dear,’ she said gently.
‘Yes, miss,’ Katy corrected herself.
Lucy hung her head. ‘There’s nothin’ I can teach. I’ll just be a burden on everyone.’
Morgana walked over and put a hand on Lucy’s shoulder. ‘You shall be in charge of supplies, Lucy. You managed to find everyone a proper dress and a bed to sleep in. In fact, I will prevail upon you to produce a trunk to be delivered, the nieces’ luggage. Do you think you can contrive such a thing?’
Lucy gave a surprised glance, then wrinkled her brow. It took several seconds, but she finally responded. ‘I could send to home for some of Amy’s and my old clothes. Would that do?’
‘That is an excellent idea.’ Morgana had forgotten about her lady’s maid. No matter what Miss Moore thought, Morgana simply must tell Amy the truth, though what the girl would say about it, she could only guess.
The day flew by with all of them talking and showing off their skills. When it was time for dinner Morgana led them to the main dining room. Lucy held back, insisting she ought not to eat there. Morgana acquiesced. There would be time enough to bring her abovestairs. To do so now would merely whip up the servants’ curiosity.
The dinner was the most pleasant Morgana had passed in the house to date. When Mr Cripps and the footmen left the room, Morgana and Miss Moore drew the girls into the conversation, learning more about their lives. Rose talked of growing up in Ireland and of recently coming to London. Mary spoke of being the daughter of a country vicar. When he died, she’d become a governess. She did not disclose how she wound up at Mrs Rice’s house. Katy, whose table manners needed the most improving, said she’d left Derbyshire to make her fortune in London and she’d go to the devil before she’d return there. Morgana’s grandmother cheerfully picked at her food and smiled at them all. At meal’s end, Morgana left the table in high spirits, confident that all would go well.
She retired to her room to dress for the musicale. As Amy worked on another braided style for her hair, Morgana told her the truth about the plan.
‘Do tell me what you think of this business, Amy. Tell me if you think I’ve done right by your sister.’
Amy frowned as she concentrated on sticking hairpins in securely. ‘It is not right, miss. I cannot say ‘tis right, because it is not, but Lucy was ready to run off again, I know she was.’ She gave Morgana a quick glance in the mirror. ‘You stopped her from doing that. Going with one of those procuring fellows, I mean.’
Amy’s point did not miss the mark. Morgana knew the better course was to convince Lucy and the others to lead moral lives, but, once fallen, could they rise again? Lucy had convinced her she could not.
Morgana watched Amy concentrate on her hair. She set her chin in determination. This was the only chance for Lucy. The only chance for all of the girls to change their lives.
Sloane surveyed the room where the guests to Lady Sed-ford’s musicale loitered in groups, waiting for the latecomers to be announced and the programme to begin. Across the room stood his brother, Lord Rawley, who, without cutting him directly, was at least pretending he had not seen him. David gave him a friendly nod. At least the Earl was not present, although Sloane would have experienced a smug satisfaction if his father had witnessed him mingling successfully with Lady Sedford’s set.
‘Lord and Lady Cowdlin. Lady Hannah. Miss Hart,’ the butler announced.
Sloane turned to watch them enter and greet the host and hostess. Lady Hannah looked as delectable as a dish of cream and strawberries in a white gauzy gown decorated with red ribbon. Her cousin wore a much plainer gown, one done up in gold fabric that nearly matched her eyes and glistened under the candlelight.
Averting his head so as not to be so obviously gaping, Sloane observed Lord and Lady Cowdlin stop to converse with friends. Lady Hannah seized her cousin’s arm and propelled them both forward. Hannah glanced in Sloane’s direction, pretended to glance away, whispered something to her cousin, and led her gracefully across the room, making it appear as if it were mere chance that they came to where he stood.
‘Good evening, Lady Hannah, Miss Hart.’ He bowed.
‘How nice to see you here, Mr Sloane.’ Lady Hannah smiled up at him, showing her white, even teeth. ‘You must sit with us. I insist upon it.’
Miss Hart also smiled, but her smile seemed distant, almost sad.
He turned his attention to Lady Hannah. ‘Nothing would delight me more, my lady, but it might hint at partiality. I would not wish to make you the topic of gossip.’ If Sloane were perceived to favour Lady Hannah to the exclusion of other eligible young ladies, he would be forced to make her an offer. He did not wish to be forced into anything.
A fleeting look of disappointment crossed Lady Hannah’s face. She quickly recovered. ‘I have it. You shall sit next to Morgana and that will seem quite unexceptionable.’
He opened his mouth to reply, but her attention had already flitted away.
‘Oh, look,’ she cried. ‘Here comes your nephew, Mr Sloane. Perhaps he will join us as well.’
When the programme was about to begin, Hannah hurried them all in, and arranged the seating to her satisfaction. At one end sat Lord and Lady Cowdlin, then David, Hannah, Morgana, and Sloane. David made polite conversation with Lady Cowdlin, while Hannah looked about the crowd, waving to friends. Miss Hart studied her programme.
‘Do you enjoy music, Miss Hart?’ Sloane asked her.
She gave him a serious expression. ‘You must not consider yourself obliged to make polite conversation, Mr Sloane.’
His brow furrowed. ‘Are we back to not speaking, Miss Hart?’
Her face relaxed. ‘Oh, no. I did not mean that. Goodness! I must have sounded cross. I am vexed at my cousin, not you. She treats me as if I were a doll to be moved about at whim.’
His lips twitched. He leaned closer to her. ‘Confess, Miss Hart. You merely dislike being told what to do.’
She smiled. ‘You have the right of it, Mr Sloane. It is one of my abiding faults.’
‘Mine as well,’ he admitted. ‘Let us begin again. Do you like music, Miss Hart?’
Her ginger eyes came alive with expression. ‘I do like it excessively, sir.’
‘Do you play?’
She rolled her eyes, very unladylike, but charming none the less. ‘Badly, therefore, never in company, but I do love to bash away for hours on my pianoforte.’
‘Hmm.’ He pretended to study the programme. ‘I wonder how thick the walls are between our houses.’
She laughed softly. When he glanced at her again her eyes sparkled. ‘And you, Mr Sloane, do you play?’
He could not help himself. He gave her a wicked grin. ‘Not music, Miss Hart, but I play at other things very well.’
He watched, fascinated, as her pupils grew larger. Her smile changed from mirthful to inscrutable. Perhaps he’d gone too far. Reverted to his rakish ways. But she did have that effect on him. He averted his gaze.
Morgana
