“I beg your pardon with all my heart,” said Mr. Hawkins. “If my friend hadn’t needed me so urgently…”
Elinor froze. He wouldn’t have passed on his suspicions to Penelope, would he?
A chill passed through her as cold reason splashed icily across her foolish hopes.Of course he would. Mr. Hawkins wished to marry Penelope, didn’t he? Once they were wed, he would share every secret with her, as a matter of course. How could Elinor expect him, in the meantime, to respect the privacy of a woman he despised?
“Oh,well. I do understand that scholars can be distracted by their work, I suppose.” Penelope gave a martyred sigh. “But surely you could have asked one of the footmen to bring him his luncheon, rather than doing it yourself?”
“I wish I could have,” said Mr. Hawkins, “but I knew he would be hungry after missing breakfast, and I couldn’t let him go without another meal. He might have sent the footman away without eating, you see, if he was absorbed in his books.”
Elinor let out her held breath. Offensive and absurd as Mr. Hawkins’s accusations had been, at least he hadn’t shared them with anyone else at Hathergill Hall.
Not yet.
And the real Mrs. De Lacey would never hover nervously in a doorway, only waiting to be noticed.
She gathered herself up and swept into the room. “Penelope.” She nodded graciously to her cousin and let her gaze skim carelessly across Mr. Hawkins’s suddenly-blank face. “Mr. Hawkins. Miss Grace, Miss Staverton.”
“Mrs. De Lacey. You’ve come down at last.” Penelope began to pout, then stopped herself. “We havesomuch to discuss.”
“Of course.” Elinor sat down on one of the spindly, elegant chairs near the couch, keeping her gaze purposefully averted from Mr. Hawkins. On her shoulder, Sir Jessamyn tucked himself as low as possible, his scaly belly pressing hard into Elinor’s shoulder and his golden gaze locked nervously on Penelope’s face. His earlier exhaustion might have swamped his fear, but now it was apparently back in full force.
Elinor rubbed his long neck comfortingly and brushed his scaly cheek with hers. “Perhaps we can order refreshments before we begin?”
“Oh, no, I’m not hungry.” Penelope dropped her embroidery onto a side table and leaned forward. “Now thefirstthing to discuss—”
“I should like some tea first,” said Elinor firmly, “and I’m quite certain your mother won’t mind if we order cakes—and a bit of meat for my dragon. He hasn’t had his own luncheon yet.”
“You needn’t fret aboutthat.” Penelope snorted contemptuously. “Dragons always act as if they’re hungry. Hadn’t you noticed? I had one—he was quite like yours, actually—who pretended he was starving all the time, even if he’d eaten barely half an hour earlier. They aresuchgreedy creatures! They’ll take the greatest advantage of you if you allow it, so you mustn’t pamper yours, you know.”
Elinor gritted her teeth. On her shoulder, Sir Jessamyn had begun to shiver with real panic. She laid her palm soothingly across his back. “What a thoughtful piece of advice,” she said. “I do thank you for your consideration, but—”
“They are pathetic, honestly.” Penelope leaned closer, her blue eyes fixed scornfully on Sir Jessamyn. “Only look at yours! He’s acting as nervous as anything, only because—”
Sir Jessamyn made a soft noise in the back of his throat. It sounded disturbingly like the beginning of a chuckle.
Elinor abandoned courtesy as a lost cause and lunged for Penelope’s metaphorical underbelly. “Where is your mother, Penelope? I’d expected her to be here for our discussion. I’m sure she must have opinions of her own to share.”
“Ha!” Penelope jerked back, letting out a huff of irritation. “My mother’sopinions—!”
“Lady Hathergill wasn’t feeling well,” Millie supplied hastily.
“Not well atall.” From the venomous tone of Penelope’s voice, she would have liked to make her mother feel a great deal worse. “And if she thinks anybody is going to payanyattention to what she says from now on…!”
Lucinda cleared her throat, cutting off her friend. “Lady Hathergill decided to take a rest.”
“What a pity.” Elinor turned to Lucinda. “Would you mind ringing the bell for us, Miss Grace?”
“Of course not, Mrs. De Lacey.” Lucinda rose with all the grace of her name and hurried to the golden bell-pull in the corner, while Penelope vibrated with irritation on the couch.
Elinor ignored her cousin. She barely even noticed that Mr. Hawkins’s brows had drawn into a frown. Elinor was busy watching Lucinda, with Sally’s words ringing in her memory.
She had spent the last six months trying her best to ignore Penelope’s friends and close her ears to the words they said—or whispered—about her. Now, though, for the first time, she took a long look at Lucinda Grace.
Objectively speaking, Lucinda was pretty, although not as pretty as Penelope, of course—no friend of Penelope’s ever would be. But she had a clear complexion, a neat figure, and shining dark hair, well arranged. Her gown was fashionable, by country standards, and like both of the other girls’ gowns, it was made of thin sprig muslin and cut high at the waist, with short, puffed sleeves that showed off her bare arms. Elinor couldn’t see a single safe spot in which stolen objects could be hidden.
Elinor’s gaze returned to the couch where Lucinda had sat next to Millie.There! Lucinda’s reticule was a large, squashy, red and purple beaded bundle, which she had sewn herself. Elinor remembered that sewing party only too well, as she’d been forced to complete Penelope’s own reticule after Penelope had lost interest in it.
If Lucinda had pocketed anything today, the only place it could be hidden was inside that reticule.
