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“You must tell me everything.” Vivian propped herself up on shaking arms, her face pale, as Cassie slipped into her room that night. “This instant.”
“Can it wait until morning?” Cassie pulled pins from her hair, letting her curls loose from their tight constraints. “It is exhausting pretending to be you. How can you be so proper all the time?”
Vivian ignored her. “Please. Tell me. Did it work?”
Cassie sat on the bed beside her sister. “For the most part, though you may not thank me for it after hearing the details.”
She summarized the evening, from her idiotic lovelies to her insult of Mrs. Hastings’s artwork.
“And that is why,” she concluded, as if presenting a scientific lecture to the Royal Society, “we should never have attempted this in the first place. I only made things worse.”
Vivian leaned back, her eyes thoughtful. “Possibly. Well, certainly with Mrs. Hastings. But I can smooth her ruffled feathers with little issue tomorrow.”
“If you are well tomorrow,” Cassie pointed out. “You do not look the least bit improved. Are you certain this is just from traveling?”
“Quite,” Vivian said, though her trembling voice negated her answer. “But what matters is that you were able to distract Mr. Hastings from Miss Tindale.”
“Undoubtedly.” If looking ridiculous at a dinner party was her ticket to returning home, then she would happily make that sacrifice.
“What did you and Mr. Hastings talk about?” Vivian asked, rubbing her forehead with a wince.
“Nothing of great consequence, I assure you.” Cassie frowned, watching her sister. If Vivian was not better by tomorrow, she would insist upon a doctor.
“I must know everything,” Vivian said, “so we may transition back seamlessly tomorrow. He cannot know you were pretending to be me.”
Cassie sighed. She was right, of course. “We talked of your love of painting.”
Vivian nodded.
“And I mentioned Grandpapa’s parrot.”
Vivian stopped nodding. “The parrot? You cannot be serious.”
Cassie shrugged. “It made for interesting conversation.”
“But the parrot.” Vivian groaned. “That foul creature should have no part in a drawing room, even just in conversation.”
“It isn’t foul.” Cassie straightened. “It is amusing.”
Vivian fell back on her pillows. “At least I know you spoke of it, in case Mr. Hastings mentions it.”
Cassie shook her head. “Viv, you should not worry about this now. Rest, please.”
“All right.” Vivian did not resist very hard. “But do not let me sleep all morning. I am determined to go to breakfast.”
“Of course.” At least this lie was easy for Cassie to make, knowing it was for her sister’s good.
If only it could be the last lie she told.
* * *
Vivian was worse the next morning.
Upon finding her sister barely able to raise her head, Cassie went to Mrs. Hastings immediately—acting as Vivian, of course—and asked for a doctor. Fortunately, the matron complied without complaint, though she watched Cassie with narrowed eyes.
When Dr. Dutton arrived, he examined Vivian carefully. Cassie took up position at his elbow.
“Can you say what it is, Doctor?” Cassie finally asked. “Nothing serious, I hope?”
The doctor shook his head as he felt Vivian’s pulse. “I’m afraid I cannot be certain. She has a fever, but it is not dangerously high. I have seen similar symptoms in other patients recently, and all recovered within a few days.”
“A few days?” Vivian paled even more, which Cassie had thought impossible. “I cannot be abed that long. In fact, I need to dress now for breakfast.”
She began to rise from the bed, but Dr. Dutton set a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“I’m afraid that will only make things worse,” he said. “For your own sake, and for the sake of others, I insist you remain in bed until I pronounce you well enough.”
Vivian sank back against her pillows. “This is ridiculous.”
Dr. Dutton went to his bag and gathered his instruments. “I’ll come again this afternoon to see her,” he said to Cassie. “Keep her in bed, and send for me if her condition changes.”
Cassie nodded and the doctor left. She turned back to Vivian, who scowled at the ceiling. “I’m sorry,” she said, and she meant it. Even if she thought her sister’s plan of wooing Mr. Hastings rather silly, she never wanted to see Vivian distressed.
“A few days,” Vivian repeated again, defeated. “It is utterly useless. By that time, Miss Tindale will have ensured that no one remembers I exist.”
Cassie sat beside her. “Never mind that. We must get you well first. I promise you’ll have your chance.”
“Yes, you are right,” Vivian said slowly, fixing Cassie with a meaningful look. “But until then . . .”
Cassie straightened. Then she held up her hands. “No. No and no.”
“But it is the only way,” Vivian pled. “Can’t you see? If you simply continue the switch for another few days, no one will be the wiser.”
“I was the worst possible Vivian Bell last night,” Cassie said stubbornly. “You cannot want that to continue.”
“I can, since it is my only option. Besides, you’ll grow better at it, I am sure.” Vivian took her hand, squeezing it tightly. “Please, Cassie? Just a bit longer. Let me have my chance at happiness.”
Cassie knew she should say no. Heavens, she should pretend to be sick right alongside Vivian so she could avoid the rest of the party.
But Vivian looked at her with such desperation. Cassie had never been able to refuse her sister in anything, and this was so important to her. Not to mention, if Cassie was successful . . . She pictured a cozy Christmas back at Brightling, happily tucked away for the winter with no dread for the upcoming Season.
“All right,” Cassie said with a long exhale. “I’ll do it.”
Vivian patted her hand. “Thank you, Cassie. It will be done before you know it.” Her eyes widened. “But hurry, you must go down to breakfast before everyone disperses. I am absolutely certain Miss Tindale has already cornered Mr. Hastings.”
A few minutes later, dressed in Vivian’s white-flowered morning gown, Cassie descended the main staircase, trying to find a new determination. She could do this, she told herself. She knew Vivian better than anyone.
“Good morning, Miss Bell.”
Cassie jumped, but it was only Miss Tindale striding across the entry.
“Oh. Good morning.” Cassie cleared her throat. “Have I missed breakfast?”
Miss Tindale smiled pleasantly. Well, as pleasantly as a vulture could manage. “They haven’t cleared it away yet, but you might hurry.” Then her smile turned sympathetic. “How is your dear Cassandra? I understand the doctor was called for this morning.”
“She is . . .” Cassie paused. She hardly wanted to add to her sickly reputation. “She should be well enough to join us in a day or two.” Perhaps if Cassie wished very hard, her words would come true.
“That is good news. Do give her my best wishes.” Miss Tindale gave the barest curtsy and brushed past Cassie to reach the stairs.
“And where are you off to in such a hurry?” The words slipped from Cassie’s mouth before she could stop them.
Miss Tindale turned back. “Have you not heard? Mrs. Hastings has lost her cat, and she is simply distraught. I am helping in the search efforts, of course. Anything for sweet Mrs. Hastings.”
Sweet as codfish, that is. At least Cassie managed to stop those words.
“How kind of you,” she said instead. But she knew it was more than kindness at play. Whoever found this cat would undoubtedly be in Mrs. Hastings’s good graces, and Miss Tindale was planning to take that coveted position.
Unless Cassie found the feline first.
She bid farewell to Miss Tindale and started for the breakfast room, but as soon as the young lady disappeared upstairs, Cassie veered down the ground floor corridor. Eating could wait; winning back her hostess’s approval could not.
She searched the library, the dining room, the sitting room, and the billiards room. But after half an hour, Cassie was no closer to finding the creature than she was to flying. She stopped in the middle of the billiards room, hands on her waist. If she were a cat desperate to escape an unpleasant and judgmental mistress, where would she go?
A blur of movement caught her eye outside the window. Cassie crossed the room and pulled back the curtains just as a curved, gray tail slipped around the corner of the stables.
She dropped the curtain and nearly ran for the door.