“I’m afraid I—” she began, and then cut herself off.Don’t apologize. Mrs. De Lacey set fashions rather than following them.
Elinor lifted her chin as she passed a strip of bacon to Sir Jessamyn. “I enjoy sharing meals with my dragon.”
“Indeed.” Miss Armitage’s gaze followed the dripping oil that fell in drops onto the tablecloth as Sir Jessamyn crunched the bacon enthusiastically.
Elinor could have sworn that she glimpsed a wince of sophisticated distaste cross the perfectly symmetrical and unmarked face of Miss Armitage’s own dragon. His mistress, fortunately, was too polite to say what she must have been thinking. When she spoke again, it was to change the subject.
“I take it you are a friend of Lady Hathergill, not of Sir John?”
“Yes,” said Elinor. “We were close friends when we were younger.”
Which meant…she frowned. In point of fact, that meant thather mother had probably known Mrs. De Lacey, too. Somehow, she had never thought of it in that way before. Her mother had never mentioned the connection herself—busy and happy with her good works in their Cornish village, with no trips to London and less than no interest in the distant world of high fashion, such matters could hardly have seemed relevant to her. It was only Elinor who had devoured all the gossip in the society pages of the newspaper, while her mother had rolled her own eyes and teased her gently over the breakfast table—“To think of my most sensible girl letting herself be taken in by such nonsensical trivialities!”—and her father had patted her hand reassuringly.“Let Ellie enjoy herself, my dear. It may not be to our taste, but it harms no one, and she certainly deserves a bit of fun. She’s a good girl...”
Elinor’s eyes stung with sudden tears. She blinked them rapidly away, taking a deep breath.
Happy memories shouldn’t make her weep.
But she wondered, suddenly, whether her fatherhadbeen thinking of his daughters after all when he had made those deluded investments. Had he dreamed of Elinor, Rose, and Harry entering that distant Society she had so loved to read about, with those mythical proceeds from the Brazilian scheme? Ifthathad been the cause that drove him, rather than simple greed…would that make it better or worse?
And would it make what had happened to them partly her fault, too?
She barely registered the sound of Miss Armitage’s voice, speaking nearby. It wasn’t until Miss Armitage cleared her throat that Elinor blinked back to attention.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I merely asked…” Miss Armitage’s blue eyes rested on Elinor’s face with cool interest. “Had you ever met Miss Hathergill before? I take it that it had been some years since you last saw her mother.”
“Oh, years and years,” Elinor agreed, and took a hasty bite of bacon to fill her mouth. Sir Jessamyn drooped with disappointment on her shoulder. Miss Armitage waited patiently, though, so Elinor was eventually forced to continue. “This has been my first meeting with Penelope.”
“And yet you’re whole-heartedly committed to helping her in her début no matter how rude her father might be.” Miss Armitage widened her eyes. “How remarkably generous of you, ma’am.”
“Well…” Elinor shrugged as well as she could without dislodging Sir Jessamyn. “Promises must be kept.”
“Mm,” said Miss Armitage.
Unease skittered through Elinor as she continued to eat, pretending unconcern, but all too aware of the sceptical expression on the other woman’s face. Surely, Miss Armitage should have been endeavoring to ingratiate herself to Mrs. De Lacey—or, at the very least, unwilling to offend her now. If she was allowing herself to look so openly disbelieving…
“Miss Hathergill mentioned that you had sent your carriage back to London with your abigail and all of your clothing inside.”
“I did.” Summoning all of her inner resources, Elinor made a grand, sweeping gesture with her knife. “An amusing experiment, I thought—to see if I could survive a week in the country on my own resources. Well, and with the clothes that I found in the inn, of course.”
“Of course,” Miss Armitage murmured, and her gaze flickered across Elinor’s high-necked, dull gray morning gown. “The poor relation’s.”
Elinor suppressed a wince.
Miss Armitage leaned forward, and her dragon shifted gracefully on her shoulder, arching his long, red-and-silver neck backwards for counter-balance. “Mrs. De Lacey,” she said firmly, “You have nothing to fear from me.”
“Miss Armitage...” Frowning, Elinor leaned forward, too. “Whyever would I?”
Before Sir Jessamyn could seize the opportunity, she set one hand between his snout and her plate. He sighed and nestled his chin against her fingers.
Miss Armitage smiled, her expression warm and understanding. “I know that you’re in some distress.”
“I…”
“You needn’t explain anything to me,” said Miss Armitage. “Five days ago, you told my brother that you would be in London for the rest of the month and had no idea of accepting any rural invitations. You were meant to be holding a great Venetian breakfast only two mornings ago. Yet you arrived in Somerset that very night, without your carriage, without your clothes, without even your abigail for company, and you informed your hosts that they must not announce your presence to the newspapers…” She shook her head gently. “And it isquiteobvious to anyone who’s ever observed you in the past that you are not yourself at the moment.”
Elinor swallowed hard. “I cannot imagine what you mean by that.”
