Scales and Sensibility by Stephanie Burgis

Chapter 32

Pinpricks of panic raced up and down Elinor’s skin. She opened her mouth. No sound emerged.

“My niece?” Sir John’s words came out as a roar of disbelief. “What the devil—?”

“Elinor?” Penelope shook her head wildly. “But that’s not possible!”

“You think not?” Miss Armitage’s vivid blue eyes were alight with speculation as they darted back and forth between Benedict and Penelope. “They did meet at an inn the night before he arrived here, didn’t they? It must have been a memorable meeting indeed, to bring about such a swift betrothal. Perhaps she has more personal attractions than you’d realized.”

Penelope’s face was rapidly turning pink with fury. “She must have tricked him into it! There is no other reason any gentleman would ever—”

“You mean as you tried to trick me into marriage tonight?” Benedict’s voice was sharper-edged than Elinor had ever heard it. “Is that the sort of underhanded, dishonourable trick to which you’re referring, Miss Hathergill?”

She stared up at him. “Why—well—that is hardly the same! Anyone would marry me!”

“Not anyone,” said Benedict. He looked back at Elinor, his gaze warm and intent. “Not me.”

But Penelope’s father had already seized upon Miss Armitage’s statement. “By God, you’re right. I thought it a mere coincidence. But if Hawkins has been in cahoots with my niece all along—good God, we’ll have to check his room, see if he’s stolen anything himself!”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” said Elinor, finding her voice at last. “Mr. Hawkins is no thief. If you would simply calm down for a moment, Sir John—”

“Calm down?” Sir John roared. “My daughter has been compromised, her seducer is in league with the wretch who stole from us—and you think I should calm down, ma’am?!”

He kept on roaring, but Elinor had stopped listening. A movement had caught her eye in the corner of her vision: the servants’ door cracking open. It slid half an inch back from the wall, then stopped: just far enough to listen, without being seen. Servants know everything.

Elinor had a feeling that she knew exactly which servant had come to find out what she was doing now. She took a deep breath. Within the next ten minutes, depending on how well she managed her negotiations, she would either be exposed and imprisoned or else in desperate flight. She had no remaining chance to protect her sisters or her aunt.

But perhaps she did have one last chance, after all, to see one piece of justice done. And at least, this way, she would have fulfilled a promise.

Elinor aimed her voice directly at that crack in the wall. “If you want a real thief, look for Lucinda Staverton. I saw her steal your wife’s diamond bracelet not half an hour ago.”

The door quivered, as if whoever was holding it had given a start of surprise.

Sir John stopped bellowing at Benedict to stare at her.

Penelope said, “Don’t be absurd! Lucinda would never—”

“She’s done it in the past,” Elinor said, “and blamed innocent servants to save herself from being caught. But this time you can all see it for yourself. She’ll have hidden the bracelet on her person somewhere. Why don’t you go and find out if I’m telling the truth? Lady Hathergill knows; she’ll help you do it.”

“This is all irrelevant nonsense!” snapped Sir John. “You’re trying to distract us, ma’am, and I won’t have it. Do you understand me?”

But the servants’ door shut, and Elinor knew that her message had been received. She had done her part, as much as she could; now, Sally would have to find a way to finish it herself.

Miss Armitage sighed and moved forward to take control of the room. “This is all perfectly fascinating, I am sure. But now, if we could all turn our minds to saving Miss Hathergill’s reputation, I’m sure my brother would be only too happy to—”

“That won’t be necessary,” Elinor said. “Mr. Hawkins can leave by the servants’ entrance. No one outside this room will ever know that he and Penelope were alone together.”

“Excellent plan,” Benedict said. His face was solemn, but his eyes were full of mischief as he looked at her. “May I hope that you will accompany me, Mrs. De Lacey?”

Sir John snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. My daughter’s début hasn’t finished. If you think you can waltz off with our guest of honor after what you’ve done—”

“I’m afraid you haven’t any choice in the matter, Sir John.” Elinor drew herself up as proudly as an empress. She set one hand on Sir Jessamyn’s glittering scales and felt a surge of pride as he straightened, too, looking brave and astonishingly noble despite the smell of dragon slime that still permeated the room.

Back in the ballroom, her aunt was no doubt telling everyone around her exactly what she had seen. At any moment, the gossip would spread along the corridor. But for these last few moments, Elinor would be Mrs. De Lacey for all that she was worth and snatch her only chance to escape.

“If you think I am going to stay for even one more moment in this house…” she began.

But her words were cut off by a sudden commotion in the corridor outside. Guests’ voices rose in a muffled roar of shock and horror—then fell silent as one loud, imperious, and utterly unfamiliar voice spoke over all the rest:

“What exactly is going on here, and why are you all staring at me like nincompoops? I know rural society can be vulgar, but really—!”

“Who the devil is that?” Sir John snarled. He started towards the door.

It opened before he could reach it, revealing a footman who looked as if he were about to be sick. As he closed the door behind him, his gaze slid to Elinor, then to Sir John, and back again. He stared at Elinor with as much fascinated revulsion as if she had developed a second head.

She fought the urge to take a step backward. Be Mrs. De Lacey, she ordered herself. Show no fear.

She lifted her chin to look down her nose at the entire room. Be Mrs. De Lacey…

“Well?” Sir John snarled. “What’s happened now? Who’s set off all that commotion out there?”

“I beg your pardon, Sir John,” the footman said. He must have been at least nineteen, but his voice cracked like a boy’s as he finally tore his gaze away from Elinor’s face. “I had to come and tell you, sir, as quickly as I could. Mrs. De Lacey has arrived.”

* * *

“Oh, bloody hell.”Benedict’s whisper was only a thread of sound, but it carried perfectly through the room. He started towards Elinor, but she shook her head at him infinitesimally and flicked out her fingers to wave him back as discreetly as she could.

Panic had clouded her head, earlier, when she’d still had time to run. Now, she felt shot through with bleak clarity. She had lost her gamble and her freedom…but she would not let him suffer with her.

Sir John didn’t spare him a glance. “What are you babbling about?” he asked the footman. “Mrs. De Lacey is here. Can’t you see that?”

“Yes, sir. But, sir…” The footman swallowed visibly, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down his long throat. “She’s out there, too. I saw her myself.”

“Don’t be absurd! If you’re trying to tell me—”

The door opened behind the footman before Sir John could finish.

“Has everyone in this house gone mad? Or does anyone remember how to properly greet a guest?”

Mrs. De Lacey swept into the room like a hurricane, sending the footman lurching to one side to get out of her way. Everyone else in the dining room froze in a tableau of shock, even Elinor herself.

It was, of course, the real Mrs. De Lacey. Elinor had seen that nose, that hair, those dark eyes in her mirror every day for nearly a week. They were as familiar as her own features, now. And yet…

“Good God,” said Mrs. De Lacey. “Who are you?” Even the dragon on her neck—rose-and-purple-scaled, with a long snout and a comfortably round belly—was craning its neck with open fascination. Mrs. De Lacey stroked its neck with absent-minded affection as she said, “I never thought until today that I might have a sister.”

They weren’t quite the same, after all. Energy vibrated through every one of Mrs. De Lacey’s moves and gave vibrant character to her face. Her dark eyes—fixed now on Elinor’s face—looked nothing like they had when Elinor had stared hopelessly at her reflection in the mirror.

Her illusion had been only a pale imitation of Mrs. De Lacey’s reality.

Crow, her cousin’s remembered voice whispered tauntingly through her ears.

Everyone in the room was waiting for her to speak. She looked at the real Mrs. De Lacey. A faint, desperate hope circled inside her.

Sister, she thought. “I never thought I had a sister…”

Was it worth a try? If nothing else, it would sound far more plausible than the truth. Elinor moistened her lips. “Well...”

“Ah, there you all are.” Lady Hathergill walked in, and did a double-take as she saw Mrs. De Lacey. “Good heavens. So the real one has arrived now, too, eh? Good evening, Sophia. I thought you weren’t coming. Putrid sore throat, wasn’t it? Or had you decided on a different excuse?”

“I changed my mind at the last moment,” said Mrs. De Lacey. She leaned forward for a perfunctory exchange of cheek-kisses with Lady Hathergill, still frowning. “I had heard the most disturbing gossip, you see, and I felt it was my duty to investigate.”

“But if you’re the real Mrs. De Lacey,” said Sir John, “then who the devil is this?”

Lady Hathergill opened her mouth to answer, but Elinor spoke first. Her eyes rested on Benedict, for strength, for reassurance—but most of all, to stop him before he could do anything rash.

“It’s Elinor,” she said. “I am sorry for the deception, Uncle...but not for anything else.”

“Bravo.” Ignoring her warning look, Benedict strode forward and took her hand firmly in his.

“No!” Elinor tried to push him away. “You mustn’t—”

“Don’t even try to send me away.” Benedict wrapped his fingers tightly around hers and turned to stand by her side, shoulder-to-shoulder. “I will not abandon you.”

“But I don’t understand!” Penelope wailed. “That’s not Elinor. It can’t be! Her hair—her face—they don’t look anything alike!”

“You can see the real Elinor when you touch her,” Lady Hathergill explained with cheerful matter-of-factness. “Quite the shock it was, too, when I first saw her—I nearly tossed my punch all over myself. Now that would have been embarrassing!”

Sir John set his jaw. “You have to touch her to see it, eh?”

“No.” Benedict stepped in front of her. “You shall not lay a hand upon her, Sir John.”

“You don’t have to.” Elinor looked around the room, at her family, at Mrs. De Lacey, at Miss Armitage—who was, of course, watching everything with calculating interest—and at Benedict. Tears pricked her eyes, but she held her head high as she turned to meet her dragon’s golden gaze. “I wish,” she said clearly, “with all of my heart for both of my wishes to be undone.”

Sir Jessamyn opened his mouth. Tingling flames rushed across her face, momentarily blinding her. She staggered. She heard her aunt made a loud sound of surprise. She felt someone—Benedict—catch her by her arms. Penelope was letting out a series of gasping shrieks. The entire room was in an uproar.

When her vision cleared, Benedict was all that she could see. He held her close—far closer than was proper—and he was smiling down at her. His hazel eyes were clear; his big hands were warm on her bare upper arms. With every breath, she could feel the closeness of his body, only inches away from hers.

“There you are,” he said softly. “It’s you, again. Really you. Elinor Tregarth.”

“Elinor Tregarth,” her uncle growled. “By God, you will regret what you’ve done! As magistrate of this county, I’m placing you under arrest. You’ll spend the rest of tonight in gaol…and I’ll see you transported for your crimes if it’s the last thing I do.”