Page 70 of A Lady Most Wayward
Philippa placed her weapons on her own chair and knelt next to Olivia, taking both of her hands and holding them tightly. She looked up, the firelight highlighting Philippa’s high cheekbones, strong nose, delicate mouth, and sharp jawline.
God, she is beautiful.
‘Liza will always be a part of me. But who I was when I loved her is not who I am now.’
‘Who are you now?’
‘A woman who has fallen so deeply in love with you, I’m not sure where I end, and you begin. But I know wherever you are, that is where I will be. And that place will never be at your brother’s mercy. So, no. I won’t be handing you over to him. And no. We won’t be giving in to his demands.’
‘What about Hyacinth?’ No matter how desperately Olivia loved Philippa, she wouldn’t sacrifice her daughter for the duchess’ love.
‘I keep telling you, we will get her back.’ She spoke with such conviction, Olivia couldn’t doubt her. Philippa truly believed they would rescue her daughter or die trying. And because the duchess only made promises she could keep, Olivia believed her as well. ‘All will be well. Hyacinth is part of your heart, so she is also part of mine. Whether she grows to accept me or not, she will always have a place with us.’
‘Us?’ Olivia’s heart was so full, it stretched her chest tight. She wasn’t sure she had room to breathe.
‘Yes. Us.’ Philippa stood, taking Olivia’s hand and pulling her up. ‘Will you come to bed with me? Tomorrow, we will plan how to claim our future. But tonight, I just want to be with you.’
Because nothing was certain. They were going to war against an enemy Olivia knew far too well. Tomorrow might only hold death and destruction despite Philippa’s promises. But tonight held love. And hope. And dreams of a future. And Olivia needed the strength of that to bolster her for the fight to come.
Olivia brought Philippa’s hand to her lips and pressed a kiss on her palm. ‘I will come to bed with you. I will walk into the fires of hell with you. Because wherever you are, that is where I will be.’ Echoing Philippa’s words back to her, Olivia felt the truth of them. ‘Lead on, my lady.’
* * *
Philippa was terrified. It was not a feeling with which she was familiar. She was not amenable to it in the slightest. Her corset was jabbing into her ribs. The black and crimson beads sewn into her bodice in a design resembling flames licking up her dress were rubbing against her skin and would no doubt leave marks in the morning. A thousand pins held her hair into a coiffure so complicated, she wasn’t sure she would ever dismantle the braids, twists, and curls, and each one dug into her skull. But that wasn’t the problem. Knowing Olivia sat in her eggshell ball gown, alone, sequestered in Buckingham Palace’s white drawing room while Philippa rubbed elbows with the creamiest of the crop in the throne room until their plan came to fruition was making her want to crawl out of her skin with anxiety.
The grand throne room was lit by five gargantuan chandeliers. The largest and most ostentatious of these hung in the centre of the room with four smaller versions surrounding it. Each was fitted with the controversial gas lighting, taking the country by storm. While many still distrusted its safety, the Queen was convinced it was not just harmless, but far more efficient than candles or oil. Philippa couldn’t deny the brightness achieved by this new lighting invention was far superior to previous methods. More crystals than one could ever count reflected the luminescence onto the crowd of revellers.
Well over five hundred guests clamoured against each other, each vying for a coveted spot near the raised dais where Queen Victoria sat in all her splendour, her husband by her side. With so many lords and ladies in attendance, even the lowliest of barons received an invitation and would have bankrupted their household to assure their clothing was fit for the Queen’s theme of devils and angels cavorting together.
A roaring fire burned at the far end of the ballroom, giving some heat to the spacious room. The intricately carved panels decorating the walls were gilded, adding to the warm glow from the lights. While the beau monde still raved about Queen Victoria’s Georgian Ball, requiring guests to dress in sumptuous attire from that bygone era, for this event, Queen Victoria expressed an inclination for a more haunted theme to honour the closeness of the veil between life and death as the seasons transitioned from autumn to winter. Many guests wore masks in the Celtic tradition, some as devils and others as angels. One young woman was daring enough to fashion wings to her costume, leaving a trail of feathers behind her and causing hazardous conditions on the crowded dance floor.
Philippa wasn’t the only lady in attendance wearing dark hues, though none were as bold as her flamed design to honour the tradition of bonfires on this night, or perhaps the hellfire she would face when taking down a true devil. She had already approached the Queen, bowing deeply and expressing her compliments for such a splendid ball. Victoria had nodded regally, then winked at Philippa. In such a public arena, there was little of the familiarity Philippa enjoyed between herself and the monarch during more private meetings, but Philippa hardly expected to be singled out. In point of fact, it worked to their advantage if the beau monde was never quite privy to the depth of their acquaintance. So, after making her expected show of deference, she drifted away from the Queen and the many guests desperately seeking her favour and found a spot on the edge of the crowd where she could more easily watch those in attendance.
She knew Edward and Ivy were keeping an eye on the grand staircase to alert her the moment the Lord High Chancellor arrived. She knew Hannah and Killian were loitering in the music room, guarding the entrance to the white drawing room. She knew Millie and Drake had taken watch in the royal closet in case the Lord High Chancellor attempted to find his sister using a circuitous route. She knew Penny and Liam were somewhere in the crowd, circulating amongst the guests and keeping their eyes and ears alert, as it was clear many of the Devil’s Sons were in attendance this evening. And she knew Callum was near the stables, watching the carriages to ensure no one slipped away unnoticed. But still, she wasn’t at ease, nor could she be until she and Olivia were back in her home, cuddled together on her bed, celebrating the success of their wild plan.
Dear God, Goddess, Saints, and Sprites, let that be the outcome of this evening.
As a rule, Philippa rarely spoke to deities she didn’t believe existed, but it couldn’t hurt on an evening when so much hung in the balance to call upon all the forces of good in the hopes it might help their cause.
The air shifted around her, and she felt the press of an arm against her own. Reading, dressed in all black with a mask covering his eyes and highlighting his thin moustache and rather feminine lips, nodded to her. ‘His carriage has just arrived.’
Philippa nodded. ‘And so, it begins.’
21
Olivia paced on the marble floor. Her gown of endlessly layered white silk rustled around her legs.
‘This is ridiculous. I should be out there. No doubt Cedric has arrived with Hyacinth. I should be with my daughter. Protecting her from him. Standing with Philippa. Not hidden away in this bloody white room in my white dress like some fragile, helpless virgin awaiting sacrifice!’ Which was laughable on so many levels.
But that wasn’t the plan. And she knew if they had any hope of catching her brother and ending his terrorising reign, she must follow the plan. She could hardly swan about the dance floor in the Queen’s throne room when the entire beau monde would recognise her in an instant and sound the alarm.
She took another turn. Slipping her hand into the pocket sewn into her voluminous skirt, she fingered the dagger there and wondered if she had the courage to use it. Could she actually plunge the lethal metal into her brother’s chest if it came to that?
If it means Hyacinth and Philippa are safe, and I am finally free… yes. I think I could.
The door on the far side of the white room creaked open, and Olivia froze. She wasn’t sure who she expected to see, but it certainly wasn’t Hyacinth. And yet, there she was. Standing in the frame of the doorway, with the lights from the corridor creating a nimbus around her head. Her dress was a shell pink, befitting that of a young woman at her first ball. Her blonde locks, nearly as pale as Olivia’s, but wavy instead of the wild curls her mother long ago stopped trying to tame, were piled up in a twist that left wisps framing her face. It had only been a few weeks since Olivia last saw her, but she looked different. Her girl had transitioned to a young woman.
Olivia’s throat ached as she stepped forward, but before she could reach Hyacinth, another figure appeared behind her. He wore the mask of a grinning gargoyle. His hands were ungloved as he grabbed Hyacinth’s bare arm and pushed her further into the room, closing the door behind them. Olivia didn’t need to see his face to know who he was. Her brother had arrived at the Queen’s All Hallows’ Eve Ball.
