The entryway walls soared three stories, following the sweep of a staircase edged with gilded balustrades. The polished marble entry floor glistened like a mirror, which pleased Mary’s eyes, at first-until she realized that the marble reflected the white of her underskirts.
A trio of young footmen suddenly surrounded the sisters, startling them. The servants’ gloved hands quickly plucked off all wraps and snatched away the girls’ dripping umbrellas. Then the footmen disappeared as quickly as they had come.
“My lady will receive you in the library,” the manservant said as he tipped his head and turned, as though he expected them to follow. “She is about to take tea.”
Mary stretched her hand outward and tapped his shoulder before he could leave the foyer. “I beg your pardon, but I believe we might have been given the wrong direction.”
The manservant turned to face her, appearing more than a little perturbed that she had had the audacity to touch him. But Mary was not about to be put off.
Elizabeth handed the card to Mary, who took it and pointed out the address to the manservant. “Two, Cavendish Square.”
The man blinked his lizardlike eyes and peered at the vellum, then turned his gaze back to Mary. “No, you have the right of it, miss. You are the Royle family, are you not?”
“Why yes, we are,” Mary began. “But we-”
The manservant broke in as if he did not hear her. “As I said, Miss Royle, if you will all please follow me, I will take you to my lady.”
“Stop, please! We have not come to see a
“We have come to call upon our guardian, a gentleman…um…Lord Lotharian.” In her confusion, Elizabeth’s brilliant green eyes had grown as large and round as the manservant’s.
“Quite right.” The manservant nodded his head. “And you shall see his lordship soon. Right this way, if you please.”
Elizabeth and Anne each clutched one of Mary’s arms-for support, or to ensure she wouldn’t turn on her heels and escape, Mary wasn’t sure-and they followed the squat little man down a long passage and into an expansive library.
Leather-bound books filled the shelves to the gold-framed mural painted on the ceiling. A mingling of leather polish, candle wax, and mustiness permeated the cool air of the room.
In the center of the rectangular chamber, a diminutive, elderly, onion-shaped woman sat upon a silk-sheathed settee blinking up at them.
So startlingly small was she, other than in girth, that her dainty slippers did not come close to reaching the Turkish carpet stretched across the floor.
The manservant walked into the middle of the room and promptly announced them. “My lady, the Misses Royle.” Then he quickly quit the room.
The old woman on the settee grew noticeably excited. “Oh, oh, at last I can see you with my own eyes. I am so glad that you have come-we weren’t sure that you would, you know. But here you are and every bit as beautiful as I imagined. I have heard so much about you three gels, so much!” Her little feet, shod in silk slippers with surprisingly high heels, kicked merrily.
Her hand dropped down below the curved arm of the settee and pulled a wooden lever. At once a tufted footstool shot out from beneath the settee. The round lady hopped down upon it, then stepped lightly to the carpet.
“Stand up straight and let me see you properly. So lithe you all are. Tall, too, all of you!” The old woman’s gaze fixed on Mary. “Which are you, dear?”
“I-I am Mary.” Her cheeks began to heat, especially when the old woman raised a lorgnette and studied her. She did not like one bit being the subject of scrutiny, especially by someone she did not know.
“Since you are triplets, I had expected you to greatly resemble one another, but you don’t. The color of your hair is completely different. Even the shape of your faces-not at all alike.”
The old woman turned her lorgnette upon each of the sisters.
“No, you are as different as morn, noon, and eve. Only your commanding height and your eyes give your kinship away.”
She turned back to Mary. “Look at you, gel, such long, dark hair, and why, you are nearly the height of a man.” The short woman chuckled with delight. “You have the blood for certain. Spectacular height often reveals itself in women of royal lineage.”
“Really?” Elizabeth was clearly enthralled.
“Oh, indeed.” The lady turned her gaze upon Elizabeth. She waddled close, then stood on the tips of her toes to finger Elizabeth’s bright copper hair. “You must be Elizabeth. Look at that fiery crown of yours. Queen Elizabeth had hair like yours, dear-and she stood nearly six feet in height.”
Elizabeth gave Mary a smug look.
The lady followed Elizabeth’s gaze, then added, “Her cousin, Mary, Queen of Scots, quite matched her height, you know.”
Then the woman’s pale gray eyes sought out Anne. “Ah, such delicate features, and hair like spun gold. Beautiful, so, so beautiful.”
Anne colored becomingly.
“I vow, when the
Mary could endure this prattle no longer. The woman, whoever she might be, had offered no support for her words. And no good could come out of exciting her sisters this way. The tale of their births was naught but a faery story.
“I beg your pardon, madam, but I fear you have the advantage.” Mary smiled at the old woman. “We have yet to make your acquaintance.”
“Oh, mercy.” The elderly lady clapped her hand to her bountiful bosom. “I do apologize. I thought Lord Lotharian would have mentioned me in his missive. I am Lady Upperton.”
Though evidently Lady Upperton believed that this revelation would hold some meaning for them, it did not. The three Royle sisters stared mutely back at the frosty-haired old woman.
“Then, you have not heard?” Lady Upperton smiled broadly and filled her lungs with a deep breath before speaking. “Lotharian has asked me to be your
“Our sponsor? I-I do not understand.” Mary struggled to comprehend how such a claim could possibly be true. “Lady Upperton, I do not wish to appear ungrateful, but until three minutes ago, my sisters and I had not even gazed upon you-had not heard your name.”
“Dear me, I suppose I can understand how an offer from a complete stranger to launch you into society might seem rather unbelievable. But it’s all true, I assure you.” Lady Upperton took Mary’s hand into her own. “I promised your father I would do it when the time came. Promised Lotharian as well. And I shall. Once I give my word, I keep it.”
“When?” Mary blurted. “I mean…when did you make our father this promise?”
The elderly lady grew very quiet and thrummed her small fingers upon her painted lips. “I suppose it must be almost twenty years ago. After the rakes and I heard the circumstances of your birth, how could I deny your father anything? Of course, the three of you were but babes, but he was concerned, even then, about the course of your futures.”
Surely her ears deceived her. This could not be happening. Why, their father had never mentioned anything of this. And would have. Certainly.
“You mentioned having heard the circumstances of our births.” Anne stepped forward and stole the old woman’s hand from Mary. “You…and the
