Page 69 of The Siren of Sussex

“Don’t spoil it,” Anne warned.

“That’s all right,” Evelyn said. “I’ve already read it.” On its release earlier that year, the circulating library in Combe Regis had managed to procure the entire three-volume set for their collection. It had proved hugely popular with the local young ladies, Evelyn and her sisters chief among them. “It is rather gripping, isn’t it?”

“Oh yes,” Miss Wychwood said. “Lady Audley is my favorite character.”

Anne chuckled. “The villainess, naturally.”

“She is the villain of the piece, to be sure,” Miss Wychwood said. “But one must admire her a little. Imagine being so devious—so deliciously diabolical—as to change one’s name and create a whole new life for oneself.”

Evelyn had never thought of it that way, but she supposed Miss Wychwood had a point. There was a lot to be said for a lady who knew what she wanted and didn’t hesitate to take it. “If only she could have refrained from committing bigamy and attempting to murder people in the process.”

“Yes,” Anne agreed, finishing off her chocolates. “That was taking things a bit too far.”

“Bigamy won’t be an issue where I’m concerned,” Miss Wychwood said. “I can scarcely hope to find one husband, let alone two.” She settled back against her pillows. “I wish I could go someplace where no one knew me. Someplace I could reinvent myself and start afresh. Like Lady Audley, but without the violent bits.”

Anne withdrew a handkerchief from her wide pagoda sleeve and wiped the melted chocolate from her fingertips. “Yes, but wherever you go, one thing will remain the same.”

“What?” Miss Wychwood asked.

“You, of course. A person can never truly change who they are.”

“Not at the core, no,” Evelyn said. “But outwardly, certainly. With the right clothing and in the right setting.”

Both Anne and Miss Wychwood looked at her.

Evelyn hesitated an instant before confessing, “I mean to do so.”

Miss Wychwood’s pale face brightened. “Do you? How exciting!”

“You’re the only one of us who could,” Anne said. “You’re a blank slate. No one knows you in town, except for that gentleman who was watching you in the park yesterday. Who did you say he was? Stephen something?”

“Connaught.” The mere mention of his name was enough to depress Evelyn’s spirits.

It had been less than twenty-four hours since she’d seen him in Rotten Row. And yet, in that short time, his presence in town had become akin to her own personal sword of Damocles. She didn’t know what he might do or when he might do it. All she knew was that her plan may very well be in danger.

Miss Wychwood’s gaze flicked between them. “Who is he?”

“A neighbor of mine in Sussex. He and I used to go riding together. For a time, I thought he might propose.”

Anne tucked away her handkerchief. “He didn’t, I gather.”

“No,” Evelyn said. “In truth, we’re not even friends anymore. It’s been a long while since we were.”

“What happened?” Miss Wychwood asked.

Before Evelyn could answer, there was a rap at the door.

Miss Wychwood responded to the sound with comical efficiency. Quick as a flash, she was back underneath her blankets, her head resting on her pillow, and her novel and box of chocolates well hidden. “Come in,” she called out in a faint voice.

The door cracked open. A young lady poked her head in. She was wearing a wool cloak, the hood drawn up over her hair. “It’s only me.”

“Stella!” Anne leapt from the bed to greet her. The two of them clasped hands and kissed each other’s cheeks.

Evelyn stood. This must be Miss Hobhouse, the third of the three Furies. She was a strangely pretty girl, with large, luminous blue eyes of a shade so pale it might pass for silver. Evelyn had never seen such a color before. There was something about it that was almost otherworldly.

“When did you get back?” Anne asked.

“Last night after dinner. I’d thought to see you riding in the park this morning. I was there at eight.”