"No, my lady, but the message they sent from London informed me that although my lord intends to stay on, Sir Greville will return to the capital again on New Year's Eve."
"To avoid Twelfth Night, no doubt," Evangeline observed caustically, recalling the shambles Greville had made of Bottom. "Is he accommodated in the blue chamber as usual?"
"Yes, my lady."
"Which presumably means it is nicely aired?"
"Oh, yes, my lady."
"Well, Sir Greville will have to relinquish it, I fear, for I wish Miss Mortimer to sleep there as it is next to my apartment."
"Miss Mortimer, my lady?" The butler was still unaware of Megan in the doorway behind him.
"My companion. Where is the girl?" Evangeline looked past him at Megan. "Ah, there you are! Come in, come in, don't fidget on the threshold."
Nonplussed, the butler turned as Megan stepped reluctantly into the hall. His critical glance took in the plain maroon hooded cloak she wore over her mustard woolen gown, and the modest black hat beneath her raised hood. He guessed her to be an impoverished gentlewoman, as indeed were most ladies' companions, but why on earth would Lady Evangeline suddenly employ such a person? And not only that, but give her the blue chamber as well? There was surely more to all this than met the eye…
Another footman had emerged from the kitchens in time to hear about Megan. He was in his mid-twenties, with sandy hair, small eyes, and full lips, and the withering look he gave her was also one of outrage that a companion should be shown such undue favor as to be accommodated in one of the grandest bedrooms. Megan was accustomed to resentment, for companions did not rate highly either above or below stairs, being neither one thing nor the other, but she was herself a little startled to be given a chamber that was clearly more suited to a guest.
Evangeline spied the footman. "Ah, Edward. Remove Sir Greville's things from the blue chamber without delay. The mauve room will do for him, for the color will no doubt suit his temper when he finds himself evicted from his usual cozy place."
Fosdyke nodded at Edward, who gave Megan another dark glance before he went swiftly up the staircase. Megan felt very awkward. "Oh, Lady Evangeline, I do not wish to be the cause of Sir Greville's eviction…" she began.
"Nonsense, chit. It will do him good. He and Rupert are most presumptuous, first declining my invitation, and then taking possession of my house behind my back. I intend to have stern words with them. No doubt Greville thinks to avoid my play this year, but his timely presence will enable rehearsals of Twelfth Night to get under way a little sooner than expected. That will teach him."
Megan fell silent. One thing was certain, Sir Greville would regard her as the presumptuous one, not himself. Edward and the butler clearly already did!
Suddenly Evangeline began to feel familiarly hot and uncomfortable, and she stepped hastily away from the fire. She longed to rush out on to the Steine for some cold air, but to her relief the disagreeable flush passed after a few moments, which was more than could be said for a few exceedingly disagreeable occasions during the journey from Wells. Recovering, she waved Megan toward the drawing room, which lay on the Steine side of the house. "Wait in there until your room is ready, Miss Mortimer. Fosdyke, see that a dish of tea is brought to my apartment tout de suite.'' With that she gathered her skirts and bustled toward the staircase.
"My lady." The butler bowed solemnly after his departing mistress, then took himself off to the kitchens.
Megan went into the gray-and-gold drawing room, where lighted candles in sconces illuminated exquisite furniture. Theatrical prints adorned walls hung with Chinese silk, and a portrait of the famous actress Mrs. Siddons as Cleopatra had pride of place on the chimney breast. A longcase clock ticked slowly in a silence that was broken only by Evangeline's voice in the distance, issuing instructions to Annie.
Megan flung back her hood and went to the deeply bowed window to hold the fringed velvet curtain aside. She saw the lights of the houses across the Steine, and at an upper window of the first one, a young woman looking back at her. Slender, with short blonde hair, she was dressed in a white evening gown with a blue sash, and the room behind her was lit by a dazzling chandelier. She seemed taken aback to see someone looking out of Radcliffe House, and stared so obviously that Megan hastily let the curtain fall into place again.
In the house opposite, Chloe Holcroft continued to gaze at Radcliffe House in astonishment. She had been at the window of the second-floor drawing room to watch Oliver March drive off after dining with her father and her, and she had been startled to see lights at Evangeline's house. Now she was even more startled to see a young woman she did not know.
She turned back into the room. "Papa, I believe one of Lady Evangeline's Christmas guests must have arrived after all."
"Mm?" Admiral Sir Jocelyn Holcroft didn't look up from the new newspaper, the Brighton Herald, which had only been in print for a month or so. He was still a handsome man, although his features were now marred by an eye patch over his left eye, and a livid white cutlass scar down his right check to the corner of his mouth, the result of an encounter with pirates in the Mediterranean. Once a distinguished uniformed figure commanding from the quarterdeck of one of the Royal Navy's finest first-raters, he was still impressive in the formal black velvet coat and white silk breeches of a civilian gentleman who had just had a guest to dinner.
Chloe gave him a cross look. "The French fleet has just appeared on the horizon," she remarked in a conversational tone.
"Mm?" The paper rustled as he turned the page.
"And they are putting longboats ashore to raid the town," she went on. "Can't you hear the warning bells of St. Nicholas's?"
He looked up with a start. "Eh? Warning bells?"
"Oh, so you do listen eventually," she declared. "I vow the French really could be at the door, and you would still be browsing contentedly through that newspaper. The next time we have someone to dinner, I am going to insist that you take less port afterward, for I vow it makes you far too dull at the edges."
He gave her a charming but rather sheepish smile. "I'm sorry, my dear. Now, what was it you were saying?"
"Lady Evangeline is away for Christmas, but the lights are on at the house, and I have just seen a strange young woman looking out of the drawing room window."
"Strange? In what way? Does she have two heads?"
Chloe became cross again. "You know perfectly well what I mean, Papa!" He raised a teasing eyebrow, and she colored. "I-I was wondering if perhaps one of her guests has arrived after all," she added.
"We know all her usual guests," he pointed out.
"Yes, but-"
"But?"
Chloe bit her lip and looked away. "Well, perhaps I should go across-"
"And see if there is news of Rupert?" he finished for her.
"Certainly not!"
"That is a great pity." He folded the newspaper and put it on the table beside his chair. "From the heated manner of that last response. I must presume that you are still angry with him?"
"Angry? I'm not anything anymore, Papa. Rupert Radcliffe is of no interest to me, especially now that…" She didn't finish.
He got up and went to pour himself a large glass of cognac. "I do hope that you were not about to mention Mr. March's name," he murmured.
"And if I was?"
"I know that he has come to mean much to you, my dear, but I do not care for him."
"Why not?" she asked in dismay. "He has just been all that is charming and courteous."
"I know, but I can't help how I feel," her father replied, resuming his seat.
"Just because you and Lady Evangeline have decided that Rupert and I would be a fine match! That's it, isn't it? Well, I do not need to remind you that it was Rupert who broke our friendship, not me."