Artemis nodded. “You have here well over a dozen gowns instead of merely two. And we made the gowns tailored enough that they will look wonderful but not so specific that you cannot easily trade.”
With words of gratitude, Eve and Nia pulled Artemis into an embrace. The O’Doyle family struggled financially, to the point that the sisters had been forced to reuse gowns and trade clothes with each other, something Society disapproved of. Thetonwould be horrified if they knew the sisters obtained a great many of their dresses from secondhand shops in the rougher areas of London and likely Dublin as well.
They were hiding their poverty from Society as desperately as Gillian was hiding her father from . . . everyone. She felt guilty about that sometimes.Often, if she were being fully honest. She knew so many of the Huntresses’ struggles and difficulties, but she was hiding her most significant pain and sorrow from them.
To protect them, she reminded herself. If Society knew she was the daughter of a servant, everyone who championed her would be tainted by it. Everyone in this room would be pulled down with her. And their own secrets would be at risk of exposure as they all fell under increasing scrutiny.
Secrets were heavy things, but they were too often necessary.
Gillian pushed away thoughts of distant fathers and lies by omission and allowed herself to admire in the cheval mirror the gown Artemis and Rose had made for her. It was a soft bluish gray, with decorative geranium-colored cord in a waving pattern at the bottom of the skirt and at the wrists of the detachable long sleeves. The puffed shoulder-length sleeves contained slashesof the same geranium blue. It was gorgeous yet understated. She needn’t feel overwhelmed by the dress, but shewouldfeel decidedly pretty and fashionable.
Artemis made the tiniest adjustment to Lisette’s sleeves, apparently dissatisfied with the length of them, though anyone else looking on would think them perfect. “You must promise us that you will be in London for the next Season. We were distraught without you there this year.”
Lisette smiled at Artemis. “If I had my way, I would be there every Season. My parents were so terribly upset this last spring, on account of my sister’s defection. I’m hopeful if I’m very well behaved and show no signs of rebellion, they will loosen their grip on me enough to allow me another trip to London.”
My sister’s defection. Lisette had used that phrase before but had offered no further explanation. No one pressed. Everyone’s privacy was guarded by the others, leading them to share what they wished when they wished. It was the reason no one had pried into the exact nature of Gillian’s father’s absence.
“My brother has hinted that we might not be able to go to London next Season,” Daria said.
That brought shocked eyes to her, Gillian’s most of all. She hadn’t heard that the Mullins might not be making the annual journey. “The Season would be a misery without you.” Gillian was trying not to panic but was not doing an entirely successful job of it.
“Tobias didn’t offer any specifics about why we might not travel to London.” Daria’s brow pulled. “He muttered some nonsense about the Season not being overly important, which I know neither he nor my parents believe. There is something more going on, but I don’t know what.”
“There’s always something more, isn’t there?” Eve said on a sigh.
Nia nodded, matching her forlorn expression.
“For my part,” Artemis said, “I’m simply happy to have a few moments here without Mme Dupuis. We can make shockingly scandalous plans to attend gatherings where the ladies and the gentlemen are not kept separated by feathers.”
They all laughed, and the heaviness of the moment was momentarily relieved.
“You do realize,” Lisette said, “if I am permitted a London Season next year, Mme Dupuis will most decidedly be included in the excursion.”
“We will sort out how to deal with her: retreat—”
“Wield one’s shield, or return fire,” the Huntresses finished in unison.
Artemis pressed a hand to her heart. “I’m so proud of you all.”
They laughed and shook their heads and generally enjoyed the theatrics.
“If nothing else,” Daria said, “we can recruit Rose to the effort, andshewill sort it out.”
Rose. As formidable as the Huntresses had long ago realized Artemis was, they had discovered Rose took it to new heights. Gillian wasn’t certain there was any feat too great for Rose to accomplish.
A quick knock on the sitting room door was followed by Mrs. Giles, the housekeeper, poking her head inside. “Please forgive the interruption, Mrs. Jonquil, but a letter has arrived for Miss Phelps.”
A letter? Who could be writing to her? She met Mrs. Giles halfway to the door. “Thank you.”
Letter in hand, she wandered toward the tall windows and the generous spill of light it afforded. The letter was emblazoned with her name on the front. It was not, however, sent through the Royal Mail. This had been delivered by messenger, which was even stranger.
Mrs. Brownlow had never sent her a letter before, likely because they were never apart. She went to London when Gillian did. She’d gone to Bath when Gillian had the year before. During the in-between times, they were both always at Houghton Manor.
Father certainly wouldn’t have written to her.
She broke the seal and unfolded the letter. It was tremendously short, scrawled in a hand that appeared to have been rushed. And it was from Mrs. Millard, the housekeeper at Houghton Manor.
Miss Phelps,