“No. But I won’t embarrass you before your important friends. I reckon you will do that all on your own.” He smiled.
Hattie took his arm. “They’re not my friends. I’m going to gawk at them just like you.”
They began to make their way down the stairs, scattering cats as they went.
In the foyer, their father was pacing as best he could, but the grandfather clocks took up quite a lot of space. He eyed both of his children suspiciously as Hattie donned a cloak and Daniel picked up his hat. “Just where’d you get that invitation, Harriet?” he demanded. “And that gown? How’d you pay for it?”
God forbid she have a new gown to wear to a nice dinner. “The invitation to me and Daniel came from Mr. and Mrs. Forsythe, Papa, as you know. And the gown is borrowed.”
He scowled at the two of them. “I don’t like it. Something not right about it—why would they want you?”
“Perhaps because we are more charming than you,” Daniel suggested.
Another surprise from her brother—he didn’t typically stand up for her. And neither did he typically argue with her father. There was no need—their father reserved his criticism for Hattie and the twins.
“Come on, Hat. We’ll be late.” Daniel smoothly guided her past their father, ignoring his grumbles that he didn’t like this, didn’t like it at all.
Neither Hattie nor Daniel cared why their father felt as he did—as long as she could remember, he’d been suspicious of thehaute tonon all counts and, at the same time, obsessed with news of it. He was suspicious of everyone, really, convinced the world was trying to cheat him out of the pounds he held with a tight fist.
Once outside, Hattie pulled the hood over her hair and the elegant headpiece she’d splurged on, adorned with silver and blue silk flowers, the same color as her dress. She’d fretted over spending the money for it, but when the woman in the shop showed her how it would be worn in upswept hair, Hattie couldn’t resist. It seemed almost to change the color of her drab brown hair into a richer shade of tobacco.
She anticipated a long walk to the address on George Street, as there was no carriage waiting for them. There never was—carriages existed for paying customers, not family.
“When one’s father owns most of the public transport in London, one might wonder why a transport is unavailable to his children,” Daniel mused, apparently thinking the same thing as Hattie.
“I’ve long since ceased to wonder,” Hattie said. “I consider it a fact of life, as immutable as I am a woman, and ducks quack.”
“Fret not, Harriet Woodchurch,” Daniel said as they walked to the end of the square. “Some things appear more immutable than they are.” At the corner, he paused to consult his pocket watch.
Hattie stepped off the curb to carry on, not wanting to be late for this dinner. But Daniel grasped her elbow and pulled her back.
“What are you doing?”
“Be patient,” he said. And then, like a bit of magic, a carriage came round the corner and pulled up beside them. The coachman climbed down and opened the door to the interior. “After you, madam,” Daniel said.
Hattie gasped with delight. “How did you manage it?”
“I’ve a few tricks up my sleeve,” he said. “We are not going to arrive at a fancy address like a pair of beggars. Up you go.”
Up she went. She grinned all the way across town.
The Forsythe mansion was quite large, the result of combining three townhomes to make one very grand one. Carriages slowly passed the house, belching people out of their interiors and then sliding on.
Hattie clutched their invitation in something close to a death grip. She was certain that the only way into that magnificent house with all those magnificent people was the single piece of paper she held in her hand, and if she didn’t present it, she and Daniel would be turned away as a pair of tricksters. She wouldn’t be surprised if there was some sort of interrogation at the door. “Whoare you?Howdid you gain an invite?”
But Hattie could not have been more wrong. It seemed anyone might have walked up to the house and sailed inside. Daniel gave the butler their names, and the gentleman asked no questions—he turned and announced them loudly to anyone close enough to hear. There were, in fact, several people close enough to hear, and when they realized the Woodchurches were no one important, they turned away.
A footman took Hattie’s cloak and directed them to a line of people waiting to meet their hosts.
“Calm down,” Daniel muttered to her as they inched forward.
“What are you talking about? I’m fine.”
“You’re shaking. You look as if you’ve come to steal something and are alarmed to find the home attended.”
All right, her nerves had gotten the best of her. She was acutely aware she lacked a place in society that entitled her to this invitation, and even though she was dressed as if she were one of them, the farther into the house they went, the more painfully aware she became that she was not one of them.
Just as her mother had warned her.
