The morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains of Ines’s bedchamber, painting soft stripes of light across the floor. But Ines was not looking at the sun. Her attention was entirely focused on the piece of paper in her hands.
It was Carcel’s letter.
She had read it three tis already. The first ti, she had read it quickly, her heart pounding in her chest, just needing to know the situation at hand. The second ti, she read it slowly, savoring the strength in his words. And now, this third ti, she read it for comfort.
We are going to play a ga, my love.
The words sent a shiver down her spine, but it was not a shiver of fear. It was sothing else. It was the feeling of standing on the edge of a cliff, knowing that soone strong was holding her hand so she would not fall.
Ines sat at her small writing desk. She smoothed the paper of his letter with her fingertips. She picked up her quill. She did not need to write a long poem. She did not need to write a story like Arthur Pendleton would. She just needed to be Ines.
She dipped the quill into the inkwell and wrote.
Carcel,
I have never been good at gas. I usually prefer to write the rules myself. But if you are the one leading the ga, I will play.
I trust you. I will hold my head high. I will smile until my cheeks hurt. And I will dream of the wedding, just as I would normally do.
Yours,
Ines
It was short. It was simple. But it was the truth.
She folded the paper carefully. She did not have a candle lit to lt wax for a seal, so she simply tucked one corner into the other, securing it. She held the folded paper to her chest for a mont, closing her eyes. She imagined Carcel sitting in his dark study, plotting to save her.
A soft knock on the door broke her reverie.
Ines sat up straight. She placed Carcel’s letter inside the drawer of her desk and locked it with a small key she kept on a ribbon around her wrist.
"Co in," she called out.
The door opened, and Edith slipped inside. Her maid looked tired. There were dark circles under Edith’s eyes, a sign that she, too, had not slept well. Edith knew about the danger. She knew about Gladys and the mole in the print shop. Ines had decided to let her know which wasn’t even a secret to Edith because she knew long ago but turned a blind eye.
Edith carried a silver tray in her hands. On the tray sat two envelopes.
" My Lady," Edith said. Her voice was quiet. She closed the door firmly behind her before walking to the desk. "These just arrived with the morning post."
Ines looked at the tray. "Thank you, Edith. You look exhausted. Did you sleep at all?"
Edith offered a weak smile. "I slept a little, My Lady. But I kept listening for carriages. Every ti a horse went by on the street, I thought..." She trailed off, shaking her head. "I thought it was the Queen’s guard coming to arrest us."
Ines stood up and reached out, taking Edith’s hand. She gave it a reassuring squeeze.
"No one is coming to arrest us," Ines said firmly. She channeled the confidence she had felt in Carcel’s letter. "The Duke is handling it. We are safe, Edith."
Edith looked at Ines, surprised by her sudden strength. "The Duke? He has a plan?"
"He has a very good plan," Ines said, though she did not explain the details of the decoy. "Now, let see these letters."
Ines picked up the first envelope. It was thick and heavy, made of sturdy, plain paper. She recognized the handwriting imdiately. It was ssy and bold, with ink blots in the corners.
"It is from Rowan," Ines said, a small smile touching her lips.
She broke the seal and unfolded the letter. She scanned the lines quickly.
Dear Little Sister,
Don’t expect to see for a few weeks. The Elders have dragged out to the country estate. Apparently, planning a ducal wedding involves endless etings about table settings, wine lists, and seating arrangents for relatives I haven’t seen since I was in short pants.
Old Uncle Silas is insisting we serve roast pheasant. Aunt Margery wants swan. If they don’t stop arguing, I might just serve them bread and water.
Carcel is lucky he gets to stay in London for ’business.’ I am stuck here doing the hard work. Be good. Don’t cause any trouble while I am gone. Stay out of the rain, don’t read too many books, and for heaven’s sake, try to behave well when I get back.
Your suffering brother,
Rowan
Ines laughed softly. It was a genuine laugh, the first one she had felt in twenty-four hours.
"He is stuck with the Elders," Ines told Edith. "He won’t be back for weeks."
"That is good, isn’t it?" Edith asked, tilting her head. "If His Grace were here, he might notice that you are worried. He might ask questions."
"Yes," Ines agreed, though her heart sank a little. "It is good. But I will miss him. A little bit."
She placed Rowan’s letter on the desk. It was better this way. If Rowan found out about the blackmail, he would not be calm like Carcel. He would surely cause a scene. She has already stressed him out before because of her antics with Carcel. She doesn’t want to do it again.
Ines picked up the second letter.
This one was different. The paper was delicate, almost like fabric. It was pale pink and slled faintly of rosewater. The handwriting on the front was elegant, full of loops and swirls.
To Lady Ines Hamilton.
Ines felt a prickle of unease. She carefully broke the wax seal. It was a crest she recognized—a swan.
"Who is it from, My Lady?" Edith asked, stepping closer.
"Lady Sterling," Ines murmured, reading the card inside.
Lady Sterling was a prominent mber of the ton. She was not an, exactly, but she was a talker. Her tea parties were legendary, not for the tea, but for the information exchanged there. If you wanted to know who was courting whom, or who had lost money at cards, you went to Lady Sterling’s drawing room.
Ines read the invitation aloud.
"My Dearest Ines, it has been too long since we had a proper chat. I am hosting a small, intimate gathering tomorrow afternoon. Just a few ladies for tea and cakes. We are all dying to hear about the wedding preparations. Do say you will co. It won’t be the sa without the future Duchess of Carleton."
Ines lowered the card. Her hand was trembling slightly.
"She wants to gossip," Edith said, her brow furrowing. "They all want to know if the rumors are true. They want to hear your side."
"What rumors?" Ines asked sharply.
"There are... whispers," Edith admitted, looking at the floor. "The servants hear things at the market. People are saying that the wedding might be delayed. So say you have a secret."
Ines felt the blood drain from her face. Her enemy was working fast. She was planting seeds of doubt in society before she even played her final card.
"If I don’t go," Ines said, her voice tight, "they will think I am hiding. They will think the rumors are true."
She looked at Carcel’s letter on the desk, rembering his words.
Attend your fittings. Drink your tea. Smile at the won who whisper behind their fans.
He wanted her to act normal.
Ines took a deep breath. She squared her shoulders. She forced the trembling in her hands to stop.
"I am going," Ines stated.
Edith looked alard. "My Lady? To Lady Sterling’s? It will be a room full of sharks."
"Then I must dress like a shark hunter," Ines said. She turned to Edith, her eyes flashing with a new determination. "Carcel told to hold my head high. If I stay in this room, they win. If I hide, I look guilty."
She picked up the reply she had written to Carcel. She handed it to Edith.
"Take this to the servants’ entrance," Ines instructed. "Give it to the Duke’s man. No one else. Tell him I received his ssage."
Edith took the letter, nodding solemnly. "Yes, My Lady."
"And then," Ines continued, standing up and walking toward her wardrobe, "I need you to prepare the carriage. We are going out."
"Out? Now?" Edith asked, confused. "Where are we going?"
"To the Modiste," Ines said.
She walked to her wardrobe and opened the doors. Her dresses hung there—silks and muslins in soft pastels, yellows, and pale greens.
"I have nothing to wear," Ines declared, looking at the rows of soft fabric with disdain.
"But My Lady, you have a dozen new gowns," Edith protested.
"They are too soft," Ines said. She turned back to Edith. "Tomorrow, Lady Sterling and her friends will be watching my every move. They will be looking for fear. They will be looking for weakness."
Ines walked to the mirror. She looked at her own reflection. She looked pale. She looked frightened. She pinched her cheeks to bring so color back into them.
"I need sothing nicer, Edith," Ines said.
Edith’s expression softened. She understood. "What color were you thinking, My Lady?"
"Blue," Ines said decisively. "Dark, midnight blue. And velvet. I want sothing heavy."
"Velvet in the spring?" Edith asked. "It is a bold choice."
"We will go to Mada Lambert," Ines planned aloud. "She is the fastest modiste in London. If we pay her double, she can alter sothing by tomorrow morning."
"She will be busy," Edith warned. "It is the height of the season."
"She will make ti for the future Duchess of Carleton," Ines said. It felt strange to use her title as a weapon, but she realized that is what Carcel would do. He used his power to protect her; she had to learn to use her position to protect herself.
"Go, Edith," Ines commanded, clapping her hands together gently. "Deliver the letter to the Duke’s man first. Run. Then co back and help dress for town. We have a lot of work to do."
Edith bobbed a quick curtsy. "Right away, My Lady."
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