“What exactly is going on here, and why are you all staring at me like nincompoops? I know rural society can be vulgar, but really—!”
“Who the devil is that?” Sir John snarled. He started towards the door.
It opened before he could reach it, revealing a footman who looked as if he were about to be sick. As he closed the door behind him, his gaze slid to Elinor, then to Sir John, and back again. He stared at Elinor with as much fascinated revulsion as if she had developed a second head.
She fought the urge to take a step backward.Be Mrs. De Lacey, she ordered herself.Show no fear.
She lifted her chin to look down her nose at the entire room.Be Mrs. De Lacey…
“Well?” Sir John snarled. “What’s happened now? Who’s set off all that commotion out there?”
“I beg your pardon, Sir John,” the footman said. He must have been at least nineteen, but his voice cracked like a boy’s as he finally tore his gaze away from Elinor’s face. “I had to come and tell you, sir, as quickly as I could. Mrs. De Lacey has arrived.”
* * *
“Oh, bloody hell.”Benedict’s whisper was only a thread of sound, but it carried perfectly through the room. He started towards Elinor, but she shook her head at him infinitesimally and flicked out her fingers to wave him back as discreetly as she could.
Panic had clouded her head, earlier, when she’d still had time to run. Now, she felt shot through with bleak clarity. She had lost her gamble and her freedom…but shewould notlet him suffer with her.
Sir John didn’t spare him a glance. “What are you babbling about?” he asked the footman. “Mrs. De Lacey ishere. Can’t you see that?”
“Yes, sir. But, sir…” The footman swallowed visibly, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down his long throat. “She’s out there, too. I saw her myself.”
“Don’t be absurd! If you’re trying to tell me—”
The door opened behind the footman before Sir John could finish.
“Has everyone in this house gone mad? Or doesanyoneremember how to properly greet a guest?”
Mrs. De Lacey swept into the room like a hurricane, sending the footman lurching to one side to get out of her way. Everyone else in the dining room froze in a tableau of shock, even Elinor herself.
It was, of course, the real Mrs. De Lacey. Elinor had seen that nose, that hair, those dark eyes in her mirror every day for nearly a week. They were as familiar as her own features, now. And yet…
“Good God,” said Mrs. De Lacey. “Whoareyou?” Even the dragon on her neck—rose-and-purple-scaled, with a long snout and a comfortably round belly—was craning its neck with open fascination. Mrs. De Lacey stroked its neck with absent-minded affection as she said, “I never thought until today that I might have a sister.”
They weren’t quite the same, after all. Energy vibrated through every one of Mrs. De Lacey’s moves and gave vibrant character to her face. Her dark eyes—fixed now on Elinor’s face—looked nothing like they had when Elinor had stared hopelessly at her reflection in the mirror.
Her illusion had been only a pale imitation of Mrs. De Lacey’s reality.
Crow, her cousin’s remembered voice whispered tauntingly through her ears.
Everyone in the room was waiting for her to speak. She looked at the real Mrs. De Lacey. A faint, desperate hope circled inside her.
Sister, she thought.“I never thought I had a sister…”
Was it worth a try? If nothing else, it would sound far more plausible than the truth. Elinor moistened her lips. “Well...”
“Ah, there you all are.” Lady Hathergill walked in, and did a double-take as she saw Mrs. De Lacey. “Good heavens. So the real one has arrived now, too, eh? Good evening, Sophia. I thought you weren’t coming. Putrid sore throat, wasn’t it? Or had you decided on a different excuse?”
“I changed my mind at the last moment,” said Mrs. De Lacey. She leaned forward for a perfunctory exchange of cheek-kisses with Lady Hathergill, still frowning. “I had heard the most disturbing gossip, you see, and I felt it was my duty to investigate.”
“But if you’re the real Mrs. De Lacey,” said Sir John, “then who the devil is this?”
Lady Hathergill opened her mouth to answer, but Elinor spoke first. Her eyes rested on Benedict, for strength, for reassurance—but most of all, to stop him before he could do anything rash.
“It’s Elinor,” she said. “I am sorry for the deception, Uncle...but not for anything else.”
“Bravo.” Ignoring her warning look, Benedict strode forward and took her hand firmly in his.
