Page 63

“But how can you hold a ball?” Bernie looked around the courtyard, at the pallets of stone, the old walls, and the porticoed cloisters. “Is there not a great room or a salon?”

“We’ll hold the ball here and in the Italian garden. And I plan to dance with every pretty miss among my guests.”

“You, dance?” said Lionel. “Since when? You haven’t attended a ball for years.”

“Properly inspired, I think I can manage. In any case, you and I must open the ball, Bernie.”

She sighed. “If we must. Now seriously, Graymont, what arrangements have you made for us? Where are my people to stay? I must have them near at hand.”

It was Bernie’s signal that she had had enough of his company. “Let me show you,” he said.

*

At one in the afternoon on the day before the ball, Cordelia and her sisters passed through the courtyard where Winter was directing several men in the early stages of ball preparation, covering the pallets of stone and placing lights. They were ushered into Lady Bernice Sydling’s presence by a proper-looking gentleman’s gentleman, who wore an appearance of ruffled dignity at a task beneath him. Lady Sydling herself occupied a large winged chair looking out on the Italian garden, where more men were busy clipping hedges and raking paths. Cordelia made a quick calculation of the expense of it all. Of the handsome younger brother, Lionel, there was no sign. Lady Sydling was a few years older than the viscount, fair-haired where he was dark, and sharp-nosed, with a quick, keen hazel eyes, and an enormous amethyst brooch in the gray silk folds of her gown.

“So, you are the poor girls that my brother has dispossessed,” she said, her gaze fixed on Miranda. There were no seats for them, so Cordelia and her sisters stood.

“Only of the castle,” Cordelia said. “We retain our lands, as title to them is entailed through the female line.”

“Ah.” Lady Sydling nodded. “That is some inducement to a potential suitor, I suppose. And your brothers? What are their prospects? Is one of them to marry and secure the property?”

“The twins are young yet, and both are rising in the navy, ma’am.”

Cordelia saw a slight resemblance to Graymont in Lady Sydling’s raised brow. “In that case, you must not wait for them, but find suitors for yourselves at once. I suppose that is the purpose of this ball of yours.” Lady Sydling’s gaze returned to Miranda, who studied the floor, her hands opening and closing, bunching up her skirts.

Beside Cordelia, Viola gasped. Cordelia reached for Viola’s hand and gave it a squeeze. The woman was an insufferable tyrant, and the best way to deal with her was to remain calm.

“Our Midsummer ball is a long-standing tradition in the neighborhood, and most of our guests are old friends. With the kindness of Lady Frome, my sister Roz will have a London Season, so our male guests may safely dance the night away. We would be pleased to have you join us and have brought an invitation.”

Roz stepped forward and handed Lady Sydling the lovely card of invitation.

She set it aside. “Yes, of course. Graymont says that he and I must open the ball. Very well. We must hope that the affair comes off creditably.”

Cordelia chose to regard that remark as the end of the interview. She glanced at Roz, who took Mir’s hand. They curtsied and took their leave.

They were ushered out by the same disagreeable individual. In the courtyard there was more bustle of ball preparations with the arrangement of Lady Frome’s palms and her chairs and the stringing of lanterns. Winter was in the midst of it all. His gaze went straight to Miranda, her eyes still downcast from the encounter with Lady Sydling.

Viola stalked through the scene. As soon as they passed through the entrance, she made her opinion of Lady Sydling known. “I see why she has a reputation as ‘managing,’” she said. “She’s a rudesby who likes to terrorize everyone around her.”

“And succeeds,” said Roz. “Did you see the way she looked at Mir?”

“I was so frightened,” Mir said. “Was it my dress? What did I do to earn such a glare?”

“I’m afraid she made a mistake there,” Cordelia said. She put her arm through Miranda’s to reassure her. “Lady Sydling imagines that Graymont has fallen in love with you because you are beautiful, dearest.”

“But he hasn’t, has he?” Mir asked.

“Of course he hasn’t,” said Roz.

“Well, I’m not afraid of her,” Viola declared. “What is she to us? Nobody. And who would want to be connected to her in any way?”

“Nevertheless,” Cordelia said. “She will be a guest at our ball, and—”

“She wants to take over our ball, and we mustn’t let her,” Violet declared.

“We won’t. Once she and Graymont finish their dance, the ball will be ours, and all our work will be appreciated by our true friends.”

*