But Rose . . . Maybe Lily should have gone to the opera, instead of being selfish. Her sister was like a cork in a bottle, ready to pop unless she was able to escape the prim and proper social round from time to time. This assignation of Rose’s . . . Lily hoped it wasn’t anything foolish.
“Lily?”
Lily turned. “Oh, Sylvia, there you are. I’d almost given you up.”
Sylvia grimaced. “I’m so sorry, Lily dear. It’s my husband. He doesn’t approve of frivolous social pursuits. I had to wait until he fell asleep.”
“Oh, but . . .” Lily’s gaze drifted to the smartly dressed young gentleman who stood at Sylvia’s side.
Sylvia laughed. “Oh, good heavens, this isn’t my husband. This is my cousin, Victor Nixon, who’s visiting London from his home in Paris. Victor, this is my dear friend from school, Lily—oh, no, I must call you by your correct title now, must I not? We’re schoolgirls no longer.” Sylvia tittered girlishly. “Lady Lily Rutherford.”
Mr. Nixon bowed low over Lily’s hand. “Delighted to make your acquaintance, Lady Lily.”
“Victor was kind enough to escort me here,” Sylvia said. “My husband rarely ventures out. He’s a complete stick in the mud. Now”—her gaze ran around the room—“who do we have here? I see the former Miss Westwood is here, playing the duenna, no doubt—she was a teacher at Miss Mallard’s school,” she explained to her cousin. “She married Lady Lily’s half brother and has done very well for herself. From poor, plain spinster to Countess of Ashendon.”
“Emm isn’t plain—” Lily began indignantly, but Sylvia swept on.
“Oh, and there’s the former Sally Destry, dancing with her husband, Lord Maldon. Who would have believed that such a spotty little creature would grow up to marry a handsome young lord? And is that—yes, it is—Jenny Ferris, as was! Heavens, hasn’t she grown frightfully fat?”
“She’s just had a baby,” Lily murmured.
Sylvia snorted. “She’s as big as a barn! You should recommend your dressmaker to her, Lily—I mean Lady Lily. That dress you’re wearing is quite slimming.”
Mr. Nixon glanced down at Lily. “I rather like a few extra curves in a woman,” he murmured, his gaze delving down her neckline.
Lily felt herself flushing.
Sylvia laughed. “Behave yourself, cousin.” She smiled at Lily. “I’m afraid Victor is a terrible flirt.”
“I thought you said you knew nobody in London,” Lily said. “You seem to know quite a few people after all.”
Sylvia sobered. “Did I sound awful? I expect I did. Sorry, I’m just . . . frustrated. The former Mallard’s girls in London have refused to recognize me. Just because I left school under something of a cloud, none of them can forget it.” She linked her arm through Lily’s. “You’re the only one generous enough to overlook my youthful folly.” She glanced around the room. “I suppose it’s too much to expect Rose to be friendly. She slapped me once, over absolutely nothing.”
“Rose does have a temper, but—”
“I don’t see Rose here. I hope she’s not indisposed.”
“No, she’s at the opera with our aunt.”
“Damnation,” Mr. Nixon exclaimed suddenly. “I’ve left something important in my carriage. If you ladies will excuse me, I’ll go and fetch it.”
“Bring us a drink when you come back, will you, Victor,” Sylvia said. “It’s horridly stuffy in here with all these candles burning, not to mention the hot and sweaty bodies.”
“Will do.” He hurried away.
He was back in ten minutes, bearing a couple of glasses of fruit punch. Lily drank hers thirstily. Mr. Nixon whispered something in Sylvia’s ear. She frowned and glanced at Lily. “Are you sure?” she asked in a low voice.
He nodded.
“Tell her, then.”
They both turned to Lily. “When I went outside,” Mr. Nixon said, “there was a shabby young boy trying to gain admittance to the house. Of course, the butler refused him, but I happened to hear the boy say he had an urgent message for Lady Lily Rutherford.”
“Urgent? For me?”
Mr. Nixon nodded. “I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty—slipped him a shilling and promised him I’d deliver the message.” He produced a folded scrap of paper. “He said it was an urgent message from your sister—Rose, is it?”
“Yes, Rose,” Lily said distractedly. A note. Urgent from Rose. Oh, she’d known Rose was going to do something dreadful tonight. What on earth had happened? With shaking fingers she opened the note, and stared blankly at the contents. As usual the letters seemed to shift before her very eyes. She took a deep breath—it was always worse when anyone was watching; she felt so self-conscious and stupid—but this was Rose, and important so she had to make it out, she just had to. She stared harder, willing the words to become legible.
Sylvia and her cousin pressed closer. “Well?” said the cousin.
Lily swallowed, anxiety for Rose battling with shame. She had no idea what the note said. She glanced around, looking for Emm or Cal.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, how stupid!” Sylvia exclaimed.
Lily flinched, but before Sylvia could loudly reveal Lily’s dreadful flaw to all around them, she said, “I forgot for a moment—Lady Lily can’t read a word without her spectacles. Here, give it to me.” With a wink at Lily, she plucked the note from Lily’s nerveless grasp and quickly scanned the contents of the note.
Lily held her breath.
“It’s from Rose. She says she’s in trouble and needs your assistance. She’s waiting in a carriage outside the house and says you’re to go to her immediately.”
“Of course,” Lily said. She was feeling a little dizzy. “I’ll just let Emm and Cal know.” She scanned the room, but she couldn’t see Cal or Emm anywhere.
Sylvia placed a hesitant hand on Lily’s arm and said in a discreet tone, “Far be it from me to interfere, but she sent the note to you, Lily, not your brother or his wife. It sounds to me as if Rose doesn’t want them to know.”
“Oh, of course,” Lily said, flustered. It would be just like Rose to do something reckless and try to hide it from Cal
