Page 53 of Kiss Me Lady One More Time
She caught a flurry of movement out of the corner of her eye.
“I saw her, but she saw me notice her,” Hope said. She went to the window. “Long gone, now. But you are right. It is definitely the same girl.”
Penelope stilled. She remained in place, staring at her reflection, but she was doing exactly what her mother had warned her of, once again. She was off in her mind, far away. Thinking. Projecting. Planning.
“Penelope?” Hope and the modiste were both watching her.
“Yes? Yes. Sorry. I was thinking.”
“Well, don’t worry.” Hope returned to her seat. “We’ll know more, soon enough.”
“I’m not worried.” Penelope slowly began to peel the fabrics away. “But I do have an idea.” She looked to the modiste. “It is an unusual request. May we continue at the back of your shop?”
“Of course.”
The woman bundled up the bolts of fabric and showed them the workspace behind the counter and beyond a richly draped entrance.
“Now,” Penelope said. “Here’s what I was thinking.”
* * *
Hope waxedrhapsodic over the costume ideas for most of the ride back to her home.
“Madame is a genius! Using those small hoop rings will perfectly imitate the segments of an ammonite. The dress itself is not as important, although I do admire her idea of sand and sea, it is the headpiece that will make the real statement. I can’t wait to see Tensford’s face!” She chortled in glee. “Let’s keep our costumes a secret until the night of the masquerade.”
Penelope nodded. “Yes. Let’s keep italla secret.”
Hope’s smile faded.
“I know I am asking a lot, and I’m not saying that we never tell them of our preparations, but perhaps we can wait.”
“Until . . .?”
“Until we have to.” She sighed.
Frowning, Hope reluctantly agreed. “But if things change, if it all becomes more serious, or in any way dangerous . . .”
“Then we tell it all. Yes. Absolutely.”
Hope nodded and they both watched the wide, west London streets slide by for a moment. Penelope’s thoughts kept drifting back to where theywouldland, try as she might to fight it.
“Hope?” she whispered.
Her friend looked over at once.
“That portrait in Sterne’s rooms. That mother and child . . . it was not his mother, was it?”
Hope shook her head. “No.”
She waited. And kept her seeking gaze locked on the countess.
“You must ask Sterne,” Hope said at last. “I couldn’t tell you, even if I knew.”
“What do you know?”
“Not much. The men know more, I think. You know how they are, Tensford, Keswick, Sterne, Whiddon and Chester. A close friendship and tight lips. They keep each other’s secrets.”
“Hope,” she said, pleading.
