.” Roderick straightened, as if his head might explode. “I've had an idea.”

“Huzzah,” I said. “I shall notify the
Times
. Now if you will please step aside.” I tried to shove past him.

“Hold up, cuz. You could be of use to me.” Roderick flicked my ringlets back over my shoulder so they hung across my breasts. He grabbed both of my shoulders and studied me as if I was a bug on a pin. “She's not altogether disgusting, is she? What do you say, Freddie? I might use her to make a certain young lady jealous, eh?”

Freddie shrugged. “Might do.”

“Come on, then.” Roderick grabbed my arm and tugged me in the opposite direction I wished to go. “You shall stand up with me on the next set.”

“No! I can't.” I wrenched my arm out of his grasp, but he seized it again.

“Leave me be, Roderick. I'm not going to dance with you.”

“You will.” He held my arm so tight that I had no choice but to drag alongside him. “Duty to family, and all that. If you won't, I'll—”

I didn't have time for his threats. “I told you, I
can't
.” I twisted out of his hold.

“She's right.” Freddie shoved me against his brother. “Remember, Rod? She broke her dancing master's foot. Or was it his leg? Can't remember. But I do remember Uncle Henry had to pay off the bloke so he wouldn't put the story all about town.”

I couldn't help it. My hands curled into tight fists. I wanted to pummel them both within an inch of their lives. If they weren't so much bigger than me, I would have. Nearly spitting with anger, I said, “There you have it, I'm an abominable dancer. So, let me go.”

“I'm not afraid of a bruised foot.” Roderick grabbed my arm again. “Come along. I need you to make Amanda Crimwall jealous.”

A man behind us cleared his throat. “I'm sorry to disappoint you, gentlemen, but Miss Fitzwilliam has promised the next set to me.” Without turning I knew who spoke.

Roderick let go of my arm and spun around. “Lord Wyatt.” He backed away as if confronted by a great towering dragon.

Sebastian held out his arm to me and I quickly accepted his escort. The moment we were out of earshot, he hissed down at me angrily. “What the devil are you doing here? More importantly, what are you doing with those two miscreants?”

“I have the great misfortune of being related to those two miscreants, as you call them. They're my cousins. And I am here because the ink you took with you is a disaster. It develops on its own if exposed to light.”

He stopped short, as if we'd run headlong into an invisible brick wall. “Are you certain?”

“Upon my life, yes! The note you wrote me,
the secret one,
I read it without applying the gall solution.”

“Can't be.” He shoved a shock of black hair away from his brow and started to pull away. “I've got to retrieve the ink. I just finished giving it—”

“Wait.” I held on to him and pressed my reticule into his hand. “I brought you a replacement. This one works. I tested it thoroughly. Give this one to your men.”

He stared at the emerald green purse in his hand. “You've already corrected the formula?” He opened the drawstrings and checked inside. “And you made more.”

I shrugged off his amazement. “It was a minor adjustment.”

“You're certain this one works?” He looked worried.

“Yes. I'm absolutely certain.” I wanted to put his mind at ease. “I wouldn't have made the mistake last night except I was tired, and because…” I caught the corner of my lip, before admitting the truth. “I was distracted.”

He swallowed and nodded without looking at me. “About that—”

“Don't.” I shook my head. “Please, don't say anything.”

“Very well.” His features tightened. He set his jaw. “I've got to hurry and deliver this to my associates.” He glanced down at me, stiff, apologetic. Standing close, he held the reticule in one hand and toyed with my gloved fingers with his other. Knowing I might never be this close to him again, I savored the smell of his shaving soap and the hint of brandy on his lips. The edge of his cheek by his ears flushed scarlet. He murmured, “It grieves me to leave you so soon.”

And yet, he was already backing away.
Farewell
caught in my throat. I couldn't say it. My fingers dropped away from his.

“Stay away from your cousins.” He issued the stern order from the stairway, once again all business. “They're not to be trusted.”

He needn't tell me. I'd suffered enough at their hands on holidays and family visits to know that my dear cousins had graduated from torturing toads to making life miserable for anyone within their purview, especially me. I nodded.

Sebastian cast me a final wistful look over his shoulder and hurried away.
Gone
. Perhaps forever. The light in the hall seemed to dim. All I felt was cold.

And alone.

And dreadfully unbearably sad.

I turned to go back to the ballroom and Lady Daneska stepped out of the shadows.

 

Nineteen

CUTS LIKE A KNIFE

“What a delightful surprise to find you here, Miss Fitzwilliam.” She came closer. I stood frozen to the spot. My stomach spiraled down into a bottomless pit. I remembered Tess telling me to run. But I couldn't leave, not without knowing how much Daneska had overheard of my conversation with Sebastian.

She looped her arm through mine as if we were the best of friends. “It is very odd, I think, that you should give Lord Wyatt your reticule. Is this a new custom? If so, I have not heard of it.” She winked at me.

The champagne on her breath, her French perfume, the sugary starch holding her hair in place, all of it wafted hot and sweet and suffocating over my face. She watched closely as the worry devastated me. She'd overheard at least part of the exchange.

“What was in your reticule, I wonder? Love notes?”

Perhaps she had not heard everything. I took a quick gasp of air. It was then I realized I'd been holding my breath. “I beg your pardon, my lady, but I must return to the ballroom. I've been away too long. Tess will be worried.”

She laughed softly, one of her airy, treacle-y, horribly perfect little trills. I tried to ease out of her grasp, but she held on and genially guided me down the hall. “I expect you are right.” She nodded. “Tess is indeed excessively worried. I will take you to her straightway.”

“But the ballroom”—I tried to extricate myself—“is back the other way.” She entwined her arm around mine so that I could not pull free without being inexcusably rude.

“No, no.” She shook her head. “The ballroom smells of smoking candles and old men's farts. We must not go back there. Besides, my aunt, she is searching for you. She thinks you snuck away from Stranje House bent on mischief. According to her…” Daneska lowered her voice and mimicked her blustery aunt perfectly. “Miss Fitzwilliam is a rotten apple. A deranged creature who ought to be locked away in an attic.
Forever
.”

My mouth opened, but I had nothing to say.

“Oh, yes, it was quite comical. You should have seen her, Georgiana. You don't mind if I call you that, do you? She nearly turned purple when she saw you in the ballroom. I don't blame you for slipping out. The roly-poly Prince can be so tiresome, don't you think? You did say you wanted to find Tess, did you not? She slipped out right after you.” Daneska chuckled deep in her throat. “I am afraid she is upstairs on a silly goose chase. She worries I locked you in a closet. Ridiculous, no?”

This was a trick, a lie. I knew it by the too-smooth way she said it. We stood before the backstairs, and I refused to go any farther.

“Come. We will find her together. The three of us will have an amusing tête-à-tête. Much more entertaining than that stuffy ballroom, I think.” Daneska, with her blond curls and large eyes, had the ability to look genuinely sincere and almost girlishly innocent.

I questioned whether Tess might actually be upstairs. Otherwise, she would've come and found me by now. Still, I balked.

Daneska urged me onto the first step. “What did you say was in your reticule? Oh, yes, now I remember.
Ink
.”

My stomach shrank into dark prickly despair. She had overheard.

“Now why would a young lady carry ink in her reticule? It is most confusing.” She shook her head. “I certainly do not carry ink in mine.”

My rapid breathing must surely have betrayed me, but I hurried up beside her, my gaze flitted nervously to hers. “One never knows when one might need to write a letter,” I said, falsifying a friendly nonchalant tone.

“Ah. I see.” The corner of her mouth twitched. “Oh, don't look so worried, Georgiana. I already knew about your precious ink.”

I turned sharp at that.

She smiled, catlike, and ever so pleased with herself. “After our little conversation the other day, I was terribly curious.” She tapped her chin. “What had you been brewing in your papa's stable? What could be so important that you would take so great a risk? Naturally, I sent a friend to your family estate to find out.”

I practically chased her up the next few stairs, praying everyone at home had kept their mouths shut. Especially my mother. I had to know. As much as I wanted to bite the question back, I couldn't. “Surely, you didn't send someone to speak with my mother—”

“Of course not. I would never dream of asking her. Oh, but your cook, now that is a different matter. An amiable woman, your family cook. Quite susceptible to the charms of a handsome vegetable seller.”

I nearly sank to my knees. I clung to the balustrade for support.

Cook
.

I'd told her all about my experiments. She'd indulged my prattle so patiently while kneading bread or dicing carrots. She had been my only confidante.

Daneska curled her arm around my waist and helped me up the next few steps. “Has the intrepid Miss Stranje failed to teach you so simple a trick? Tsk, tsk.” She sounded genuinely concerned. “My dear girl. If you want to know something, ask the servants. They know all.”