Page 69 of Rules for Ruin

Too late, Effie realized she’d made a grave miscalculation.

When she’d written to Gabriel yesterday, she’d known he would be provoked by her effrontery. However, she’d presumed that, on his arrival, his aggravation would be tempered by his usual sardonic humor. That they’d spar the way they had in Hyde Park, when he’d covered her hand with his atop his heavily beating heart. A confrontation edged with a hint of sweetness, just like every other encounter they’d had.

Instead, Gabriel’s irritation appeared to have festered into something unpredictable and dangerous.

Registering his granite-hard countenance as he walked beside her, Effie’s pulse trilled an unmistakable warning. He was angry, to be sure. But she couldn’t yet discern whether that anger was directed at her, or at himself.

“The wire walker’s act commences at nine o’clock,” Lord Powell said, leading them along the gravel path that cut through the park’s green velvet expanse of lawn. He was a stocky, fair-haired gentleman of modest height, with a neatly trimmed beard and mustache. Not as dashing a man as Lord Mannering, but attractive enough, given his pedigree. For the moment, he only possessed a courtesy title. On his father’s death, however, Powell would inherit an earldom.

Miss Compton walked between him and Lord Mannering as though it were she who was hosting the party and not Lord Mannering and his sister. A costly strawberry pink silk cloak floated over her equally expensive evening dress. She cast her eyes over the raucous crowds with a disdainful air. “It appears all of London has come to see him perform his wire walk.”

“Cremorne requires no test of pedigree,” Miss Mannering replied. Like Miss Compton, she wore an evening dress, though hers boasted slightly less in the way of trimmings. “If it did, it would quickly go out of business.”

“No danger of that,” Lord Mannering said. He cast a wistful glance at Effie in the lamplight. It wasn’t the first such look he’d aimed at her since they’d arrived. “You’re not too cold, Miss Flite?”

“Not at all.” Effie’s black velvet cloak was thin, but the Parisienne evening dress she wore beneath it was warm enough on its own. Made of midnight blue grosgrain silk, the tight, round-waisted bodice was cut low at the neck and shoulders, culminating in delicate cap sleeves, and the passementerie-trimmed skirts were abundant. Paired with the glittering glass dragonflies in her hair and the dainty grosgrain belt circling her midsection, the whole of it presented a striking picture.

Effie had intended it so as she’d dressed this evening. At the time, she’d been thinking of Gabriel’s reaction rather than her work for the Academy.

Another amateurish mistake.

Had her head been less in the clouds, she’d have listened to the cautionary voice in it telling her that she ought not risk outshining Miss Compton.

Effie still needed the girl. She required continued access to Lord Compton, especially now. This afternoon’s post had brought a sampler from Nell. It had contained two terse words in coded reply to the sampler Effie had sent about Compton having a mistress: NOT ENOUGH.

As if Effie hadn’t known that!

She obviously had much more to learn. Much more to prove.

“You’ve never been to Cremorne before, have you?” Miss Mannering asked. She walked beside Effie and Gabriel, a few steps behind Lord Mannering and the others.

“I’ve not had the pleasure,” Effie said.

Lord Mannering looked back at her. “It’s a delightful place. They have countless fantastical exhibitions in the spring and summer. Tonight, the high wire, and next week there’s to be a balloon ascension by the aeronaut Mr. Chapin.”

“My brother enjoys death-defying displays,” Miss Mannering said.

“Do you attend them as well?” Effie asked her.

Light from one of the torches lining the path shone over Miss Mannering’s solemn face. “But rarely. My taste doesn’t run to popular entertainments. I favor more scholarly pursuits.”

Lord Mannering laughed. “Give Ruth a lecture over a feat of derring-do any day. She vastly prefers them, and the drier the better.”

Miss Mannering endured her younger brother’s gibes with good humor. “Phillip only thinks the lectures I attend are dry because they have to do with the affairs of women.”

“I rather enjoy a good lecture,” Effie said. “In Paris, I regularly attended talks at the Institut Historique and the École des Beaux-Arts.”

Miss Mannering’s mouth curved with approval. “I had a feeling you were sensible.”

Effie smiled. “What gave me away?”

“Your choice of reading material at Hatchards, to start.” Miss Mannering dropped her voice. “And your kindness to my brother. Any other lady would have brutally dispatched him by now.”

“Perhaps rejection would be a kindness in itself,” Effie replied quietly. “But I have few enough friends in London without dispatching the ones who actively seek my company.”

“If you have a mind to make more, you might be interested in attending a talk with me next Wednesday morning in Kensington. Lady Bartlett has invited a prominent Manchester teacher to speak about the education of girls. It’s open house. Everyone is welcome.”

“I’d like that very much,” Effie said. “Thank you, Miss Mannering.”