“No?” Miss Armitage raised one eyebrow. “I don’t mean to embarrass you, ma’am, but I can only imagine that something must have occurred to shake you deeply. Whatever happened in London to set you running…whomever you may be hiding from here…”
“I am not hiding from anyone, Miss Armitage.” Elinor’s voice threatened to shake, but she forced it into steadiness. “What an absurd idea.”
The other lady’s gaze never wavered. “Mrs. De Lacey,” said Miss Armitage, “I am trying to reassure you that you have nothing to fear from me. You see, I am a person who knows how to keep important secrets…and you may find me surprisingly difficult to shock.”
Elinor had to bite her lip to hold back a semi-hysterical laugh. If Miss Armitage only knew… “You might be surprised,” she said.
“I doubt it.” Footsteps sounded in the corridor outside, along with male voices, and Miss Armitage sat back in her seat. With unruffled composure, she lifted her teacup to her lips. Her eyes, above the delicate china, were uncomfortably knowing, even as her voice dropped to a thread of a whisper. “If you find that you need someone to confide in after all—or someone to assist you, ma’am—you know where to come. I can be of more support than you may imagine.”
“Thank you,” Elinor murmured, shifting back into her own seat. “I won’t forget.”
As she took a sip of her own cooling tea, though, and watched Miss Armitage smile in easy greeting to the group of male houseguests walking in the door, Elinor found herself pondering an entirely different question.
How many ‘important secrets’ was the other girl already keeping? And how many people had found themselves succumbing to the temptation to share them with her?
Elinor set down her teacup and took a deep breath. Like the girl across from her, she turned a welcoming smile towards the door. Inside, though, she was rapidly formulating a decision.
Miss Armitage was charming, intelligent and dangerously persuasive…and Elinor would never make the mistake of allowing herself to be trapped alone with her again.
Chapter 22
Two days later, though, Elinor was beginning to feel desperate.
The newspapers still hadn’t provided any suitable advertisements for a governess, and she was running out of time. In one turn of shockingly good fortune, Mrs. De Lacey hadn’t had a single exploit reported in London’s society columns in the past two days…but Elinor couldn’t help worrying that that ominous silence only meant that she would explode into more glorious activity than ever with her next feature.
Lucinda had sent a note to Penelope announcing that she had a miserable head-cold and wouldn’t be able to visit her for the next few days. If she really was as cunning as Sally claimed, she wouldn’t return to Hathergill Hall until she absolutely had to, on the very night of Penelope’s début...the night when Sally would publicly expose Elinor’s deception if Elinor didn’t expose Lucinda’s thievery first.
Meanwhile, Gavin Armitage, with help from his sister, was doing his charming best to sweep Penelope off her feet with stories of the glittering London life that he and his future wife would share…while constantly calling upon Elinor herself to supply more pertinent details. Even after all the society columns she’d devoured, Elinor was miserably certain that she must slip up soon, if she hadn’t already—and no matter how much Elinor tried to persuade Penelope otherwise, she was becoming just as certain that she knew which choice her foolish cousin would make if both men did propose.
And worst of all, Benedict Hawkins hadn’t uttered a word to her for the past two days.
Oh, he watched her. She found him watching her at the oddest moments, just when she was absorbed in conversation with someone else, or in the middle of petting Sir Jessamyn. But he always looked away the very moment their eyes met. There had been no shared smiles in these past few days, no private conversations in the gardens or her room.
…Which was hardly the point of his visit, Elinor reminded herself, grinding her teeth as she walked down the stairs with Sir Jessamyn on her shoulder.
Of course there was no reason for Benedict to seek out her company. But if he wanted to have any chance of beating out Gavin Armitage, he would do well to start acting more like himself. For the past two days, he had been so strangely reserved—polite but barely attentive in company, even to Penelope when he sat beside her—it was no wonder that Penelope was falling under Mr. Armitage’s practiced spell. Elinor might find the other man’s ruthless charm as insubstantial as false gold, but Benedict was barely even trying to rival it.
Perhaps if she took him aside to warn him…
No.That was a pitiful excuse.
She stalked off the bottom step with a swish of her aunt’s best riding habit. The house party was going on a picnic today, and as Elinor’s own collection of clothing hadn’t included a habit, Lady Hathergill had offered hers.
“I haven’t ridden in years. Why would I want to spend the afternoon on a horse listening to everyone natter on about tedious things? I hear enough of that at home, and at least here, there’s tea for comfort. You may as well borrow it, just as I borrowed so many gowns from you in our début season.”
This riding habit might be five years out of fashion and far from a perfect fit, but it was also a satisfyingly deep and dangerous crimson that matched Elinor’s current mood…especially as she opened her reticule to take out the folded letter she had finally been forced to write.
To Mrs. Galsworthy,it read.The Oaks, Halstead, Hamps.
There had been no suitable governessing advertisements, so Elinor had been forced to apply for this one, after all.
“Better to go without a salary than without a home,” she whispered to Sir Jessamyn. She tried, without much luck, to find some comfort in the words.
The salver on the front table already held four letters written in Miss Armitage’s elegant hand. Elinor took a quick look around the hall to ensure her privacy, then lifted the other letter up by its corner. If she slipped her letter carefully underneath…
“Mrs. De Lacey,” Benedict said, directly behind her.
Elinor dropped her letter and almost dropped Sir Jessamyn, too. He clenched his claws into her shoulder as he slipped halfway off, cheeping frantically, and she gasped with pain as she re-settled him.
