Page 68 of An Honorable Deception
Gemma smirked. “She’s been delightfully clever about that, hasn’t she? I mean, I hate that she had to be. But—”
“But we can still appreciate the years she put into crafting the appearance that is helping us now.” Lavinia nodded. “Now. G. M. Parker will write a column expounding on how the mysterious lady in her beautiful Indian items was spotted at such-and-such, and it will run in Friday’s edition. But what is more, I’ll make certain she’s seen by people who will report it to Babcock, Barremore, and their cohorts.”
Gemma’s expression shifted to serious. “Lavinia, that could be dangerous. If they see you, grab you—”
Lavinia took the shawl off again and held out her arms. “But don’t you see? These aren’t strangers to her that we fear—it’s her father. Her uncle. They may mistake us from the back or from a distance, but they would never look at my face and think I’m her. What theywouldthink is that I was so jealous of the press she’s getting that I tried to steal her idea.”
Gemma, ever the columnist, lifting a scathing brow. “Social suicide, my dear, if anyone gets wind of it. London’s ladies would feast on that for months.”
Lavinia shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t intend to be there for any more Seasons anyway.”
She had no doubt she would visit London aplenty. But the majority of her time would probably be spent at the estate she’d inherited from her mother last year. She’d not so much as visited it since the will was read—but she’d been thinking about it quite a bit since Barclay had issued his challenge.
Those women, those children, and others like them would need more than a place to find them passages back to their homelands, if leaving England was their desire. More than someone to make sure there was soup in their bowl and bread on their plate. They would need a place where they could heal. Where someone could assure them that God ached with them, for them. That they were loved and forgiven.
Running a place like that would take far too much time to leave any for trivialities like balls and soirees. So much time that she wouldn’t have any left in which to hurt.
Gemma tapped her pen to her page. “You need an escort. Lady Alethia’s momentous return at the very end of theSeason had better be grand enough to take up my entire column.”
She was about to say she’d make Yates or Xavier take her, but they chose that very moment to come laughing into the room, along with Graham. And seeing how both of the bachelors immediately searched the space with their gazes, how both sets of eyes dimmed when they realized Alethia wasn’t here, her throat went tight.
She knew very well either would volunteer, especially if it meant being paired with Alethia in a gossip column as beloved as Gemma’s. But neither would want to spend a day or two withher.
Gemma, however, was beaming. “Hello, answers.”
Graham moved over to drop a kiss onto her forehead. The other two looked at her as though she’d lost her mind.
“Pardon?” Yates asked.
Gemma kept on grinning. “A fake Lady Alethia,” she said, motioning to Lavinia, “is about to make a London appearance and thereby solve my lack of a column idea. But she needs to be on a handsome gent’s arm or it’s hardly a story worth telling.”
Understanding dawned in Yates’s eyes and was quickly chased by fury. “No. Too dangerous.”
“It isn’t. It’s the perfect way to get them to make a move.” Seeing that Yates was set to argue more, she turned to Xavier. “What say you, my lord? Save the day and have Gemma give you a sterling write-up as the gent who won Lady A’s heart?”
His grin might look impish, but she didn’t miss the seriousness in his eyes. He knew very well what was at stake, even if he wasn’t privy to every Imposters detail. “When do we leave?”
“Can we take your car?”
“Of course.”
“Then...” She glanced at the clock on the mantel. “In an hour?”
He bowed—and sent a sideways glance toward Yates. “I’ll be ready.”
TWENTY
Yates had already tried pacing, jogging, lifting weights, skipping rope, and a long session on the trapeze. When none of those managed to calm his nerves for more than a second, he gave in. He sat now at the highest point in the Tower—the platform for the highwire—his eyes on the road to Alnwick.
He heard the creaking of the ladder beneath him but didn’t bother looking to see who it was this time. Zelda, to tell him the next packet from Barclay had arrived? Drina, with food? Franco, to tease that the stalls weren’t mucking themselves?
When a golden-brown head cleared the edge instead of a salt-and-pepper one, he frowned. “You shouldn’t be up here. Merritt will have my head.”
His sister said nothing in reply as she took her usual seat. How many times had they sat this way over the years, the two of them? Countless. Plotting out their cases. Thinking through what sort of acrobatics each might require. Budgeting out every shilling they’d earn.
She drew in a long breath, tilted her face to the sun, and sounded rather happy as she sighed. “Leopard stripes, but I’ve missed being up here.” She patted her stomach. “Not torush you into the world, little one, but the moment you’ve made your appearance, you’ll find your mama out here on the trapeze.”
Yates grinned and shook his head. “The very moment, you say?”
