Page 29 of The Heir
And Victoria was herself, was standing in front of her dressing table, was in her nightgown and stockings. Lehzen stood over her, her face drawn tight with worry.
“I—”
Lehzen embraced her, pulling her close, as if she was nothing more than a girl who had had a bad dream. Victoria let herself be held, let herself be returned to her bed and tucked in. When Lehzen told her to close her eyes, she obeyed. But she still heard Lady Jane.
Please. They will take me away.
Please.
It was a very long time before Victoria was able to fall asleep.
Chapter 13
Jane and Liza were both woken at half seven by a flustered Betty. “Your father sent word from the palace, Miss Jane. He wants you ready to go by nine o’clock. He’s going to come fetch you himself.”
“Himself?” Liza peered out from under her covers. “Why would he do that?”
“He didn’t say, at least not to me. Up you come, miss.” Betty drew back Jane’s covers.
Liza studied Jane as if she were some complete stranger plopped in the middle of the boudoir. “Well, it looks as though you’re going to have an interesting day.”
Jane said nothing. She was afraid her voice might shake.
Liza groaned and kicked her way out of her bed. “Let’s see that face.”
Jane obediently turned toward her. Liza prodded at her bruised cheek. “Much better. We can risk a little powder to damp down the bruise, and you’ll be just fine.”
“You just don’t want Father changing his mind and dragging you off to the palace instead,” muttered Jane.
“Clever girl. Now, stand there.” Liza hauled Jane out of the bed and shoved her into position in front of the long mirror. “And let’s see what can be done.”
With Betty’s help, Liza did Jane up in pale green silk with an acceptable amount of puff to the sleeve and an acceptably tight waist. Then she selected a pair of not entirely impractical green slippers.
“Keep her boots hidden, Betty,” warned Liza. “Otherwise, she might be tempted to go gallivanting off again.” Jane pulled a face at her sister.
“I’ll have the pink reticule today, Betty,” she said.
“But, miss, it won’t go with the rest.”
“I’ll have it, anyway.”
Betty looked to Liza, who rolled her eyes. “Oh, let her have her way. I’m hungry, and if she fusses, we won’t get downstairs until everything’s gone stone cold.”
Jane had the distinct feeling that what Liza really wanted was extra time to quiz her on what was happening inside the palace, but if that was her aim, she was doomed to disappointment. When the sisters reached the breakfast room, they found it already occupied by their older brother, Ned.
Generally speaking, Ned looked like a younger version of Father—dark, curling hair, blue eyes, and pale Irish complexion. But something had been lost in the translation. The looks that on Father combined to create charm and authority seemed mismatched on Ned. His brow was too high, and his nose too long. His hands dangled awkwardly at the end of his thin arms, and his legs had no calves. Liza called him Matchsticks, and Jane had to admit it was an apt name.
Their brother had gone to school and on the grand tour. There he had accomplished nothing as far as Jane could tell and had come back. He’d gone into the army as a lieutenant and come back. Then he’d gone to Brussels as a ministerial attaché and come back.
Now he was a determined presence at local social events and had a large circle of acquaintances. Every so often, Father called him into the study, and they talked, or probably Father talked. Then Ned would go away for some days or weeks and come back, and all would go on as before.
“You’re up early, Ned.” Liza helped herself to a fillet of sole from the sideboard.
“Don’t I know it.” There were circles under Ned’s bloodshot eyes, and the dark, viscous concoction in front of him was like nothing to be found among the platters and chafing dishes Mrs. Pullet had set up on the sideboard.
“So what brings about this extraordinary behavior?” Liza drew herself a cup of coffee and sat down next to him.
“Walters and I are going to look at a horse he has his eye on.”
