Isabel glanced over the top of her book. “I was wondering if you were ever going to wake. I want to hear all about last night.” She looked lovely sitting serenely in an apple-green day dress. Guilt struck Anastasia. She had dressed for the day in the hope that Isabel and Philippa would have left already to join the others. Although she had resolved to tell them her secret, doubt had crept up and settled on her shoulders.
Despite her own insecurities, Anastasia was never one to take her own woes out on anyone else; she responded with whatever cheer she could muster. Trying to delay the inevitable, she said, “My head…” She began rubbing her temples, attempting to make her lie convincing, and added, “I guess I just needed some sleep.”
“I wish I had slept better.” It was unlike Isabel to have difficulty sleeping. Anastasia was just about to ask what was the matter was when Isabel volunteered. “I kept hearing strange noises during the night, almost like crying.”
“Perhaps you were dreaming.” Anastasia’s curt response earned her a glare from Isabel.
“But I was wide awake.”
Thankfully Philippa entered the room, the awkwardness from the moment before dissipated under Philippa’s cheerful voice. “Wasn’t the masquerade splendid?” She raised a quizzical brow at Anastasia. “Where did you disappear to last night?” Her tone was light until their eyes met. “What’s wrong?”
“What happened?” Two sets of concerned eyes held her in place.
“I need to tell you something.” Anastasia broke away from their questioning eyes and went to sit on the settee beside Isabel. Philippa joined them, lowering herself daintily into the damask chair beside Anastasia.
“You are positively trembling.” Isabel reached out to clasp her hands. “Your hands are like ice. What happened? You’re scaring me, Anastasia.” Isabel’s brow crinkled.
Guilt sank in the pit of Anastasia’s stomach. She had always feared that if Isabel learned the truth about her scandal that she would send her away, too shocked and embarrassed. The silence dragged on while she contemplated what she wanted to say.
“Please, you can tell me anything.” Isabel squeezed her hands. “You are like a sister to me.”
Anastasia did not know where to start.
Philippa leaned in and placed her hands on top of Isabel’s. “Sisters tell each other everything,” she said with a soothing smile.
Their reassuring words, smiles, and genuine concern gave Anastasia the confidence she needed to share her story. She inhaled deeply and prepared herself. “More than eight years ago I met a young man who had been visiting his aunt near the village where I lived with my father and siblings.”
Isabel interrupted. “Is that the young man who broke your heart? Is he…?”
Anastasia had only ever said that her heart had been broken, nothing more. “Please, let me finish without interruptions and then I promise I will answer your questions.” She was certain that if she hadn’t asked Isabel to wait, she would have continued to bombard Anastasia with questions, and, she feared, any interruption would cause her to break down and not finish her story. “Very well, but I will have questions.”
Anastasia was most certain Isabel would.
“Where was I?”
Philippa squeezed her hands, clearly trying to move the story along. “Visiting his aunt.”
“Oh, yes. We started spending time together, and I fell in love.” Anastasia shook her head. “Before you interrupt, yes, he did break my heart. I thought he loved me the way that I loved him. After he went away I wrote to him, but he never answered my letters. I was sent away shortly after that and you know the rest.”
Philippa’s brows crinkled with confusion. “I still don’t understand why you were sent away unless… Oh my.” She offered Anastasia a sympathetic smile. “I am sorry you had to endure such ill treatment. I know what it is like to be deceived. Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
“I assumed Weston told you when you married.”
“He never said a word, but I suspected something dreadful must have happened.” If only Philippa knew all of it. No, it was better that she did not. Weston was the only other person who knew what led to her final downfall.
Bewilderment crept over Isabel’s face. “Your father sent you away because…you and this young man were…?” A blush streaked across her face. She cleared her voice. “But why?” The tone in her voice suggested that she did not quite believe the story. It was true, there was just one detail missing. They were the closest of friends, but there were just some things she did not discuss.
“My father was the curate and afraid of scandal.” She hoped that snippet of truth would pacify Isabel’s curiosity.
“Why are you telling us this now?”
“I was too embarrassed to tell you sooner and did not want to hurt your feelings, or be sent away.” She had kept this secret and the worries along with it locked inside for far too long.
“I could never send you away.” Isabel squeezed her hand to emphasize her point.
Anastasia realized that she did not want to hide in some dark corner of the world embarrassed and ashamed. She may not ever marry, but she had the love of her friends, and that was just as precious.
“I still don’t…” Philippa stopped as realization dawned on her. “Oh my. He’s here.”
“It is worse than that.”
“How could it be worse?”
“I danced with him last night, and he did not recognize me.” The more she said the words, the worse it hurt. “Then he told me that he thought I was dead. Of course he said this not knowing he was saying it to me, because…”
Isabel reached over and gave her a hug. “I am sorry you have to endure this.” She sat back and let out a loud sigh. “What are we going to do?”
“Discover why he believes that Anastasia is dead.” Philippa turned to Anastasia with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, that sounds dreadfully morbid.”
Anastasia shook her head. “It is quite all right. How do you propose to uncover that information?”
Philippa was silent for the longest time before a wide grin appeared. “You were pretending to be Isabel last night, so Isabel will pretend that it was her last night.”
The space between Isabel’s brows crinkled. “So I am to pretend to be me, pretending to be you, and now it is me trying to discover information about you. I’m utterly confused. I have a difficult enough time just being me and now you want me to pretend it is but it isn’t me? I don’t see how this is to accomplish anything.”
By the consistent rambling, Anastasia knew Isabel to be nervous about the entire pretense, and she could not blame her. Pretending to be someone she wasn’t was exactly why Isabel had not wanted a season in the first place. Fancy dresses, endless entertainment, and constantly trying to impress was not in Isabel’s vocabulary. Anastasia would not have asked for help if she didn’t feel so hopelessly lost.
“Please, I need you. I just need to know why he never returned my letters, why he made empty promises, why he…” Anastasia was about to reveal too much. That was one secret she would not reveal, not to her dearest friends, not to anyone.
“It will only be for a few days,” Philippa reasoned.
Isabel inhaled a long deep breath then exhaled slowly. “Fine, I’ll help.”
Philippa was positively giddy. “Just think of the fun we will have with this subterfuge.”
Ever since Philippa entered their lives, nothing had been mundane and ordinary. She brought a certain joie de vivre that had been missing in all their lives. Philippa stood and paced in front of the unlit fireplace, deep in thought.
“How are you thinking we should progress?” Now that Isabel had agreed, she appeared eager to participate.
Philippa did not answer. Biting her lower lip, she squinted into the distance, shaking her head. Without warning, she clasped her hands together and turned to face them. “Afternoon tea is to be served in the garden. That would be the perfect opportunity. Isabel, you will try and entice…” Philippa’s attention turned to Anastasia’s. “Who is it that we are to hoodwink?”
Just the thought of saying his name to someone else caused her insides to somersault. She swallowed hard. “Mr. St. Clair.”
Philippa gave her a peculiar look. “Dante St. Clair?”
Anastasia’s head snapped up. “You know him?”
* * *
Yes, Philippa knew him. He was a good friend of her cousin, Marcus. She did not doubt Anastasia’s story, but it did not make any sense. She knew that the now former Mr. St. Clair had suffered a tremendous loss. Could that be what this was about?
The longer she remained silent the faster her heart started to beat. Philippa did not want to lie, but needed to discover more information before she revealed her friendship with him to Anastasia. Thinking quick, she settled on a half-truth. “I met him at Aunt Lou’s, oh, it has been…” Philippa shrugged her shoulders, feigning forgetfulness over how many years it had been.
Isabel gave her a quizzical look before she launched into a series of questions. “When was the last time you saw him, Philippa? Did he ever mention Anastasia?” Isabel had the look of amateur investigator. Clearly she had been listening to Weston regarding his investigations over the years for far too long.
“No, Isabel.” Anastasia’s face grew long, the sorrow deepened in her eyes. Philippa wanted to ease that pain. “But, it is also a topic of discussion not appropriate for him to discuss with a relative stranger.”
That statement seemed to ease some of Anastasia’s angst.
“How are we to proceed?” Isabel’s question was a reminder to Philippa that Isabel was a novice in almost everything, especially social intercourse. They best get this done and over with before Isabel came to her logical senses.
Philippa turned to Anastasia. “What exactly happened last night? We need to know every word that was exchanged, everywhere you went, everything.”
“I told him that he looked sad. He told me that I reminded him of someone that was dead. I stumbled while dancing and then ran out the veranda door.”
“That was all?” It was such a brief encounter; no wonder Philippa missed the entire episode. Regardless of length, it seemed to have caused Anastasia a tremendous amount of distress. “Is there anything else that you want to tell me?”
Philippa could not help but wonder what secret Anastasia was harboring. She would write to her husband, tell him what has transpired, and ask him to arrive sooner. Only Weston knew the entire story. Philippa could not explain why, but something about the situation did not sit well with her.
Anastasia looked nervously about before she declared with a shaky voice. “No, I have told you everything you need to know.”
Philippa was familiar with that phrase. Weston had tried to protect Philippa far too often by not revealing all. She would allow Anastasia to get over the shock of seeing her lost love before pressing for more answers.
“Very well.” Turning to Isabel, Philippa dictated the next course of action. “We will attend the afternoon garden party. You will need to speak with Lo…” She cleared her throat, “Mr. St. Clair away from Lady Huntingdon.”
Oh, I should not have said that, Philippa scolded herself. Not surprisingly, Isabel was the first to question. “What does Lady Huntingdon have to do with Mr. St. Clair?”
Philippa was not going to dance around the truth any more than she needed. “They are related.”
Anastasia’s hand flew to her mouth, as a loud gasp exited. “From the moment I met her, I felt there was…something.”
“Don’t you worry. Isabel and I will do our best to glean the information you seek. I think it wise that you stay here this afternoon.”
Anastasia nodded her head. “Of course, I will read or sew or…”
“She will probably pace a rut in the carpet,” Isabel teased before her tone turned serious. “We need to go now, before I change my mind.”
Philippa needed a just a moment to scribble a quick note to Weston. Fifteen minutes later Philippa and Isabel were ready for their grand performance.
“We will return to rescue you from boredom in a couple of hours,” Philippa said as she closed the door. Anastasia did not say a word but offered a sad sort of smile. Philippa was determined to set things right. She just knew there was more to the story than met the eye.
They almost reached the end of the hall when Isabel finally spoke what was on her mind. “Why do I get the impression that you are more acquainted with Mr. St. Clair than you stated?”
Philippa answered her in a hushed tone. “Because I am. Anastasia’s Mr. St. Clair is the Earl of Huntingdon.”
“No!” Isabel gasped. “How…?”
Philippa raised her hand to silence Isabel. She thought she heard footsteps from around the corner. Better to be safe than to have rumors spread throughout the countryside. “That is correct,” Philippa began in a loud voice, “The previous Lord Huntingdon added this wing so that he may entertain on a much grander scale.”
They had just rounded the corner when they almost collided with Lady Huntingdon.
“Oh, I do apologize, Lady Huntingdon.” Philippa could not help but wonder if the noise she heard had in fact been Lady Huntingdon eavesdropping. “Miss Albryght and I were just admiring…”
“Yes, yes, I heard your rather loud explanation.” Well, that assumption was confirmed. “I see that you are missing someone in your party.”
Isabel quickly responded. “Miss Quintin took ill shortly after we arrived. She has been abed ever since.”
“Oh dear, I hope that it is not severe?” Lady Huntingdon did not conceal her artificial concern.
“Actually, Miss Quintin was suffering throughout our journey here. All the motion and delays did not sit well with her.” Philippa hoped that by exaggerating Anastasia’s supposed ailments Lady Huntingdon would not probe further.
Pursing her lips together, Lady Huntingdon eyed them both for the longest time before she finally stated, “I hope her health improves. Now,” she snickered, “tea is about to be served shortly and we do not want to be tardy.”
Lady Huntingdon turned and walked toward the staircase. Philippa assumed by her curt statement that they were expected to follow.
* * *
Dante’s grandmother had planned an eventful day. After tea and refreshments were served, there were to be lawn games. He had learnt that morning that his grandmother had expected him to sit next to the winner of the competition at dinner this evening. He knew the afternoon was contrived so that his grandmother’s first choice would be the victor, and he had no intention of bowing to all of his grandmother’s demands. He would join the ladies for an hour then retreat to his study. There were far more important matters to contend with than his grandmother’s matchmaking schemes.
Dante was listening to Lord Tabard with half an ear over his latest improvements to his estate. He knew the man was in the marriage mart, but his boisterous declaration about how much money he had and was willing to spend would only land him with a fortune hunter. Of course, Lord Tabard was perhaps one of the most disagreeable men he knew and buying a woman’s affections may be the only way for him to secure a bride. It would not be the first time something of this sort had happened.
Gazing across the lawn toward the house, a late arrival caught his attention. From this distance it looked to be…no, it couldn’t. His heart started to pound in his ears, further blocking the sound of Lord Tabard. As the young woman neared, Dante knew it was not whom he was first suspecting, but where could that woman be?
With the approaching ladies, Lord Tabard decided it was the opportune time to excuse himself to a more venturous task. “I believe I shall seek out Lady Brenda.”
Dante gave him a sideways glance. He wanted to encourage the old lord in his endeavors. If Lord Tabard married Lady Brenda that was one less woman that his grandmother could thrust his way. “She is walking near the footbridge.”
As Lord Tabard waddled away, Mrs. Weston and her companion strolled up toward his table. Now at a closer glance, and despite her similar features, Dante was certain that the woman at Mrs. Weston’s side was not his mysterious lady from last night.
Dante stood and greeted his guest. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Weston.”
“There was a time when you called me Philippa,” she returned with a smile.
“Yes, that was before I inherited this title.” Dante leaned in and lowered his voice, “And before my grandmother lurked behind every tree and corner.”
Philippa let out a hearty laugh. “Yes, I quite understand.” She extended a hand toward the woman beside her. “I do not believe that you have met my sister-in-law, Miss Albryght.”
“How do you do, Miss Albryght?”
“Pleased to formally make your acquaintance.” A silent understanding seemed to pass between Miss Albryght and Mrs. Weston before she continued. “I enjoyed our dance last evening.”
Miss Albryght couldn’t be his masked siren, Dante was certain of it. However, he did suspect that she knew more than she was willing to admit.
“So you have met my grandson, Miss Albryght?” The sound of his grandmother’s voice heightened his caution. What was she up to now?
Miss Albryght looked as if she was a fox trapped by a hound. “Yes,” she swallowed hard. “La…last night…”
Regardless of who she was or who he thought she wasn’t, Dante would not subject Miss Albryght to his grandmother’s interrogation.
“Miss Albryght, would you care to take a turn about the garden?”
Again, Miss Albryght looked to Mrs. Weston for guidance. “I’m sure Miss Albryght would enjoy a turn about the garden. I believe I will stay here and converse with Lady Huntingdon. I am keen to learn her itinerary for the season.”
Dante had no clue as to what Mrs. Weston was about but was thankful nonetheless. He didn’t want his grandmother near while he tried to determine what Miss Albryght knew about the woman he danced with at the masquerade.
Miss Albryght worried her gloved fingers and bit her bottom lip. Dante attempted to ease her nervousness. “I apologize for my grandmother.”
“No need. But thank you just the same. Your estate is quite lovely. Do you have any plans for improvements? My sister-in-law told me that each of the Earls of Huntingdon did some sort of improvement. I suppose it was part of their legacy.”
Dante did not know when Miss Albryght would stop her questioning. Not wanting her to faint from lack of air, he interjected, “No, I hadn’t really thought about improvements.” When they entered the garden, the fragrant scent of roses mingled with the sweet air took him back to a distant time and place. Without thought he uttered, “I was not expecting to inherit.”
“Why ever not?”
It took a moment for Dante to realize what he had said aloud. Since the tragedy was no great secret, he said, “My uncle and his only son died in a carriage accident and now the responsibility has passed to me.”
“You do not sound happy about the change of events.”
“I would have preferred to remain unmarried, but now that I am an earl, my grandmother has other ideas in mind.” Dante did not know why he was revealing so many confidences, but despite Miss Albryght’s initial nervousness, she was quite easy to converse with.
“Is that why you were sad last night?”
“What did you say?”
“Last night, when we danced,” she paused for a moment as if she was having difficulty speaking. “I commented on your sadness.”
This was the woman he danced with last night? But it couldn’t be. Last night the masked lady entranced him. He felt an instant connection, and although he found Miss Albryght pleasant, there was no reaction.
He realized that he had not said a word in quite a few seconds. “I do apologize; I seem to have forgotten myself.”
“Not at all.” Miss Albryght opened and closed her mouth as if she were going to speak.
The cravat around Dante’s neck seemed tight and restrictive all of a sudden. He needed to be away from here, away from this conversation. All his assumptions had been incorrect?
“Thank you for the stimulating walk. I believe it is time we joined the others.” Without further word, he escorted Miss Albryght back to where some of the other guests were gathered, bowed and took his leave. He did not want to socialize or converse with anyone, especially his grandmother.
* * *
Isabel did not know what to make of their conversation in the garden. She had done everything that Philippa had suggested, but Lord Huntingdon seemed agitated and distant when she mentioned the dance. Despite her best efforts, she was not very good at subterfuge, she thought with a sigh.
She glanced about for Philippa, but was punished with the sight of Lady Huntingdon approaching her with a determined purpose. Instantly, her nerves began to get the better of her. Thank goodness her gloves hid her sweaty palms.
“Miss Albryght, a word please.” Lady Huntingdon did not wait for a response but strolled away from neighboring guests, expecting Isabel to follow, which she did. She scolded herself inwardly. If she were to survive a season in London, she best become more forceful. “I want to know what was exchanged between you and my grandson. He is quite discomposed over your brief encounter.”
Lady Huntingdon’s harsh stare bore into Isabel. If she were the crying sort, she would be sobbing uncontrollably. Swallowing hard, she said, “We talked about the estate. I am quite fond of neo-classical architecture.”
“What else?” Her impatience was making Isabel even more nervous if that were possible.
“I…I asked if he had any plans for improvements.” Lady Huntingdon gave Isabel a look like she expected her to explain further, but there really was nothing else to say. “That was all,” she said with all honesty. Lord Huntingdon gazing off into the distance was hardly worth mentioning.
Lady Huntingdon eyed her for several seconds before she seemed satisfied with her answer. “Very well, you may rejoin the others.” Her tone was firm. Clearly, she was used to giving orders.
The moment Lady Huntingdon left her side Philippa came scurrying over. “What was all that about?”
Isabel placed a trembling hand at her chest. “She questioned me about my stroll with Lord Huntingdon. She did not seem at all pleased.”
“We best return to Anastasia.”