Of greater concern was who might have fallen in love with Miss Keating.
And whether this meant she was ruined completely.
“Thank you, Mrs. Pariseau.”
“We do have our share of dramas, don’t we,” Mrs. Pariseau said. Not without relish. “I will see you ladies at dinner!”
Despite the circumstances, Angelique and Delilah were touched by the “we.”
The assumption that Mrs. Pariseau belonged to them and they to her; The Grand Palace on the Thames was home.
That they were in this together.
Behind them, Rose and Meggie, the maids, wereyawning and trying to look alert while Helga was patiently doling out the morning’s chores.
Delilah pulled Angelique aside and lowered her voice.
“Angelique... Lord Kirke knew that Miss Keating and Mrs. Pariseau were going to visit the modiste. He was in the room when they planned it.”
“I recalled that, too. But if he somehow had this dress made...how?He could hardly guess the girl’s measurements precisely. I refuse to think even a rake has that kind of magical skill. What were his intentions, if so? Whatarehis intentions? I thought the girl was being courted by Lord Vaughn.”
Secretly, however, neither of them believed St. John was quite serious about getting married anytime soon. They had come to know him, and regarded him with a certain exasperated, impatient fondness.
“Maybe he had none, other than ensuring a lovely girl who wanted a dress got one? Maybe ithadbeen made for his mistress. And for some reason was never given to her?”
Angelique was quiet. She’d been a mistress, too, long ago, in unhappier days. Such arrangements were seldom permanent, and seldom ended precisely as peacefully as either party would have desired.
Granted, those unhappier days had nevertheless led her to the life she was leading now, and had brought Delilah and The Grand Palace on the Thames and ultimately Lucien into her life.
“Do we dare ask him about it? Is there any call to do it?” Delilah ventured.
The notion was excruciating. Then again, they’d once called a duke to task for a transgression. But his transgression had been overt, and in front ofwitnesses. They could not see themselves confronting Kirke with an insinuation.
And there was another unspoken question: Would they need to ask him to leave, per the rules of The Grand Palace on the Thames? No proper gentleman would gift a young unmarried woman with a dress. It was just not done.
They were in uncertain territory, indeed.
“I think...” Angelique said carefully. “We must wait to see what happens next.”
They’d also both learned that men who were utterly fearless, brilliant, and competent could behave as though they were lost in the wilderness without a compass when it came to matters of love.
It was the women who often had to guide them home.
In Catherine’s room Dot stood near her while Catherine stared at the paragraph in the newspaper.
As the words penetrated, it felt as though a sheet of ice moved over her skin. Until she couldn’t feel her limbs at all.
Every one of her senses seemed to amplify. The pale morning light blinded. The very silence itself howled like a siren.
And then finally a sound penetrated her horror: above her, she heard a chair slide across the floor.
It might be a maid.
But it was very early, and Lord Kirke was still in his room.
“Miss Keating,” Dot said quietly, finally. “Do you want me to throw it into the fire?”
“No, thank you, Dot.” Her voice emerged almost as a croak. “But may I keep this for a little while before you bring it to the other guests?”