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“No need. Winter will see them loaded on your gig.” Gray would let her think she’d won this round, but her mention of the brother learning the books gave him an idea.

Chapter Eight

As Cordelia brought the gig to a halt, the lodge door opened, and Hector bounded out, followed by Henry. The dog launched himself against the gig, trapping Cordelia in her seat until she ordered him down.

“Where have you been? It’s nearly gone eight. I should be off by now.” Henry’s gaze turned to the trunks in the back of the gig. “What have you got there?”

“Congratulate me. Two trunks of mother’s play costumes extracted from the basement at Delamere. Would you find Bassett and help me unload them?”

“What? I’ve got …”

“I know. You have appointments. Please help me get these trunks inside, and you may be off.” Cordelia jumped down. The dog dropped a stick at her feet, and she tossed it down the drive.

Henry stomped into the house. Viola squeezed past him out the door, halted, and gave a large yawn. “You got the costumes? How did you manage that? Was Winter there?”

“I met Graymont on the path. He arranged to have the trunks brought up and put on the gig.” Hector returned with his stick and dropped it at Cordelia’s feet.

Viola stared. “He did?”

“Of course. What possible use could such things be to him? He was only too glad to have them removed from the castle.” Cordelia was omitting some elements of the encounter, but the point was that they had the costumes, and they could move forward with plans for their ball. It was a little unsettling not to know what Graymont wanted to win, but she could think of nothing more that he could take from them. And besides, now that they had the costumes as a project, she was sure to win her wager.

Henry returned with Bassett, their long-time servant.

“Viola, can you move chairs in the dining room?” Cordelia asked. She threw the stick for her incorrigible dog.

Viola hurried off, and the two men hefted the first trunk down from the gig. In the dining room, Roz and Miranda stood with chairs rearranged to let the men pass, and in minutes Henry and Bassett deposited the two trunks against the wall under the dining room window.

Henry drew himself up and turned to Cordelia. “I don’t know what you’re about, but you can’t go off meeting Graymont like that. Even I know the proprieties must be observed.”

Cordelia met his gaze with a steady one of her own. “Of course they must, and if I were Roz, or Miranda, or Viola, you might properly chastise me for ignoring them, but my case is different as I am no longer an eligible young female. So set your mind at rest, Henry.”

Henry cast a glance at his sisters. They shrugged.

“Henry,” Cordelia said gently. “You’ve nothing to worry about. No tongues will be set wagging.”

“If this house were a ship, you all would be …” He turned for the door. From the vestibule Hector gave a series of sharp barks.

“Take the dog with you, would you?” Cordelia asked.

The door slammed. Cordelia took a breath and turned to her sisters. “Shall we look at the costumes?”

“Oh yes,” said Viola, throwing open the first trunk.

Miranda knelt beside her and more cautiously opened the second. From beneath the layer of silver paper, she drew out a gauzy gown of lavender, a shade like a fading sky. “Look at this,” she said reverently. “I think this was mine. I was Moth.”

Viola stood and held up a short-skirted, sleeveless white linen tunic with a single shoulder. “This must have been for one of the Athenian lovers, Demetrius or Lysander,” she said.

Roz shook her head. “What are you thinking, Viola? We can never wear these. Look at what Miranda is holding. It’s more wrinkled than a raisin, and you can see right through the fabric.”

“Aren’t the colors lovely?” said Miranda wistfully. “Look at this moss-green one. Cordelia, you were Titania, weren’t you? Which was yours?”

Viola held up another of the sleeveless white tunics with a longer skirt and a blue band around a high, narrow waist. “Roz, you could wear this one. You’re the tallest of us all.”

“Look at it. Look at the hem. It needs mending. I’m not wearing anything so outlandish. I’m supposed to be in London. I’m supposed to be attending real balls with eligible gentlemen,” wailed Roz. “This ball is a joke if we have to dress like this.”

Miranda held up a deep-blue gown with silver flowers. “If we wear the gowns over simple white underdresses, they will be quite lovely and perfectly modest. This blue would suit you, Roz.”

“What a good idea, Mir,” said Viola.