Percy turned his hand in hers. “Thank you, cousin. For the sake of this family, I do hope you’re right.”
Drawing himself up onto his feet, he offered his hand to help pull her up as well. Yet as he did, his eyes caught the sight of Signa’s muddied skirts peeking out from under her cloak. Though he said nothing of it, deep lines creased Percy’s brow as he set his hand upon the small of her back and guided her deeper into the house, as though she might otherwise flee. “Come, cousin,” he pressed, “whatever troubles we must endure, they will still be here after a night’s rest.”
SIXTEEN
THE PAST WEEKS HAD KEPT BLYTHE IN ISOLATION, HER ONLY VISITORS Elijah and the doctor who cared for her. Every day, Signa tried to slip unnoticed into her cousin’s room to check on her, only to be met with a locked door, pulled away by lessons, or scrutinized by Elijah’s watchful eye when he spent his evenings by Blythe’s bedside, ensuring nothing happened to her while she slept.
This particular morning, her plans were thwarted when Marjorie burst into her suite dragging an armful of gowns—tea dresses and traveling dresses meant for daytime use and others with extra ruffles and richer fabrics made for parties. They were far better than the yellow day dress she’d been forced to wear so often, though she couldn’t help but feel a knot of sadness at their dull, muted hues.
“You’ll want to ready yourself quickly.” Marjorie handed Signa a soft periwinkle tea dress. “You have company arriving soon.”
This roused Signa at once—how could she have company when she knew no one?
“I’ve arranged a tea for you, with young ladies your own age,” Marjorie said. “I thought you might like to have friends here after being forced to leave your other ones in such a rush. All of these girls are friendly with Blythe and come from affluent families. All are unmarried and are perfectly suitable company.”
Signa had no doubts that they were, but still she asked, “And they have to visit now?”
Marjorie’s face was stern. “What do you mean now? I was under the impression that this was what you wanted.”
“It is!” Signa said hastily. Of course it was what she wanted—company and a foothold in high society was all she’d ever wanted—though she would have preferred it any other day. “I only meant that I’d hoped to see Blythe today.”
This seemed to appease Marjorie, whose smile was sympathetic. “I see. Unfortunately, the doctor is with Miss Hawthorne. You’re welcome to visit her later this afternoon, after your lessons.”
Signa wanted to demand that she be allowed to pay her cousin a quick visit, though when Elaine arrived to help Signa hurry and dress, she realized any such effort was futile. Blythe would have to wait a little longer.
The dress slipped over her skin like silk, made from imported fabrics with little expense spared. It was color coordinated to compliment the parlor in which they’d be having tea, and laced in the back, leaving Signa room to grow into it with a more sufficient diet. For now it was a touch loose, which made it one of the more comfortable things she’d ever worn, given that one was not expected to wear a corset beneath a tea gown.
By the time Signa finished getting ready, she certainly looked respectable, but she was contemplating every which way she might possibly sneak A Lady’s Guide to Beauty and Etiquette into tea with her. It sat upon her writing desk, and she trailed a delicate finger down its immaculate spine. Would her mother be proud to see her like this? Would she have dressed Signa similarly? Pinned her dark tresses the same way Marjorie did, to show off her delicate face and slender neck?
“They’ll be here by now,” Marjorie chided. “Come along.”
Signa withdrew her hand from the book. She knew its contents by heart, had studied its pages front to back more times than she could count. Now was the time for execution.
She followed Marjorie down the stairs, walking between fretting maids who dodged her in their hurry, setting up Thorn Grove for another party. Her heart pattered with every step. She wouldn’t allow herself to slip up like she had with Blythe—wouldn’t forget her tongue for even a moment.
Three young women waited for her in the parlor, seated at a circular table that seemed absurdly small and intimate. Marjorie introduced them as Lady Diana Blackwater, a rather plain girl with fair skin, mousy hair, and beady rat-like eyes; Lady Eliza Wakefield, with a long alabaster face and blond ringlets, and…
Signa didn’t trust her own legs to hold her up when she saw the hazel eyes that stared back at her. Charlotte Killinger wore a blue-and-white-striped day dress, her shoulders back and her neck long and delicate. Her old friend was even more beautiful than Signa remembered—her rich umber skin warm and glowing, cheeks warmed with the tiniest hint of rouge. She was taller and less baby cheeked, but still every bit the girl that Signa had once known. The friend she still thought of to this day, but one whom she’d not spoken to since the scandal between Signa’s uncle and Charlotte’s mother all those years ago.
Charlotte’s mouth hung ajar, her eyes wide as a doe’s before she bowed her head in a gracious nod. “It was kind of you to invite us.”
“It certainly was! We’ve all been so curious about the Hawthornes’ new ward,” Diana chimed in after a cursory dip of her head. Her voice was strident, but Signa paid it little mind for her heart was busy beating a mile a minute. For so long she’d wished to see Charlotte again. But why did it have to be now of all times? Now, when she’d finally let herself believe that she could start fresh and where the rumors of the past would not haunt her every move.
Signa stumbled, legs numb, as Marjorie gave her a gentle nudge toward her chair. One of the servants poured steaming tea into their cups while another set out teacakes and pastries. While Charlotte thanked them, the other two girls ignored the help. Their fascination rested solely with Signa, and their eyes glinted with it the moment Marjorie was out the door.
Eliza smiled at her from across the table. “Well, aren’t you a tiny thing.” Whether it was a compliment or an insult was impossible to tell. Eliza leaned forward, her long curls brushing the tablecloth. “How are you enjoying your time with the Hawthornes? They truly are the most interesting family.”
“Interesting?” Signa echoed, her throat so painfully dry. “How so?”
“The parties, for one.” Eliza laughed, as though the question was ridiculous. “Not to mention the wealth, the rumors, the mystery. I suppose you wouldn’t know considering you’ve only just arrived, but the family you’re staying with is the talk of the town.”
Signa dared to look sideways at Charlotte, who sat erect in her chair, wordlessly sipping her tea. She hadn’t said one word and busied herself by staring up at a landscape of a beautiful spring garden.
A Lady’s Guide to Beauty and Etiquette was very clear about gossip: Do not speak idly. Signa agreed, not caring to gossip about those who had shown her such grace. But Eliza’s eyes were lit with mirth and her tongue was ready to seep poison, and so to get the information she sought, Signa took the bait. She reached for a blueberry scone and leaned forward with a quiet intake of breath.
“Rumors?” she asked in a tone that conveyed she’d never once imagined such a heinous thing to be possible. “Surely, you’re mistaken? What sort of rumors are they?”