Page 12 of The Sound of Seduction
Pippa laughed, but it was Bea who stood and placed a hand on Wendy’s arm. “You’ll be splendid, Wendy. Even if youdostep on someone’s toes—they’ll still thank you for it.”
The sincerity in Bea’s smile was disarming, no wonder Alfie was so smitten with her. And for a moment, Wendy felt a flicker of comfort break through the nerves twisting inside her.
“Turn again, Miss Folsham!” Madame Duchon’s voice commanded from the far side of the room. “I must see the back.”
Wendy sighed and obeyed, the muslin skirts brushing softly against her legs. The lightness of the gown felt foreign compared to the ones Wendy usually wore to work. But it’s sheen and the brightness seemed oddly grounding, like armor for the evening to come. She squared her shoulders, glancing nervously at her reflection one more time. This was a gown to catch the eye, not allowing her to blend into the background.
The empire waistline, adorned with a creamy-rose satin ribbon, drew the eye upward, while the low square neckline—modestly daring—framed the décolletage without overstepping propriety. Fine embroidery, like frost on a winter pane, traced the hem and bodice, catching the light in hushed, glittering whispers. The sleeves, mere wisps ending just below the shoulders, lent cherubic purity to the audacious elegance that made Wendy weigh the words she’d use to describe her reflection. It was elegant. Refined. Splendid.
Except somewhere in the depths of her mind, “splendid” sounded awfully close to “terrifying.”
*
Meanwhile, in anotherpart of London, Stan adjusted his gloves and watched from the shadowed alcove as the Langleys, servants bustling around them, issued crisp instructions for the upcoming trip. By now, every corner of the grand townhouse was filled with the sounds of trunks being hefted, feet hurriedly scuffling across polished wooden floors, and the occasional sharp call from the steward ensuring not a single satchel would be left behind.
And Stan didn’t want to cast a shadow over the excitement before the journey to Alfie’s and Bea’s wedding in Kent, even though his mother’s letter was pressing down on him.
My Dearest Son,
The burden of the world seems to press upon us, and my heart cannot rest knowing the peril in which all my children now stand. Thea, cast adrift and a fugitive in all but name, bears a danger I scarcely dare to imagine. Alex is soon to follow, burdened with the grave task of securing a match to cement our family’s fragile standing. And you, my steadfast son, must shoulder this storm with courage beyond your years.
How cruel it is that I must send my children into such a maelstrom when I would sooner send an army if only it were within my power. The thought of my family scattered in distant lands, exposed to treachery and peril, breaks what little strength I have left. Were there but a stronghold for us in England, a sanctuary to shield and aid you all, I might find some ease.
The whispers have grown louder—Baron von List is not merely threatening your allies but boasting that he will begin by ‘erasing the women who stand beside the men.’ The gossips say he believes that by removing the caretakers and healers, the warriors will crumble next. It is not just vengeance—it is strategy, cruel and precise. Please, my son, do not ignore this. Do not make Thea the first to pay because she’s the closest to you.
Yet we must persist. You must persist. Protect Thea, guide Alex when he arrives, and hold fast to the resolve I know resides within you. The fate of our house and our people is in your hands now, and though it grieves me, I know there is no one stronger to bear it.
Yours always and unrelentingly,
Your Mother
Stan patted his pocket where he’d put the letter after he read it. It meant too much to set aside and held too much power lest it fall into the wrong hands. Except Stan didn’t want to worry his friends, the Langleys, either and yet, he feared that List would strike and endanger the people who meant so much to him.
Violet, the Countess of Langley, radiant despite her condition, stood near the base of the sweeping staircase, her ruffled lavender day dress brushing the crimson carpet. Pregnancy softened her otherwise poised figure, though she carried herself with the same self-assured grace of a young countess who had commandeered ideals of propriety long before she gained the title. Not that Stan cared for such formalities. What truly concerned him was the rather inconvenient and dangerous truth of Violet’s determination to travel. He already had to keep watch for Lady Pippa, Lady Bea, and Nurse Wendy. The expectant countess was another woman who would surely be at the top of List’s candidates for prey.
“Are you certain this is wise?” Stan asked, stepping forward into the flurry of activity. His tone was deliberate, masking the discomfort edging at his words. He glanced between the Countess and the Earl, searching for some sense of practicality to anchor the reckless idea she was presenting. “Forgive me for speaking plainly, but you’re carrying a child. The trip to the countryside, no matter how short, can hardly be without risk.”
Violet turned toward him, an exasperated smile brightening her fair features. “Stan, I appreciate your concern, truly. But we’re practically traveling with a caravan of our own private doctors from Harley Street.” Her blue-gray eyes held an unshakable resolve. “Plus, I won’t miss Bea’s wedding. We were at finishing school together. Bea and I have been through too much over the years for me to stay behind now. Confinement can wait.”
“You’re hardly confined, but—”
“I’m barely five months. And this dress hides more than there is to hide.” She interrupted with a soft laugh, her fingers brushing over her barely noticeable bump.
“I understand, but—”
“The carriage ride is less than three hours, Stan,” she interjected again, though not unkindly. There was a musical quality to her voice, one that could drown out even his stiffest objections. “And it’s in daylight. Hardly an ordeal.”
His hand instinctively went to the back of his neck, fingers rubbing at the tension mounting there. “Less than three hours becomes far too long if it turns dangerous.”
At this, the Earl of Langley, tall but lean in figure, stepped up beside Violet, having given a few more orders to pack the carriage. If Stan had hoped for an ally in the Earl, that hope dwindled when the man rested a hand comfortably at his wife’s elbow, his expression unreadable but unmistakably firm.
“I can’t very well allow her to go alone,” Langley said, casting Stan a sidelong glance. “Would you?”
“Of course not,” Stan replied sharply. “But that’s not the point.” He motioned broadly toward the open windows. “There’s a reason I’ve been keeping an eye on everyone.”
“Paranoia?” Violet asked cheekily.
“Preparation.” Stan crossed his arms.
