A Study in Silks

She wet her lips, then finally gave voice to the idea she’d been formulating for months. “With reference to the future, madam, I would like to seek admittance to Ladies’ College of London. I am, of course, desirous of your support.”

Her grandmother jerked as if struck. “College? Whatever for?”

She’d braced for disappointment, but a sliver of panic slid under her guard. It was impossible to gain admittance without the support of her family. How hard was this going to be?

Evelina kept her face frozen in a polite mask. “To further my education.”

“Utterly out of the question.”

“Pray tell, what could be the harm in it?”

“Women in a college? A ridiculous modernity. Your grandfather would never have permitted it.”

Evelina opened her mouth to speak, angry words aching to fly free. Don’t quote the old wretch at me, madam.

If Grandfather Holmes had still held sway, she would be at Ploughman’s giving three performances a day on the high wire. It was only after the unlamented bugger had died that Grandmamma had dared to rescue her—too late for Marianne, who by then was long dead of a putrid fever.

Evelina chewed a biscuit to keep herself from firing off a rude retort. “If I’m not to receive an education, then what sort of future do I have? Governess? Companion? Nurse?”

Her grandmother sniffed with disgust. “Nonsense! How can you think of such things when you have—against all my expectations, I might add—received an invitation to be presented to the queen? It seems the Duchess of Westlake herself has offered to sponsor you! No doubt she will invite you to her ball as well. That is quite a coup.”

Silence resounded with all the majesty of an Oriental gong. Evelina felt her saucer slipping from her hand before she regained her wits enough to catch it. “Pardon me?”

“You heard me.” Grandmamma raised her chin, clearly pleased to have asserted control over the conversation. “It is the next best thing to divine intervention. No one will dare to gainsay her choice of protegee.”

Confusion clogged Evelina’s thoughts. She had met the duchess, of course, during social calls, but there was no reason for the woman to single her out. Why has she sponsored me? Evelina should have been dancing around the room with glee, but instead felt … perplexed.

Her grandmamma, however, was gathering momentum like a chugging locomotive. She set her cup aside, rubbing her hands together with enthusiastic delight. It was an odd look on her. “I was certain that after your mother’s fall there would be no presentation. It seems Sherlock finally did something useful and called in a favor from one of those steam men. Jasper Keating, he signed himself. He arranged the whole thing.”

Evelina blinked. Which means the Gold King convinced the Duchess of Westlake to sponsor me. Why? How? What hold could Jasper Keating have over a duchess? Then again, from what Evelina had heard, he was a very powerful man. It could be anything.

A seasick sense of exposure swept her, as if she were suddenly a tiny bug on a very large display board. For all of her childhood spent in front of an audience, she didn’t like being noticed by such important people. It felt dangerous.

“What did Uncle Sherlock do for Mr. Keating?”

Her grandmother gave a loud snort. “Such details are of no concern to me, but I brought your mother’s presentation gown so it could be altered and brought up to date. May it bring you more presence of mind than it did her, my girl. Don’t go wasting your chances on a circus performer.”

An unwelcome thought of Nick popped into Evelina’s mind. He’s not a waste. It’s wrong to even think it. She had loved Nick with all the fierceness of a girl’s first passion and loved him still—but that way led to danger for them both. She couldn’t risk him like that, and if she didn’t move forward the temptation to run back to him would grow too strong. A presentation at Court would take her even further from the barefoot girl she used to be, further toward the side of the gentry—and further away from Nick’s magic, and the risk of discovery.

And—though it sounded almost ridiculously commonplace, given everything else—where would college fit in? This piece of good luck—if that’s what it was—added another layer of complexity to her future.

Her grandmother went on, oblivious to her inner turmoil. “This opens a lot of doors, you know. You could actually marry well. A younger son, perhaps. Or, with a bit of luck, I could find you an older gentleman, some minor title with a bit of money and in need of a nurse. That might suit.”

Evelina gaped. A life of bedpans and emetics? What larks! But what if she could have someone like Tobias? Or Tobias himself? Presentation meant that she was formally accepted into that small circle from which he would choose his wife. Imogen’s clever, handsome brother wouldn’t be so far out of her reach now. He would never be her first love—only Nick could have that place in her heart—but he held the promise of passion all the same.

A tiny rush of excitement stole through her, breathless and tender as a green shoot. Could I? Would I dare?

He’s still a Roth. He’ll still want a fortune, and Lord B will be looking for political connections. Don’t overstep your good luck. Indeed, she stood on a cliff’s edge, the ground crumbling under her feet, and for that moment she didn’t care. Tobias was half a rake, but that was part of the thrill. Just once, she wanted to drop her guard with him, to see where that might take her.

“I don’t know if I can,” Evelina said quietly.

“Of course you can,” Grandmamma snapped.

Evelina jumped in her chair, startled out of her daydream. “Pardon?”

Mrs. Holmes raised her eyebrows. “You don’t look pleased. In fact, you look troubled. You should be happy.”

“It’s all rather sudden.” Evelina swallowed the last of her third biscuit and washed it down with a swig of tea. What an utter fool I am.

“Didn’t you eat breakfast? You’ll lose your figure if you keep gobbling up sweets that way.” Her grandmother pursed her lips, as if considering Evelina’s prospects. “There is much to be done if you’re to have a proper Season, and not a lot of time to do it. If you can refrain from encountering dead bodies, perhaps Lord Bancroft won’t notice that you’re still here. From the tone of his note, I’m afraid you quite offended his sensibilities.”

“Odd. He doesn’t strike me as the sensitive type.”

Her grandmother gave a knowing snort. “He was alarmed enough to send for me to talk sense into you. I got his message at the same time as Mr. Keating’s. Together, they made quite fascinating reading with my morning chocolate. You have a great many shortcomings, but dullness is not among them. It seems you’ve quite riveted these two fine gentlemen, if in different ways. I can’t wait to see what sort of suitors you will attract.”

Evelina bit her tongue, but her grandmother saw the look. Her eyes twinkled. “Finding a proper husband is rather like selecting a hound. They all have more bark than bite, my girl. One day you’ll look across the breakfast table and realize the only option left is obedience training.”

An hour later, Evelina had a moment of peace in her bedroom. She sat on the edge of her bed and buried her face in her hands. Her skin was hot. Truth be told, she was verging on frantic. Her grandmother’s visit had panicked her.

Presented? I am to be presented to the queen? It was beyond belief, even though it was something she had secretly hoped for. It granted her a mark of respectability. It meant she could fully participate in the Season with Imogen and—find a husband?

Most women assumed they would marry, but because of her uncertain social standing, she had deliberately formed other plans. College fit well with her curiosity about science and magic, and figuring out how she could bridge the two. But now, suddenly, she had another choice.

She had no idea what to wish for. She’d had no time to think.

Her mother would have been delighted. Evelina remembered sitting on her lap, listening to tale after tale of pretty dresses and assemblies. Marianne had done her best to raise her daughter well, tried to teach her how to use all the forks and spoons and “my lords” and how to address a duke’s firstborn son. Evelina wished she could tell her that her lessons had not been in vain.