Page 53 of Rules for Ruin

For now, it was as much her job as it had been being lady’s companion to Madame Dalhousie. Effie consoled herself that at least this position had a worthy prize at the end of it—her complete independence. It was no minor thing. On the contrary. It was everything.

She gave Franc a consoling scratch on the head. “One day soon,” she promised him, “you and I will be at liberty to do as we please.”

But not today.

Smoothing her cherry red caraco jacket and giving her black poplin skirts a shake, she departed her bedchamber and descended the stairs to the drawing room.

Miss Compton was seated on the tufted settee, clad in a berry-colored silk dress trimmed with a staggering amount of pink chenille fringe. She stood when Effie entered.

“Miss Compton,” Effie said, exchanging a curtsy with the girl. “This is a surprise.”

Miss Compton’s beautiful face was unsmiling. She opened her fringe-trimmed reticule. “I came to return this to you.” She extracted Effie’s dragonfly pin.

Effie affected a look of relief, even as her senses sharpened with alertness. “You found it? How splendid.” Taking the pin from Miss Compton, Effie blithely tucked it into one of the side rolls of her upswept coiffure, placing it alongside the dragonfly hairpin that was already there. She was never without one. “Thank you for returning it to me.” She gestured for Miss Compton to sit. “But you needn’t have brought it yourself, surely.”

Miss Compton resumed her seat on the settee. “I presumed it was something of value to you, else you wouldn’t have been searching my rooms for it during the musicale.”

Effie smiled. She had nothing to hide in that regard. It was the whole reason she’d left the hairpin behind. Its presence had given her an excuse to poke about upstairs during the musicale. “It’s of great value to me.” She sat down across from her. “I was quite distressed when I couldn’t find it.”

“Sentimental value, I expect you mean. For it’s only cut glass.” Miss Compton’s eyes took on a spiteful gleam. “Or perhaps you weren’t aware?”

Effie’s smile remained, undimmed. Of course, she knew it was glass. All of her hairpins, brooches, and ornaments were similarly made. She could afford nothing else.

It didn’t mean she must forsake her love of fine things. Even if it was only playacting at being a lady of wealth and refinement. The desire was no less real. To be a well-to-do lady was to have beautiful clothes. To eat delicately iced petits fours and pastel-colored macarons. To smell of French parfum and to ride in lacquered carriages with velvet-upholstered seats. Being a lady meant safety, satiety, luxury.

If Effie hadn’t a weakness for the accoutrements of the role, she wouldn’t be here. Miss Corvus had recognized that weakness only too well. It’s why she’d promised that, if Effie was successful in her mission, she could keep all of her clothes.

“Sentimental is exactly how I would describe my attachment to it,” Effie said. “I was certain it must have fallen on the floor of your dressing room. Is that where you found it?”

“It wasn’t on the floor. It had slipped between the cushions of a chair. My maid, Meacham, discovered it last night before I retired.”

“Then you must convey my thanks to Miss Meacham.” Effie paused for a long moment, still holding Miss Compton’s challenging gaze. “Is that the only reason you’ve come?”

“No,” Miss Compton said, raising her chin a notch. “It is not.” She said nothing more, only glared at Effie with a look of kindling fury.

She plainly expected Effie to question her further on the subject, or—more likely—for Effie to offer up some clumsy, premature apology for whatever imagined offense she’d caused.

Effie did neither.

A taut silence vibrated between them.

Effie felt no great urgency to fill it. There was power in saying nothing. It generally prompted one’s opponent to stumble into the conversational breach, saying too much. Revealing too much.

In the end, Miss Compton couldn’t resist.

“You left the drawing room during my performance,” she said accusingly.

Effie’s brows lifted slightly.

“And I know you weren’t searching for that hairpin, for you didn’t return until the end of the musicale.” Twin spots of color blazed in Miss Compton’s cheeks. “Neither did Lord Mannering.”

Ah.

Effie began to understand. “Oh?” she replied. “Were we the only ones absent?”

Miss Compton’s gloved hands clenched into fists on her lap. “There were others,” she acknowledged. “But you and Lord Mannering have a prior connection. You were sat next to him at dinner.”

“For that, you must blame your mother. I had no control of the seating arrangement.”