discomfort by taking a bite of shirred egg. “Did you sleep well? I have not inquired as to your health this morning, though you are looking fit.”
“You mean you have not inquired as to when I intend to quit your home.”
Cybelline waggled her fork at Lady Rivendale. “I meant nothing of the sort. It is very bad of you to put words in my mouth.” She returned to her meal. “I should very much like to hear how you fare.”
“I slept very well, thank you. I do not know the cause of the plaguey stomach ailment that has confined me here these last three days, but I am pleased to report it seems to have vanished last night.” She indicated her plate. “You can see for yourself that my appetite has returned. I am fit enough to travel and I will be making arrangements for doing so this morning.”
Cybelline kept her smile in check. The distance to the countess’s residence was no greater than a mile, but to hear her speak of traveling there one could be forgiven for thinking she lived in Cornwall. When she took ill suddenly during an afternoon visit, there was no question but that she would stay. Although Lady Rivendale might have been more comfortable in her own bed, ordering around her own servants, Cybelline suspected that she truly did not want to be alone while she made a drama of her recovery. It was easier to uproot the countess’s servants and bring them to Cybelline’s than it was to distress the countess.
“You know I was delighted to have you stay here, though you must not think I am happy that it was illness that forced your hand. Anna enjoys your visits, as do I.”
“Still, I was a bother.”
Now Cybelline let her smile surface. “I am never certain what the politic response is. Is it more important that I agree with you, thereby sustaining the notion that you are always in the right of things, or is the better strategy to argue that in this instance you could not be more wrong? I should like you to advise me how to proceed.”
Lady Rivendale picked up her coffee cup and shrewdly regarded Cybelline over the rim before she sipped from it. The tactic gave her time to digest the whole of Cybelline’s question. “I declare, you are even more accomplished at disarming me than your brother—and Sherry is excellent.”
“No one disarms you, Aunt Georgia. If you do not fire back a volley, it is only because you are choosing your battles, not because you have been relieved of your weapons.”
The countess nodded appreciatively. “A very pretty compliment, one I shall cherish.” She set her cup in the saucer again and touched her chin thoughtfully, still regarding Cybelline but without her earlier intensity. “What is that on your cap?” she asked. “On the ruffle.”
Cybelline touched the front of her cap and felt a sticky globule of something she could not immediately identify. She carefully removed it with a fingertip and examined it. She chuckled when she saw what it was. “Porridge. Anna lobbed a spoonful of porridge at me. I’m afraid I didn’t eat much myself, which is why I came—” She stopped because Lady Rivendale’s gaze was riveted on the cap again. Her hands flew to it. “What is it? What—”
The countess stood and quickly rounded the table to Cybelline’s side. Without communicating her intention, she plucked the cap from Cybelline’s head. Her sharp intake of breath was perfectly audible. She abandoned the dramatic gesture of placing one hand on her heart and chose instead to sink slowly back into her chair. It was also effective.
Although the question was largely superfluous, Lady Rivendale felt compelled to ask it anyway. “Bloody hell, Cybelline, what have you done to your hair?”
Chapter Three
Cybelline calmly held out her hand for her linen cap. Lady Rivendale gave it over immediately. Crumpled as it was, Cybelline returned it to her head and carefully tucked away all evidence that her hair was now fiery red. “I am sorry it offends you, Aunt Georgia.”
“Offends me? Why, it caused me to swear, and you know I have been trying to set a better example for the scoundrels.”
“Then it is good they are not here.” The scoundrels were her brother’s three wards. Sherry had plucked the young ruffians from the streets of Holborn, giving the matter as much thought as one might have for plucking feathers from a chicken. Pinch, Dash, and Midge—names from the streets that had not yet been put to rest—were a considerable trial as well as a source of great joy. Lily, Sherry’s wife, remarked more fondly than not that they were like puppies in want of proper training: There were bound to be accidents. There had been noticeably fewer mishaps since Lily gave birth. The presence of a baby in the home had quieted them but in no way quelled their spirit. “I will tell them about your slip, of course. You can depend on it. You will have to add a shilling to their collection jar. It’s only fair since you set the rules.”
Lady Rivendale’s generously full mouth flattened, and she harrumphed softly. “I disapprove of tattling, you know.”
Cybelline merely smiled.
“Though I might be tempted to tell Sherry and Lily what you’ve done to your hair.”
Cybelline’s smile faltered.
“Hah!” The countess possessed a remarkably smooth countenance for one in her fifty-fourth year. This was a consequence of a nightly regimen of creams and lemon juice and avoidance of the sun. Lines such as she had—at the corners of her mouth and eyes—did not overly concern her, as she believed they were righteously earned by love and laughter and surviving the vagaries of life. Her face crinkled now, amusement deepening twin creases between her eyebrows. “So you do not want your brother to know. Nor Lily either, though I imagine she would come to understand your actions much more quickly than Sherry. I wonder, however, if she will understand more quickly than I.”
The threat was subtle but clear, and Cybelline did not miss it. Some explanation was expected. She was not hopeful that she could stray far from the truth and stand up to Lady Rivendale’s scrutiny. It was never comforting to have that steely, sharp-as-a-razor glance turn in her direction. Sherry had always been better at ducking his godmother’s inspection, and he would be the first to admit he suffered it far more often than was his wish.
“It was you, Aunt Georgia, who suggested that some change might be in order.” It was a good beginning, Cybelline thought, reminding the countess of her own words. “You cannot have forgotten our conversation.”
“No, indeed, but I think I remember it differently than you. We were speaking of your taking up residence at Penwyckham. I suggested that you consider spending a few months there with Anna. It was a change of scenery that I had in mind and well you know it.”
“We were discussing change,” Cybelline said. “I was thinking of it in another manner.”
“I doubt you were thinking at all. That is a most unfortunate shade of red you have acquired. There is not so much orange in it as to be carroty, but neither does it have the richness of auburn. You were right to cover it. I shouldn’t wonder if Anna might think you have burst into flame.”
Somewhat self-consciously, Cybelline adjusted her cap again. She smoothed the ruffle where it had crumpled against her ear. “It is merely henna. I admit I thought it would be darker, but I do not think Webb mixed it to the proportions suggested by the chemist. However, I do not blame her. She disapproved, though naturally she would not fail to assist me.”
“Undoubtedly because she determined you were set on the matter with or without her help.”
“I’m
