ever. “ My maid,” she said, “is a genius from France, and she will take care of the matter herself, thank you very much.” She cast one last simmering look at me. “And you should dismiss your own maid without references if she’s the one who cut your daughter’s hair. It looks ridiculous!” With a swish of her remaining skirts, she turned her back on us. Supported by two of her friends, she hurried across the room, back toward the stairs to the guest quarters. She was followed by whispers all the way, mounting into a full-out roar of delighted gossip.
Stepmama turned on me. She couldn’t tell me everything she thought, of course; not now, under the pressure of all the eyes still upon us. But her face spoke for her.
“ Later, ” she said, and twitched her skirts away from me.
“Ah, Margaret.” Lady Graves appeared. She was very nearly panting with exertion, in the most refined possible manner; she must have hurried all the way through the crowd to arrive so quickly. “And girls. I do hope you are all enjoying your evening so far.”
I don’t know what looks we gave her, but I saw her blink and step back an inch.
“I’m afraid Miss Katherine suffered a small injury to her head,” Stepmama said, in tones that were trying to sound honeyed. “It would really be best if you excused her so she could lie down quietly in her room. Isn’t that so, Kat?”
I gulped. Five minutes ago, I would have argued. But now …
“Nonsense,” said Lady Graves. “A girl of her age can hardly miss dinner. Isn’t that so, Miss Katherine?”
“Well …”
“There, now.” She patted my arm. “Never mind, dear. Once you have a little wine, you’ll think nothing of a mere headache, I can promise you that. But in the meantime …” Her smile broadened as she turned to Elissa. “There is someone who is particularly anxious to meet you, Miss Stephenson. And all your family, of course.”
Lady Graves swept us with her, and the crowd moved aside to make way—whether in honor of the hostess in our midst, or out of fear that I’d go mad and attack them as well, I couldn’t be sure. I was glad of it, though. If it had been up to me, I wouldn’t have come face-to-face with another guest for the rest of our stay at Grantham Abbey.
All too soon, though, Lady Graves drew us up before an enormous painting of a morose-looking old gentleman in a really startling long red wig. In front of the painting stood two tall, dark-haired men in black coats, their heads turned away from us as they studied the painting—or, perhaps, just marveled at the painted wig. I couldn’t believe anyone had ever been willing to wear such a monstrosity.
Lady Graves coughed delicately, and both gentlemen swung around to face us.
“My dear Sir Neville … and Mr. Collingwood,” she purred. “May I have the pleasure of presenting my cousin, Mrs. Stephenson, and her daughters? Miss Stephenson, Miss Angeline, and Miss Katherine.”
We all curtsied. But I was so busy peeking up under my eyelashes at the gentlemen, I nearly toppled over as I did it.
They looked very alike, both with hawk noses, dark eyes, and glossy black hair. But the older brother—Sir Neville—had harder eyes. I could actually feel the power vibrating off him as his gaze swept across us. The younger brother, Mr. Collingwood, smiled with what seemed to be real, friendly interest. Sir Neville looked as if he were measuring each and every one of us for a contest of strength. My skin prickled under his gaze, and I didn’t like it. Worse yet, I felt a telltale heat against my leg as the mirror awakened inside my reticule.
Just perfect. If I had to guess the single thing most calculated to send Stepmama into a screaming, uncontrollable rage, even at the best of times, it would be exposing the shame of Mama’s magic in front of an eligible bachelor. And to do it right now, just after publicly humiliating the entire family on the very first night of our visit … I gritted my
Stepmama turned on me. She couldn’t tell me everything she thought, of course; not now, under the pressure of all the eyes still upon us. But her face spoke for her.
“ Later, ” she said, and twitched her skirts away from me.
“Ah, Margaret.” Lady Graves appeared. She was very nearly panting with exertion, in the most refined possible manner; she must have hurried all the way through the crowd to arrive so quickly. “And girls. I do hope you are all enjoying your evening so far.”
I don’t know what looks we gave her, but I saw her blink and step back an inch.
“I’m afraid Miss Katherine suffered a small injury to her head,” Stepmama said, in tones that were trying to sound honeyed. “It would really be best if you excused her so she could lie down quietly in her room. Isn’t that so, Kat?”
I gulped. Five minutes ago, I would have argued. But now …
“Nonsense,” said Lady Graves. “A girl of her age can hardly miss dinner. Isn’t that so, Miss Katherine?”
“Well …”
“There, now.” She patted my arm. “Never mind, dear. Once you have a little wine, you’ll think nothing of a mere headache, I can promise you that. But in the meantime …” Her smile broadened as she turned to Elissa. “There is someone who is particularly anxious to meet you, Miss Stephenson. And all your family, of course.”
Lady Graves swept us with her, and the crowd moved aside to make way—whether in honor of the hostess in our midst, or out of fear that I’d go mad and attack them as well, I couldn’t be sure. I was glad of it, though. If it had been up to me, I wouldn’t have come face-to-face with another guest for the rest of our stay at Grantham Abbey.
All too soon, though, Lady Graves drew us up before an enormous painting of a morose-looking old gentleman in a really startling long red wig. In front of the painting stood two tall, dark-haired men in black coats, their heads turned away from us as they studied the painting—or, perhaps, just marveled at the painted wig. I couldn’t believe anyone had ever been willing to wear such a monstrosity.
Lady Graves coughed delicately, and both gentlemen swung around to face us.
“My dear Sir Neville … and Mr. Collingwood,” she purred. “May I have the pleasure of presenting my cousin, Mrs. Stephenson, and her daughters? Miss Stephenson, Miss Angeline, and Miss Katherine.”
We all curtsied. But I was so busy peeking up under my eyelashes at the gentlemen, I nearly toppled over as I did it.
They looked very alike, both with hawk noses, dark eyes, and glossy black hair. But the older brother—Sir Neville—had harder eyes. I could actually feel the power vibrating off him as his gaze swept across us. The younger brother, Mr. Collingwood, smiled with what seemed to be real, friendly interest. Sir Neville looked as if he were measuring each and every one of us for a contest of strength. My skin prickled under his gaze, and I didn’t like it. Worse yet, I felt a telltale heat against my leg as the mirror awakened inside my reticule.
Just perfect. If I had to guess the single thing most calculated to send Stepmama into a screaming, uncontrollable rage, even at the best of times, it would be exposing the shame of Mama’s magic in front of an eligible bachelor. And to do it right now, just after publicly humiliating the entire family on the very first night of our visit … I gritted my
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