Idon’t think a tiara would haveruinedyour appearance,” Elizabeth said, gripping her sword stick as the carriage rolled over a particularly jarring patch.
Chloe shook her head. It was a thrill to dress as flamboyantly as she liked at home with her family, but nothing had changed in the world outside their walls.
“Tommy and I don’t care about the York ball,” she informed her sister firmly. “Rescuing Puck is our only priority. I’ll distract the duke by pretending I need waltzing lessons, and Tommy will slip into the library to search for the painting.”
“If it’s there, he’s hidden it well. I won’t have much time to search.” Tommy made a face. “Faircliffe has a ball to attend.”
“According to Graham’s reconnaissance, tonight Faircliffe will officially ask for Miss York’s hand.” Chloe’s words were hoarse. “Mrs. York wants as many witnesses as possible to her daughter becoming a future duchess.”
Speaking the words aloud was enough to make Chloe nauseated. Philippa would soon be Her Grace, the Duchess of Faircliffe.
And Chloe…would just be Chloe.
“Poor Philippa.” Elizabeth fussed with Chloe’s gown. “Isn’t it time for you to consider employing a lady’s maid?”
“Two lady’s maids,” Tommy agreed, her eyes twinkling. “One for each wardrobe.”
“We can afford it,” Elizabeth reminded her. “You could have a different lady’s maid every day of the week if you wished.”
Chloe didn’t wish.
She had never bothered with a maid before, because she always left the house in ensembles so plain, she could go from her bath to being fully clothed in under five minutes.
That she spent therestof her time dressing and undressing, curling and uncurling, adorning and de-feathering, was her secret indulgence. Her siblings aware of the truth did not mean she was ready for anyone else to see.
“Unnecessary.” She smoothed out an invisible wrinkle. “When we bring home our Puck, life will return to normal. I’ll be a nonentity again.”
“Not to us,” Elizabeth insisted staunchly.
“With or without ostrich feathers, Chloe is more than enough for anyone who matters,” Tommy agreed. “Who cares about Faircliffe?”
Therein lay the crux of the matter.
Chloe leaned her elbows on her knees and rubbed her face with her hands. Who cared about Faircliffe? Chloe did. She could still glimpse him if she sneaked into Westminster in disguise, but it wouldn’t be enough.
She would miss being important as much as his kisses.
“Here we are.” Tommy handed Chloe her basket.
“Good luck,” Elizabeth said as the carriage rolled to a stop. “I’m off to spy with Graham. Did he tell you the housekeeper returned to the town house late last night?”
Chloe nodded. “Mrs. Root.”
With the housekeeper back home, the other maids would no longer be busy sharing extra work. It also meant another person would be roaming the same halls Tommy was. A person with the same ring of keys.
Tommy checked her wrinkles in a mirror. “It is neither fast nor easy to check every floorboard and potential hiding place whilst dodging two maids and a footman. I spend more time babbling as Great-Aunt Wynchester than I do searching.”
“We have until the end-of-season gala,” Chloe reminded her quickly. “It’s best not to rush.”
Anything to have one more month with Lawrence.
When Chloe and Tommy reached the front step, the butler was already swinging open the door. Mr. Hastings ushered them into the special mirror-less drawing room without delay.
Faircliffe arrived moments later. Not Faircliffe—Lawrence. The duke whose mouth she knew as well as her own.
“Good evening,Lawrence,” she whispered, as if Great-Aunt Wynchester would be scandalized to discover them on a first-name basis. Tommy already knew. She thought it was part of the plan.
“Good evening,Chloe,” he mouthed back, his eyes warm and sparkling, then turned to bow to Tommy. “You look well today, Mrs. Wynchester.”
