She looked in the mirror and tilted her head to examine the intricate hairdo Lily had arranged. It was a complicated arrangement of swirls, made to look like one artful piece. A few stray curls trailed down and covered her ears, which were bare of baubles. The few pieces of jewelry she owned were entirely unsuitable for such an elaborate gown.
There was a quiet knock, and Lily rushed to open the door. Mrs. Banting stepped inside, clutching a small, brass-embossed wooden box.
“A small token of appreciation for all that you’ve done for us, my lady,” the housekeeper said. She walked over and placed the box on the dressing table, then opened the lid to reveal a silk-linked interior and four glass bottles filled with a clear liquid.
A scent box.
Saffron gasped. “Mrs. Banting, where did you get these?”
The older woman blushed. “A former resident of the manor left them behind. I do not wish to trouble you with unpleasantries, but they will not be missed. If I may…” The woman gently touched the upper-right bottle. “My lord has a particular fondness for vanilla.” Then Mrs. Banting spun around and exited the room, letting the door slam behind her.
Saffron leaned over the box. Her fingers reached for the indicated bottle before jerking to the side and selecting another. She spritzed it on her neck, then closed her eyes and breathed in the smell of citrus.
Another knock at the door had Lily scrambling, and a moment later, Rosemary and Angelica strolled in. Their new gowns were not yet complete, but Lily had helped restore two of their gowns that had been damaged in the carriage accident to what Rosemary had deemed an acceptable state.
“Oh, sister!” Angelica cried. She threw her arms around Saffron with a sob. “You are beautiful!”
Her aunt’s lips twisted in a half-smile. “I have to say that you do look lovely, my dear niece.”
As Angelica pulled away, Saffron smoothed the silk outer layer of her gown. “Lord Briarwood is a generous man.”
“Indeed,” Rosemary replied. “Angelica would be lucky to secure such a generous husband, even if he does not have the most sterling of reputations.”
Angelica wrinkled her nose. “I suppose I would not mind Lord Briarwood as a husband.”
A sudden image of Angelica wrapped in Leo’s arms flashed into Saffron’s mind and made her stomach churn. She had been concerned about the Duke of Canterbury but had not considered that their aunt might turn her attention to their host.
“It is a pity he is a confirmed bachelor,” Rosemary said, with a heavy sigh.
Something wound tight within Saffron loosened, and she laughed. “Yes, of course. We would not want to impose further on our host.”
“In any case, I prefer men who take more care in their appearance,” Angelica said.
“Such as Mr. Mayweather?” Saffron asked.
Angelica blushed. “He is quite handsome, but he isn’t interested in marriage.”
It was as Saffron had feared. What was it about Mayweather men that made them resistant to taking wives?
Rosemary shook her head. “A duke is a far better catch, my dear.”
Saffron avoided her aunt’s gaze as they left the room and descended the stairs to the entryway, careful not to let her gown slip beneath her feet. The last thing she needed was to tumble down the main staircase and break her neck before she could begin her search.
No, she needed to blend in. That way, she could flit between groups and wait for an opportunity to ask each guest about Ravenmore.
But as they reached the entrance to the ballroom, and she realized how crowded and loud it was inside, a familiar prickling started in her neck. Six golden chandeliers hung from the ceiling, lit with so many candles that she had to wince, and when she looked away, there were shadows in her eyes.
She forced her feet forward, one small step at a time, until she was over the threshold. Then she split away from her aunt and sister and pressed her back against the wall, tucking her chin and squeezing her eyes shut.
Sound assaulted her next. Glasses clinking together. The screech of an out-of-tune violin string. Dozens of feet pounding the ground. Vibrations reverberated up her legs and sank into her bones.
Beyond caring what anyone thought, she shuffled closer to a heavy, velvet curtain and slapped her palms over her ears. What she didn’t realize was that the servants had perfumed the draperies to keep out the smell of the horse pasture outside. The cloying, sickly sweet smell invaded her lungs and made her cough.
“What are you doing?” a voice hissed.
She opened her mouth, but the words stuck in her throat like sticky taffy.
It’s over. I’ve ruined everything.
