Beloved (3 page)

Mama closed her eyes and kept them closed. “Is she a ladybird?”

“You know entirely too much, my girl.” Mama rallied and sat quite straight. “These are not matters for an innocent like yourself
to consider.”

“Innocent?” Ella tossed her head. “I have seen things—”

“Do
not
mention that. You are an innocent. If your father and I could erase the memories, we would. We are grateful you were blindfolded
through much of your time in that place. But regardless, what you were forced to witness did not touch your person, thank
goodness. You are not only innocent, you are the dearest daughter any parent could have. I will not listen to you saying otherwise.”

Unfamiliar tears sprang into Ella’s eyes, and she turned quickly away. “I love you,” she said softly.

She heard Mama sniff before she said, “Come here. We must talk about this situation. We should have talked about it a long
time ago.”

Ella went to her and sat on a plump tapestry stool near her feet. “He pretended he did not see me,” she mumbled.

Mama stroked her hair and placed a kiss on her brow. “I know the legend. Surely no man would admit to seeing a ghost at Sibley’s
unless he was prepared to be considered insane.”

“True. But I took off my veil and I
know
Saber recognized me—even though he never looked at me directly.”

“Ella! What of the other gentlemen there?”

“All about two hundred years old and all pretending they saw nothing. They’ll never mention the incident. Saber could have
remained behind if he’d wanted to.”

“That is an extraordinary gown,” Mama said, perusing the gray silk more closely. “What exactly is beneath it?”

Ella hunched her shoulders. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing, Mama. It’s supposed to appear ethereal. Under-garments might spoil the impression.”

“The lack of undergarments presents far too
much
impression. Where did you acquire the … Where did you get that thing?”

“I cannot say,” Ella told her. “Please do not ask again.” Rose, a favorite maid, had been coerced into buying the garment
from a woman who made theatrical costumes.

“If your papa learns of this we shall undoubtedly ask about the finer points again.” A faraway expression entered Mama’s eyes.
“How did Saber appear? Is he completely recovered from his injuries, do you think?”

Ella’s frustration resurfaced with fresh force. “His hair is long. It curls over his collar. I saw nothing more than his sideways
glances while he pretended I was not there. But when he left he stood straight and walked well.” She swallowed. Sad longing
crept about her heart. “He is Saber and I love him. Why has he decided to ignore me?”

“Who told you this ghost story?”

“Do not change the subject,” Ella said, changing the subject herself. “Tell me about Countess Perruche? Have you heard of
her?”

“She is French,” Mama said simply. “A toast with a great many vague rumors circulating about her. Some refer to her as a courtesan
sought after by many men who want …I cannot imagine Saber having any connection to her.”

“He said he would love me forever.”

Mama’s hand grew still in Ella’s hair. “You never told me that.”

“I was a child then. When Papa first brought Max and me to Cornwall and we all met you. Saber told me he would look after
me forever—that I could always go to him. He helped me when I discovered my birth mother had died.”

“Ah, yes.”

“I have not forgotten even if he has,” Ella said vehemently. “And if he has forgotten I shall find a way to remind him.”

“Ella—”

“This French toast had best seek another admirer. Not that I believe for a moment that Saber would dally with such a person.
I only agreed to this Season because I heard he was in London. He is trying to deny his natural desires, and it will not do.
It will not do at all.”

“Oh, Ella, please—”

“No! No, I shall not be diverted. Some might consider this evening’s events a calamity. I see them in quite another light.”

“You are so headstrong.” Mama held Ella’s face between her hands. “We will talk to your father, my poppet. I know he will
consider your plea, but you cannot assume that his wishes and yours will be the same. And, in the end, we must abide by his
decisions—even if we do not always fully appreciate his wisdom. Promise me you will go on no more wild excursions, and that
you will allow us to deal with these matters for you.”

“By all means deal with whatever you can, as long as it means Saber and I are together at last.” She heard her own demanding
tones but could not turn back. “If I made him uncomfortable tonight, just wait until I decide how to approach him next!”

“Sin’s ears! I shall have to watch you every moment. We cannot have you running around in the night. You will be ruined. And,
lest you forget the way of things entirely, we are in London to launch you. We shall do so admirably, I assure you. I, too,
embrace the power of love, but there can be no question of any hasty decisions regarding your future.”

Ella collected herself. She was being foolish. Under no circumstances must she risk her freedom. “I am being silly.” She laughed
lightly. “This has been too much. Too long a day and night after all the excitement of arriving in London. The modiste. The
shopping. Getting ready for such lovely affairs. Don’t worry for another instant.”

Mama narrowed her eyes. “You change your tune too quickly, my girl. Don’t think you can trick me so easily.”

“I mean it.” Lying was wrong, but her life was at stake— any chance she might have for happiness. “Isn’t there a soiree the
day after tomorrow?”

“Yes,” Mama said slowly, still looking deeply suspicious. “The first major event of the Season. The Eagletons’ soiree. It
will be good to see James and Celine again. It’s been too long.”

“I’m so looking forward to that,” Ella said. “I must decide what to wear.” What she wore concerned her not one bit. She would
direct a note to Saber at once, informing him that she would hope to see him at the Eagletons’. Not that he would respond—or
appear—but meanwhile she would contemplate her next move.

“There was a particular reason for my visiting your rooms this evening,” Mama said in a tone that assured Ella’s complete
attention. “Your papa had suggested we await further developments before mentioning the subject to you. I decided I would
at least give you a hint that something momentous may be afoot. Men do not always understand the way a woman’s mind works,
do they?”

There was something indefinable, something ominous hidden in those words. “You are the expert on these things.” Mama had written
a book on the subject of relationships between men and women, a famous volume that Ella had yet to be allowed to read. “What
exactly is this momentous something?”

With the rustle of sumptuous satin, Mama got to her feet once more. “Nothing definite yet. Not until Struan has received them.”

Ella wrinkled her brow and got up too. “Them? Until Papa receives whom? What can you mean?”

“I really mustn’t go entirely against his wishes. You shall learn about it tomorrow if he decides there is something we should
consider.”

“Consider?” Ella all but squealed. “Consider
what?
”

“Ooh”—Mama waved a hand airily—“I do not know them personally. I’m not even entirely certain how well Struan is acquainted
with them.” She approached the door.

“I shall explode! You cannot leave me with such intriguing hints and nothing more.”

“Tomorrow, Ella. You must be patient until tomorrow. But I will tell you that serious interest has been tendered. Interest
in you. In your hand in marriage.”

E
lla remembered the smells, the sights, the feel of London in the early hours of the morning. She remembered them too well.

Smoke and dust, and a suggestion of animal sweat and leather… and old fear. A bite to the air. And over and around it all,
a faintly silvered mist unfurling beneath the blue-black sky.

Tonight the scent of fear was imagined, of course—a recollection of her wretched days in Whitechapel. There, in the eastern
reaches of the city, the buildings crowded meanly together and most of those about at this time of night were about mean business.
She was not in Whitechapel now. Between Hanover Square and her destination lay nothing but the fine homes of the wealthy.
The wealthy who were all tucked into their sweetly scented sheets preparing for the next day of pampered appetites.

The wheels of the Rossmara town coach ground through the streets, echoed over the sounds of the horses’ hoofs and creaking
tack. Ella huddled in a corner and tried to feel nothing but the jarring sway of the carriage.

Not thinking about what she had set out to do was impossible. She was on a desperate mission. Nothing less would have sent
her to awaken poor Potts and beg him to perform yet another service guaranteed to make him grumble fiercely, if quietly.

Desperate. Desperate. Desperate.

The word repeated with the turning of the great wheels. She had no choice but to take desperate steps to avert a desperate
situation.

Papa was to receive some people who would discuss the disposition of her person as if she were a body without a mind? Never.
She would die before she would submit to such horror.

The coach slowed.

Perhaps she should just die anyway.

The coach crunched to a halt.

Ella covered her mouth. Her heart felt in danger of leaping away completely.

There was no expected sag of the springs under Potts’s dismounting weight.

“You’ll change your mind, Miss Ella,” he said when she’d at last coaxed him into making the journey. “At least, I hopes t’Gawd
you changes your mind.”

Now he was waiting for her to do exactly that.

Beyond the windows lay the dark facade of a terrace of grand houses. Very dark. Barely a glimmer of light showed anywhere.

Ella reached up and rapped for Potts.

The trap slid open. “Miss?”

“Oh, Potts, don’t be so difficult.”

“Difficult? Me? Oh, no, I mustn’t be difficult, must I? Drivin’ around in the middle of the night. Runnin’ the risk of ’is
lordship ’avin me guts fer garters.”

Despite her agitation, Ella grinned. Potts had never been one to temper his language. “I shall pay my visit now, if you please.”

His grumbling fell so low, she no longer heard the words.

When he handed her down, she requested, “Await me here, please, Potts. And do not concern yourself. I shall be quite safe.”
She did not tell him she’d come to the house in Burlington Gardens once before—when she’d been certain Saber would be out.
On that occasion she’d found an unexpected accomplice in her cause, but “safe” hardly described the way he’d made her feel.

“It’s almost three of a mornin’, miss. What’ll anyone think—?”

“Hush,” she told him. “I am in no danger, I tell you. I have a message to deliver and then we’ll return to Hanover Square
at once.”

“That’s what you said when we went to that gentlemen’s club last night. You was gone—”

“That was then. This is now.” She left him, ran up a flight of stone steps to the front door, and pulled the bell before she
could change her mind.

Somewhere inside the building a faint jangle sounded.

Ella waited. She felt Potts’s eyes on her back but would not turn around.

She pulled the bell again.

Almost three in the morning. Mama and Papa were asleep. Ella had waited long enough to be certain of that. And she must return
and be asleep before they awoke or her world would crack apart.

Her world was already threatening to crack apart.
Everyone was asleep here too.

A burst of jewel-toned glow through the fanlight above the door made her jump. The soft
swish, swish
of footsteps approached, and the door opened.

Ella looked directly into the face of the wiry little man who stood there. She whispered, “Good evening, Mr. Bigun.”

“Bigun,” he said shortly, scowling his annoyance at being disturbed. Worn over full, white trousers, his red brocade tunic
was wrongly buttoned. “The evening is gone. The morning has come.”

“Bigun,” Ella amended hastily. “And it’s not quite morning, although I do know it soon will be. That is why I’m so anxious
to complete my business and leave you to resume your rest.”

He inclined his head. “So you say.” He wore a slightly askew gold turban, the same gold turban she’d seen on the occasion
of her first visit. “Had you not disturbed my rest, it would not have to be resumed.” His voice bore a mysteriously clipped
foreign accent quite unfamiliar to Ella.

She smiled brilliantly at him. The effort was wasted. Haughty disapproval remained on his fine-boned, bronzed face. Ella continued
to smile. “I wanted to thank you for telling me about Sibley’s Ghost. And to report on my progress in the little matter we
discussed.”

His right hand shot out and he jerked her into a vestibule hung with lengths of silk that matched his tunic. “Do not speak
loud,” he said, bringing his large, dark eyes nearer to her face. He closed the door. “I told you. Nothing more. Nothing repeated.
Now you go, miss.”