A knock on the door brought me out of my reverie.
“Come in,” I said.
Jane entered and handed me a letter on a silver tray. I ripped open the seal and had to stifle an unladylike cry of joy. It was from our beloved governess, Miss Wiggins. As a very young child with a lisp, I had struggled to say Miss Wiggins’s name correctly, and it often came out sounding more like Wiggles. Hari, of course, burst into fits of laughter every time I said it, but our teacher smiled tolerantly and suggested I address her simply as Ma’am. But for Hari and me, she would always be Wiggles.
My dear Charlotte,
It’s been ages since we had a nice cup of tea together, and I’d love to spend an afternoon with you if you can prevail upon the Baldwins to let you borrow a coach. I hope you can visit soon as I have something very interesting to tell you about. Best to talk in person.
I had no inkling about what was on Wiggles’s mind, but I was happy to have a good excuse to call on her. In the three years since I moved into Harriet’s home, I’d seen her less and less, and I missed her dearly. She was always the calm voice of reason, something I could definitely use right now. I scribbled a note of acceptance to Wiggles and passed it back to the abigail for delivery.
“Your sister is ready for you downstairs,” Jane said.
“Thank you, Jane. Tell her I’ll be right down.”
After she left, I looked at my face one more time in the mirror. I thought of Harriet and Charles. I owed them a great debt. Harriet and I did not inherit our father’s estate, and I had nowhere to go after Papa’s funeral. Hari and Charles had immediately taken me in. As much as I complained about Charles, he had shown me great kindness when I needed it most. And now I must return the favour. I just wished I had more time. I closed the jewellery box and steeled myself for the night to come.
Chapter Three
I caught my breath as the butler flung open the doors to the stone patio, and Hari and I stepped through the glass-paned French doors and took in the rolling lawn, formal gardens, and Lake Lily. My sister was always one to make a grand entrance. Her smile was wide, and her face glowed without a trace of our earlier fraught discussion.
Harriet had christened her glittering Mayday evening soirée “A Fairy’s Garden Party,” and I had to admit, it was fair billing. Her reputation as a brilliant hostess was well-earned.
Delicate lights shimmered about the grounds and glowed throughout the formal gardens. Long glass cylinders each housing a candle hung on the acacia trees dotting the lawn, and small lanterns wound around the garden pathways, from the patio to the lake, and along a hundred or so feet of shoreline, creating what looked like laneways for wood nymphs. Harriet, with an ever-present eye for detail, had directed the gardeners to row over to the small island, just offshore, and place lights along its dock. It made me want to visit the island to see the view of the party from there.
I squeezed Hari’s hand. “You’ve outdone yourself.”
“You can have a home like this too if you play your cards right,” she said, already surveying the crowd of guests, nodding and exchanging smiles. “Oh there’s Lady Persephone Fitzwilliam, the prime minister’s cousin. Good! I wasn’t sure she would come. I’ll be sure to sit with her during the midnight supper.”
The idea of my own elegant home was a bit seductive, I thought, as I inhaled the intoxicating aroma of fresh-cut grass, lavender, and camellias. Nearby, the string quartet struck up a Mozart minuet. I reached for a flute of champagne from a passing tray. It was tart but delicious, and the tiny bubbles burst and tickled my nose.
Just as I was beginning to lose myself in the fantasy of Hari’s make-believe world, I noticed the patio tables that were set up for games of cards and chance.
“You’re your mother’s daughter,” I told Hari. “It’s not a party without card games.”
“But you were the one most like her when it came to cards. You always won,” she said with a laugh.
Mama gambled, in a very ladylike fashion, of course, but she taught herself strategies and became an expert in games of chance. Tea and cards games at our home always involved small bets. She taught me as well, so that I could be a fourth when needed, and I loved to play. It was one of the few ways my mother took interest in me. A brilliant marriage for Hari was all she had focused on. “Hari is our one great hope,” she’d say. “She will restore the fortunes of our family and save us all.” It was too bad Mama hadn’t lived to see her wish come true.
I didn’t notice Charles until he was standing next to us. “There you are, Charlotte,” he said. “Perfect timing, and I’ll say again, you do look exceptionally lovely this evening.” He took my elbow and propelled me forward. “I just saw George chatting with a group of men over on the lawn. Follow me.”
Hari took my other arm, and I allowed myself to be led, still reluctant to seal my fate with George. I couldn’t quite put my finger on the reason why, but something nagged at me. Of the handful of times I’d seen him, he seemed like a perfectly good sort, but dull as dishwater.
Our progress was slow. It was always like that when I tried to walk anywhere in public with Charles and Hari. As we
