Lysandra bit her bottom lip in thought. “Oh, is Mama coming today?”
Her mother was often an ally, but on occasion she was also a nuisance, especially when she was in a mood to make a match. Jane Russell was a serious woman when it came to marriage. She’d claimed credit for matching two of her brood—Lucien, the eldest, and then Lawrence, the second eldest. But Avery, Linus, and Lysandra were still unmarried, which meant they were increasingly under her watchful eye.
“I believe she will arrive this afternoon.” Mr. Raikes held a large silver serving spoon up to the light, and then he pulled a polishing cloth out and began to wipe at some smudge that was likely too small to be seen even with her telescope.
“If any messages arrive for me, will you call for me at once?”
“Of course, Miss Russell,” Raikes promised.
Lysandra left the servants’ quarters. She had only just stepped into the hall when her mother burst into the townhouse in a flutter of colorful skirts and high spirits. She was laughing at something a footman had said, and the young man’s face turned a ruddy red as he accepted Jane’s hat and her spencer. Jane was still a stunning beauty, even in her early fifties, which made Lysandra quite proud. Her dark-red hair was only just beginning to show a hint of silver, and if anything it only enhanced her looks. Because she had forgone face paints in her younger years, her face was still smooth and her complexion clearer than most women of her age. And with a curvy figure but a slender waist, Jane looked more maidenly than matronly, which kept many a man on his best behavior around her. She was, as many men had learned, a force of nature.
“Lysa, dear.” Her mother caught sight of her. “Why aren’t you riding in the park? The weather is wonderful for husband catching.” Her mother’s teasing only made her smile. She made it sound like she should carry a butterfly net with her.
“Hello, Mama,” she said as they embraced. “I was just finishing building my telescope. The last parts arrived this morning.”
Jane held her tongue a moment. It wasn’t that she disapproved—her mother believed in women pursuing education in all its forms. But she also wanted her children married, especially Lysandra.
“Have you spoken to Mr. Cavendish? I understand he is a member of the Royal Astronomical Society. Wouldn’t he be glad to help you?”
Lysandra blushed. “Perhaps. Mr. Cavendish is rather occupied these days.”
“Oh? With what? He’s a gentleman with land and money. What else could occupy him besides pleasurable pursuits?”
“Mama,” Lysandra said in warning, though she kept her tone gentle. She didn’t want to think about Gregory Cavendish or the kiss he’d stolen from her last Christmas. Nothing had changed between them. He’d returned to London, she remained unmarried, and they both pursued their love of the stars . . .separately. That was all there was to it.
“Very well, I shall move you down the list. Avery is next. I had better find him a wife, but he’s always away on the Continent with that spy business. One can only imagine the sort of women he’s forced to consort with.”
Lysandra winced at her mother’s casual attitude toward her brother’s very dangerous lifestyle. “Mama, I was planning to go out. Would you mind terribly if I left you for the day?”
“Left me? Why? What happened?”
“Nothing. At least, I think it’s nothing.”
Jane caught the eye of her shy footman. “Tea in the drawing room, if you please.”
The young man nodded and rushed off.
“Come. Tell me all of it over tea.” Jane escorted Lysandra into the drawing room, where they both sat down. “Now, what’s the matter?”
“It’s my friend Lydia,” Lysandra began, and then she told her mother the entire story, from the ball to Portia’s inappropriate behavior and finally Lydia’s mysterious letter that Lysandra had not written. By the time she was done, Jane’s good spirits were gone.
“Poor Miss Hunt. We must investigate this business. I’ve always cared for the poor girl. I had even once hoped that she and Lawrence . . . But we all find love in our own way, don’t we? And Zehra is a wonderful woman for my boy. But Lydia is a sweet child, and she needs a mother. Her father spends too much time fawning over Portia and neglecting Lydia. I know that parents have favorites, but they ought to do their best not to.”
Lysandra smiled at her mother. “We all know your favorite.”
“I do not have a favorite. I love you all equally.”
“Perhaps,” Lysandra said. “But Avery will always have a special place in your heart. He looks just like Papa.”
Jane’s eyes shimmered. “He does, but that does not mean I love any of you less. Do you understand?”
Jane had lost her husband when Lysandra was only ten, and she had grown up her whole life knowing that her parents had a love match. Yet despite having lost the other half of her heart, Jane had not withdrawn from life. Rather, she had been more determined than ever not to miss a minute of it.
“Now, we must focus on poor Lydia.” Jane cleared her throat as the tea was brought in, and then she poured them each a cup. “I suggest we go and pay a call on her.”
“I agree,” Lysandra said. “The sooner the better.” She was starting to have a feeling in her gut that something was wrong and her friend needed her.
“Where did he go?” Portia demanded for the hundredth time. After returning home late last evening after dinner at Mr. Rochefort’s, she had gone straight to bed, only to have her father and Cornelia wake her up an hour later to tell her that Brodie Kincade was gone and he taken Lydia with him at knifepoint. Their butler, Mr. Annis, had recounted the story half a dozen times by now for all three of them.
Portia still couldn’t believe it. Lydia and Brodie. Together. Why had he taken Lydia, though? Surely he would have wanted to take her. She was the prettier sister, after all. Portia hated herself for the selfish thought, but it was true. She was far lovelier than Lydia. Did that not matter to a man like Brodie?
“I don’t know, my child. I returned to Mr. Lennox’s house last night but could not gain entrance. He was not at home this morning and neither was Mr. Kincade. The staff would not tell me when they planned to return. The coachman said that he was forced to take them to the docks, but no one there has said they were seen boarding any ships.”
Aunt Cornelia scowled at both Portia and her father. “Jackson, you’ve made a royal mess of this.”
“I don’t know why Lydia would have freed him,” Portia said with a pout.
“Because it was the decent thing to do,” Cornelia snapped. “I would have done it myself had I known you had the young buck tied up like some poor animal.” Cornelia huffed, and the feather in her turban quivered in response.
Portia wanted to smash every breakable object in their drawing room. It wasn’t fair. Brodie was supposed to be her husband. Yes, tying him down did seem a bit silly now, as well as that whole drugging nonsense, but she’d been so desperate to have him. She’d thought giving him a bit more of the laudanum would have calmed him enough so that she could show him just how good a wife she would make.
“Portia,” her great-aunt snapped, and Portia stopped her restless pacing by the window.