Simply Perfect

“What on earth did I do to deserve such a tumultuous summer?” Claudia asked. It was a rhetorical question, but Eleanor attempted an answer anyway. “You decided to go to London,” she said, “and I encouraged you. I even urged you to stay for longer than you had originally planned.” “Mr. Hatchard was evasive about Edna’s and Flora’s employers,” Claudia said. “Susanna persuaded Frances to sing and invited me to stay for the concert. She sent the Marquess of Attingsborough to escort me to London because he was in Bath at the time—and he happened to have a daughter he wished to place at the school. Charlie chose this particular spring to leave Scotland for the first time in years. And you just happen to be the sister of the Duchess of Bewcastle and accepted an invitation to bring the charity girls here and so I have been tripping over Bedwyns at every turn since I left Bath. And…and…and so the list goes on. How do we ever discover the root cause of any effect, Eleanor? Do we trace it back to Adam and Eve? They were a pair to cause any imaginable catastrophe.” “No, no, Claudia.” Eleanor came to stand behind her at the dressing table in her bedchamber. “You will pull your hair out by the roots if you drag it back so severely. Here.” She took the brush from Claudia’s hand and loosened the knot at her neck so that her hair fell more softly over her head. She fussed a little over the knot itself. “That is better. Now you look far more as if you are going to a ball. I do like that green muslin. It is very elegant. You showed it to me in Bath, but I have not seen it on you until tonight.” “Why am I going to the ball?” Claudia asked. “Why are you not the one going and I the one staying?” “Because,” Eleanor said, her eyes twinkling as they met Claudia’s in the mirror, “you are the one those women insulted yesterday, and it is important to Lady Redfield and her daughter-in-law that you make an appearance. And because you have never hidden from a challenge. Because you have promised to dance the opening set with the Duke of McLeith even if you did make it clear to him this morning that you will not marry him, poor man. Because someone has to stay with the girls, and it is generally known and accepted that I never attend balls or other lavish entertainments.” “You have made your point,” Claudia said dryly, getting to her feet. “And also I attend such entertainments because I sometimes consider them obligations—unlike some persons who will remain nameless.” “And you will go,” Eleanor said, “because it may be the last time you see him.” Claudia looked sharply at her. “Him?” Eleanor picked up Claudia’s paisley shawl from the bed and held it out to her. “I have misunderstood all summer,” she said. “I thought it was the Duke of McLeith, but I was wrong. I am sorry. I really am. Everyone is.” “Everyone?” “Christine,” Eleanor said. “Eve, Morgan, Freyja…” “Lady Hallmere?” Was it really possible that all these people knew? But as she took the shawl from Eleanor, Claudia knew that indeed they must. They had all guessed. How absolutely appalling. “I cannot go,” she said. “I will send down some excuse. Eleanor, go and tell—” “Of course you will go,” Eleanor said. “You are Claudia Martin.” Yes, she was. And Claudia Martin was not the sort to hide in a dark corner, her head buried beneath a cushion, just because she was embarrassed and humiliated and brokenhearted and any number of other ugly, negative things if she only stopped to think what they were. She straightened her spine, squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, pressed her lips together, and regarded her friend with a martial gleam in her eye. “Heaven help anyone who gets in your way tonight,” Eleanor said, laughing and stepping forward to hug her. “Go and show those two shrews that a headmistress from Bath is not to be cowed by genteel spite.” “Tomorrow I return to Bath,” Claudia said. “Tomorrow I return to sanity and my own familiar world. Tomorrow I take up the rest of my life where I left it off when I stepped into the Marquess of Attingsborough’s carriage one morning a thousand or so years ago. But tonight, Eleanor…Well, tonight.” She laughed despite herself. She led the way from the room with firm strides. All she needed, she thought ruefully, was a shield in one hand and a spear in the other—and a horned helmet on her head.