especially. She prided herself on sounding earnest and believable, whatever she said. ‘Why, I have heard the rumours myself, Fortuna. Now Sir Reginald thinks the courtesan school is mine. Is that not fun?’
Mrs Rice swallowed the contents of her glass and stood. ‘I do not believe you, Penny, but I make you a promise. I will find where my girls are and I will take them back and no one—I repeat, no one—will stop me.’
She flounced out of the room.
Madame Bisou poured another glass of wine and again downed it in one long, nervous swallow.
Chapter Fourteen
Morgana stared at the note once again.
Dear Niece,
At my particular request, your neighbour, Mr Sloane, has agreed to escort you to our dinner party tonight. Mr Sloane has been gracious enough to offer the use of his own carriage. Do not neglect to bring your maid with you for propriety’s sake.
Yours, etc. W.C.
She let her hand fall into her lap, wondering if there was still time to pretend a headache and beg off. In truth, her head had been pounding all day, especially after she and Sloane had crossed swords.
Amy entered the drawing room. ‘I have your shawl, Miss Hart. We are quite prepared now.’
Morgana set the note aside on the table and picked up her gloves. ‘I hope this will not be too tedious for you, Amy, since you are obliged to accompany me.’
‘I expect to have a jolly time, miss. My mother’s cousin is housekeeper there, you know, and it will be a treat to visit her.’ Amy carefully draped the shawl, the same deep green silk as Morgana’s evening dress, over her arm.
Morgana pushed her fingers one by one into her glove before smoothing the rest of the white kid up to her elbow. ‘Remember, not a word about the courtesan school, and do not let slip that you have been helping fashion costumes for the masquerade.’
‘I will be very careful, miss. There is enough news from home to keep us talking.’ Amy then looked critically at Morgana, as one would a vase of flowers to arrange. She fussed with the long curled feather that she’d fashioned to frame Morgana’s face, another clever means she employed to disguise her lady’s stick-straight hair. This night, Amy had twisted strands of Morgana’s hair into loops artfully cascading from the crown of her head. ‘It is good of Mr Sloane to drive you, is it not, Miss Hart? What a gentleman. We have seen so little of him of late.’
It had not been so long ago that Amy described him as a pirate. Indeed, much had happened since their first encounter, not the least of which was Morgana falling quite despairingly in love with him.
With Harriette Wilson’s unexpected arrival and then a flurry to plan costumes for the masquerade, Morgana barely had time to think of Sloane and how he’d stalked out after they quarrelled. Then the note had come from her aunt, unnecessarily managing the transportation. Cripps could have procured a hack for her easily enough. Now she and Sloane would be trapped together.
The knocker sounded and Morgana jumped, her heart pounding against her chest. Sloane had arrived and she would sit with him in the confines of the carriage for perhaps ten full minutes.
‘Mr Sloane, miss,’ Cripps announced.
Morgana clasped her hand to her throat. ‘We are ready.’
She and Amy followed Cripps to the hall, where Sloane waited, his hat in his hand, his white breeches gleaming against the deep blue of his coat.
He did not smile, but bowed formally. ‘Good evening, Miss Hart.’
‘Mr Sloane.’ She dropped into a graceful curtsy.
Amy hurried to hand her the shawl, but Sloane took it from her and draped it over Morgana’s shoulders. But even though his strong hands brushed against her, he paid more attention to her maid.
‘I hope you are well, Miss Jenkins,’ he said.
Amy also bobbed into a curtsy. ‘Very well, indeed, thank you, sir.’
At the carriage, Amy allowed Sloane only a mere touch of her hand as she scrambled inside. For Morgana, however, he held her elbow and guided her with a hand to her back. After she sat down, she still felt his touch upon her, though he sat as far from her as possible.
The silence in the carriage made it difficult for Morgana to breathe. She resisted taking big gulps of air. Instead, she forced herself to converse with him.
‘It is kind of you to transport me, Mr Sloane. I expect you would have simply walked the distance otherwise.’
He turned his eyes on her. ‘That is so.’
She glanced out of the carriage window. It was still light out. ‘It is a fine evening.’
He did not respond, but when she turned back to him, he still watched her. She felt the impulse to squirm under his scrutiny.
Morgana lifted her eyes and stared directly into Sloane’s. He did not look away. It was as if each of them were loathe to be first to break the contact. As a little girl, she’d played a similar game with her cat. This seemed so different.
They arrived at her aunt’s house just a few minutes later. Sloane put his hand to her waist to assist her from the carriage. She held his arm while they walked the few steps to the front door. Once inside she supposed he would avoid her.
Amy hurried off in search of the housekeeper, and Morgana and Sloane entered the hall. The Cowdlin town house was a bit grander than Morgana’s and furnished in the very latest bright colours and varied designs. From the Prussian blue hall where they were announced, to the primrose yellow drawing room with its stencilled wallpaper and Brussels-weave carpet.
Her aunt bustled up to them. ‘Dear Mr Sloane, how good of you to escort my niece. Do come in. Cowdlin will see you have some nice claret before dinner.’ She spared Morgana a quick glance. ‘Morgana, dear, so good of you to come.’
While Lady Cowdlin took charge of Sloane, Morgana greeted some of the other guests, whom she had met many times during the Season. She made her way to the corner of the room where David Sloane and Hannah were looking into a small tube aimed directly at the nearby lamp.
‘Is it some sort of telescope?’ Morgana asked.
David Sloane leapt to his feet and Hannah looked up at her. ‘Oh, Morgana! It is the most wonderful contraption. Come, look in it!’
Morgana sat and peered into the glass optic. Sparkles of colour appeared in symmetrical shapes on the inside. ‘Oh, it is lovely!’
‘Here, turn it,’ David instructed, and the colours changed shape before her very eyes. ‘It is called a kaleidoscope.’
‘It is quite new,’ said Hannah. ‘Mr Sloane—Mr David Sloane—brought it to me.’
Morgana marvelled as the colours formed a new pattern.
‘What is
