warmly at her guest, carefully concealing the distress that overcame her each time she caught sight of the starved, pinched face.
'I slept well,' Noelle responded stiffly.
'Do sit down, my dear. I have so much to discuss with you.' A large pearl ring set in gold flashed on Constance's hand as she indicated a chair next to her chaise.
Noelle sat rigidly, not permitting her back to touch the chair.
'You do look better after your rest last night.'
What a liar she is, Noelle thought scornfully. Does she think I haven't looked in the mirror?
'We live simply here, you know,' Constance continued brightly, 'so you needn't worry about hordes of people descending on us. So tiring, I think, to be forced to maintain a conversation with someone who is a total stranger.'
Constance paused, obviously expecting some response from her guest, but Noelle retained her stony silence. There was a tiny narrowing at the corners of Constance's eyes, but then she continued with her monologue, her manner as charming as it had been when Noelle first entered the room. 'Let me acquaint you with our routine so that you'll be comfortable here. Breakfast is served in your room whenever you call for it. Lunch is at one and dinner at seven. We have both in the dining room. Tea is at four. I want you to rest and enjoy yourself while you're visiting, my dear. Feel free to explore the house and the gardens. They are lovely now as the buds just begin to unfold.'
Noelle could stand Constance's hypocrisy no longer. 'You broke our agreement,' she declared flatly.
'Oh?' Constance regarded Noelle with an expression that was faintly quizzical, but otherwise she seemed totally unruffled by the accusation.
Noelle's enormous eyes were hard and angry from the hurt that ached inside her. More than anything she wanted to lash out at this woman, to challenge her. You had no right to talk about me as you did! I don't need your charity. I can take care of myself.
But the words remained unspoken. Instead, she glared coldly at Constance. 'You told Letty who I am. She called me 'Mrs. Copeland' when she brought my breakfast tray this morning. We had an agreement, and you have broken it.'
Constance regarded Noelle calmly. 'I did not tell Letty who you are. She must have overheard part of our conversation in the library.'
Uncertain whether or not Constance was telling the truth, Noelle pressed her attack. 'Nevertheless, you promised me that no one would know I am his wife. Now everyone will know.'
'No, they won't, Noelle.'
'And just how are you going to manage that?' Her tone was venomous. Noelle thought she saw hurt reflected in Constance's eyes, and for an instant she was confused. Don't be a fool, she scolded herself. This woman is as gifted an actress as any on the London stage. She has no real feelings.
As if confirming Noelle's opinion, Constance dropped her eyes and calmly retied a ribbon that had come undone at the front of her robe. When she spoke, it was dispassionately.
'Only Letty and Mrs. Finch, the woman who serves as my housekeeper and cook, know who you are, and even they do not know of your past. They have both been with me for some time and are completely trustworthy. I will instruct Mrs. Finch as to how I want your presence explained to the rest of the staff. You may be assured that within forty-eight hours, the story I have fabricated will have been discussed in every household throughout the countryside.'
'What kind of story?' Noelle asked suspiciously.
'You are to be Simon's niece, Noelle Dorian,' Constance began.
Noelle interrupted abruptly. 'No, I don't want anyone to know my real name.'
'Very well. Perhaps you could use Dorian for your first name, then. It has a rather aristocratic ring, I think. It will also be easier for you to answer to a familiar name.'
Constance took Noelle's silence for consent. 'Now, for a last name…' She tapped the side of her chin with a slim finger as she considered the possibilities.
'Pope. Dorian Pope.' It was a statement, not a request.
Constance smiled responsively. 'Perfect, absolutely perfect. How did you ever think of it?'
'It's the name of someone I once knew.'
Constance wisely refrained from asking any questions, although her curiosity was piqued. 'All right. You are Simon's niece, Dorian Pope, the stepchild of his brother. Actually, Simon has no brother, but, then, no one in London knows that.' Rising from her chaise, she walked about the room as she narrated the story, gesturing gracefully with her hands.
'You were born in India. When you were small, your father was killed in a border skirmish. Later, Simon's brother, who was an engineer in the East India Company, married your mother. You lived in India all of your life until only a few months ago, when your stepfather and then your mother died in a cholera epidemic. You were also stricken and came close to dying.
'Simon has asked me to keep you here so you can recover from your illness and the tragic loss of your beloved parents in a peaceful atmosphere. You, of course, must have total rest and quiet; therefore, it is quite impossible for you to receive.' Constance smiled. 'I think that's a nice touch, don't you?'
Noelle had only the vaguest idea where India was and no idea at all what it meant to 'receive,' but she had no intention of letting Constance discover her ignorance. Instead, she spoke sarcastically. 'And we shall all live happily ever after, I suppose.'
The smile disappeared from Constance's face, and all the warmth left her voice. 'That, Noelle, will depend upon you.'
Chapter Seven
Considering Constance's comfortable station in life, her house, built in the style of Queen Anne, was rather simple, a neat rectangle without wings or courtyards. It was constructed of creamy white stone that changed color according to the weather and the time of day. Sometimes it assumed a rosy hue; at sunset it glowed golden. There was a dark brown doorway in the center ornamented only by a simple pediment carved from the same stone as the rest of the house. Three tall windows stood on each side of the door. The second floor had seven windows, the center one somewhat larger than its mates. Magnolias had been trained to cover much of the right side of the house, their waxy emerald leaves curling around the window frames. On the left side of the house yellow climbing roses clung to the stone, a few even attaching themselves to the windowsill of Noelle's second-story bedroom.
Inside, the unhappy girl restlessly paced the room, her steps muffled by the thick carpeting. The cool blue and white of the walls and the calm elegance of the furnishings stood in decided contrast to the unrest of her young spirit.
Her encounter with Constance Peale disturbed her far more than had her frequent, often violent confrontations on the street. Noelle's method was to spot the enemy and attack face on. But this woman was from outside her experience, and she sensed that the methods of the street would not work in this new world.
Finely honed instinct nagged at her. How could the woman present such a convincing display of friendship and sincerity when it was all false? If there were only some way she could strip it all away.
A sound coming from the front of the house drew her to the window. Peering out from behind the sprigged blue silk draperies, she spotted Constance being assisted into an elegant dark green carriage. This was her chance to explore without risking another unwelcome encounter with her hostess.
She began in the drawing room, at first studying the rich composition of ivory and gold as if it were a key that would unlock the mystery of its owner. But her compelling sense of beauty, starved for so long, overpowered her reason, and she fell captive to the artistry and quiet elegance around her.
She moved from room to room, running her hands along the soft nap of velvet draperies, gingerly stroking a china figurine, scrutinizing the elaborate plasterwork of the many fireplaces. She loved the graceful sweep of the stairway as it curved down into the center hallway and could even admire the full-length portrait of Constance as a young woman that hung on the landing. The hard, aching knot inside her eased.
