Frederica hurried to change. The few gowns she had, she gathered together in a case then she took the pale pink gown which Honora had gifted her, too, running the cotton through her fingers lovingly for a minute.
As she crept down the stairs with her bag in her hands, she listened for sounds through the cottage, but there was nothing. No floorboard moved, and no wind whistled through open doors.
Downstairs, she took the opportunity to use her aunt’s writing bureau where she wrote her a note. She explained why she had to go, what she intended to do, and pleaded with her aunt not to worry. The final paragraph she was certain would stay with her for some time.
I cannot thank you enough for the home you have given me this last year. It was a beautiful home, a happy home, but I cannot stay hidden and risk someone else being hurt because of me. It’s time to act, Aunt. It’s time for me to come out of hiding. I shall write to you soon.
With love, Frederica.
Then she put down the quill and reached for the door. As she stepped out into the rain, intending to walk to the nearest village and take a stagecoach up to London, she muttered words under her breath.
“I’ll keep you safe, Dorothy. Maybe I’ll have to do this alone, but I will not let that man win.”
CHAPTERTWO
London, England
Hovering outside the Assembly Rooms, Frederica found the rain dried up. She watched from the other side of the street as carriages arrived and people climbed down, heading into the ball. There were some familiar faces including the gossip, the Marchioness of Guildford, but not once did Frederica see Lord Wetherington, her parents, or Dorothy, who she knew all could be inside.
She’d attempted to find Dorothy at her house only to be told that she was out at an assembly. Not knowing what else to do, Frederica had visited a lodging house, purchasing a room for the night, then she had changed into the pink gown her aunt had given her.
She now watched with desperation from the other side of the road, desperate for Dorothy to appear.
I have to make sure she is safe. If she is hurt, it will all be my fault.
“Time to act,” she whispered. Pulling down the hood of her cloak, she steeled herself and walked toward the building.
She fell into step behind a group of ladies that were tittering like gaggling geese. Together, the group stepped up between the fine white pillars toward the grand entrance which was flanked with flaming torches and two attendants who were checking invitations.
They didn’t once glance Frederica’s way. She was just treated as part of the group, who entered the rooms together. One of the manservants took her cloak.
Momentarily, Frederica considered holding onto it, knowing how hard it would be to hide in plain sight without it, but she also realized this would draw attention to her. Reluctantly, she let the manservant take it away.
She stayed close to the group of ladies and followed them into the Almack’s Assembly Rooms. On the threshold of the ballroom, she hesitated, wishing she could hide her face in her hands and pretend she was not here.
Everywhere she looked, beneath the candles shimmering in great chandeliers, people were laughing. It felt wrong to see ladies laughing with white feathers stuffed in their hair as if swans with long necks were squawking around the chamber. How could they laugh when such danger could be about to befall? When one of their number could be hurt by a man, who was capable of an unknown amount of sadism?
Frederica cricked her neck back and forth, looking at all the faces she possibly could. The great golden gilt mirrors made their numbers look twice as large, so it was impossible to search every face. Swathes of blue and dark pink velvet cloth hung from the ceiling too, allowing many to hide behind them to whisper gossip.
“Come, come, we must speak to him.” The voice near Frederica’s ear made her turn cold.
She would recognize her father’s voice anywhere.
Purposefully, she turned away, pretending interest in the nearest stack of drinking glasses. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ernest and Margaret walk by with her hand resting on Ernest’s elbow.
“He is the son of a duke, you know,” Ernest whispered to his wife.
“That would be a great connection indeed.”
As the two wandered off, disappearing into the crowd again, Frederica actually shook her head in despair.
Some things don’t change, do they?
In her most naïve of moments, Frederica had actually hoped that her disappearance might have prompted her parents to consider all that was wrong in their lives and why they had driven her away. She had liked to think that they no longer prioritized climbing the social ladder as much as they once did. Clearly, such a naïve hope was wrong.
Putting her back to the part of the room where they had gone, determined to avoid them for as long as was possible, she searched again. She jerked her head back and forth, desperate for any glimpse of Dorothy or Stephen, so she could run to them and warn them. As she searched, her heartbeat thundered in her ears with the constant terror of coming face to face with Lord Wetherington instead.
She pulled on a few loose tendrils of her light brown hair that hung down from her updo, praying they hid her face as much as possible.
