Beguiled. Shannon Drake

into a silk shift, bloomers and stockings. She was still only half dressed when there came a knock at the door. It was Molly, one of the upstairs maids, and she had come to help Ally complete her ensemble for the evening.

      “Have you seen the gown?” Molly asked, her blue eyes bright.

      Ally’s attention was drawn to the dress that had been laid out on the big four-poster bed. It was an elegant shade of yellow, almost gold, and it was glorious with subtle nips and tucks to emphasize her youthful figure. The embroidered handwork was exquisite.

      “The aunties made this?” she asked softly.

      Molly nodded. “They giggled like girls when they brought it.”

      Ally touched the fabric, shaking her head. “And still they would not come tonight,” she said sadly.

      “Ah, you can’t change them,” Molly told her.

      “I pleaded,” Ally said. “You know, if there is such an occasion here again, I will tell them that I will not come if they don’t. I know that the earl and his wife argued and wheedled, as well, but those old dears are so stubborn. Still, I swear, next time I will out-stubborn them.”

      Molly sighed. “Well, there will not be a next time such as this,” she said softly, carefully lifting the gown to slip it over Ally’s head.

      At first Ally couldn’t reply—she was muffled by the elegant length of the dress going over her head. When at last she could speak, she demanded, “Molly, just what is this occasion? Why was I summoned here tonight?”

      Molly flushed, then shrugged. “That is for your godparents to explain.”

      “Molly…”

      “Come, come, they will be here any minute,” Molly said, twirling her around to tie her into the gown. “You know, of course, that it was Lady Maggie, one of your own dear grandmothers, who came up with the design, and she took the aunties shopping for the fabric. Of course, there was never any question of hiring a designer for this. Lady Maggie has the most exquisite taste in clothing, and she said there were no finer seamstresses in the land than the aunties.”

      Ally smiled, proud of her dear aunties in their little cottage in the woods. They loved their simple life. She knew that they could have done very well, out in the world of high fashion. Instead, they chose to remain as they were, living their quiet and happy lives. “Lady Kat’s sister is gaining quite a name in the fashion industry. She had a showing in Paris, you know, and even she comes to the aunties for her most important work.”

      “I know.”

      “Molly,” Ally tried again, thinking to take the woman off guard, “what is going on tonight? Is it an early birthday celebration?”

      “You could say so, I suppose. Now, sit and let me fix your hair.”

      Ally sat, ready to try again, taking another tack.

      “The kitchen is overflowing with caterers,” she said.

      “When Lord Stirling decides to throw a private party,” Molly said with pride, “there’s no one who would not toss all other offers, business and pleasure, to the wind in order to attend. Of course there are caterers everywhere. Now, sit still. People are beginning to arrive. We need to get you ready.”

      Another tap sounded at the door, and Lady Camille looked in. She was dressed for the evening in a midnight-blue gown that hugged her body and sported a very small bustle that made it look as if she were gliding when she walked. As always, she was stunningly beautiful and regal. Camille had been born to poverty, then rescued from the streets, and in Ally’s mind, she was proof that nobility lived with the heart and soul, and did not spring from a title. She was truly the perfect mate for the earl, since both were strong-willed and also compassionate to the extreme.

      “Oh,” Camille said, standing by Molly and surveying Ally. “It is perfect. I am so angry at the aunties. They should be here this evening. But I have to commend Maggie the minute she arrives—she chose the color and the fabric. Ally, your eyes look golden and your hair, just a shade darker. My dear girl, you have grown up.”

      “Thank you,” Ally said. “Camille, is this a birthday celebration? Or is there something more going on tonight? I thank God that I am important in your eyes, but—”

      The older woman was silent for a moment, then said, “Brian has returned and is downstairs already. He’s in quite a state. He and Shelby retraced the carriage route, and he tried a dozen forest trails but was unable to find any sign of that wretched highwayman. Still, we must get on with the evening. And Theodore is feeding the inspector from the Metropolitan Police in the kitchen. We must speak with him at some point. And Angus Cunningham will be here later, so he must be informed about this new development.”

      “One last touch,” Molly said, setting a studded pin into place in Ally’s hair. She stepped back and clasped her hands. “Like a princess!” she exclaimed.

      Ally kissed Molly’s cheeks. “Not a princess, a commoner, Molly, and one who loves you and thanks you.”

      Molly sniffed suddenly and reached into her pocket for a handkerchief.

      “Molly, stop that,” Ally said. “I’ll stay up here with you, shall I?”

      “Nonsense, you’re going downstairs,” Camille said, laughing. “Come along, lass.”

      There it was again. That word. Lass. She would probably remain a lass in the eyes of those who had helped raise her until she dropped dead of old age.

      “There’s something I must speak to you about this evening, as well,” Ally told the duchess.

      “Is there?”

      “Yes. I should tell you all at once, I suppose,” Ally said. “Because you’ll all be here tonight, all of you who have been so kind, taking me in almost as your own child. Sir Hunter and Lady Kat, Lord James and Lady Maggie, and you and Lord Stirling.”

      “Let us hope,” Camille said, glancing at the delicate gold watch pendant she wore around her neck, “we will have a few minutes together before the castle begins to fill, but first, to the kitchen. Inspector Turner is waiting.”

      “MARK, YOU’RE JUST COMING IN?”

      Joseph Farrow was standing by the fire. He was a tall, dignified man, and, Mark thought proudly, he still appeared handsomely fit.

      Mark was an only child. His mother had died of fever when he had been but a boy, and though he remembered her gentle smile, the feeling of love with which she had enveloped him, and the scent of her perfume, it was his father who had guided his life.

      It was because Joseph was so fine a man that Mark had always allowed this bargain. He would break his father’s heart if he were to be the cause of Joseph Farrow breaking his word. Still…

      “Father, I cannot attend tonight,” Mark said.

      He saw the frown that instantly began to furrow his father’s brow.

      “Mark, this event has been planned for years—”

      “I know.”

      “There was good reason for me to give my word.”

      “I have no intention of doing any less than promised, Father. But—”

      The phone began to ring. Though theirs had been one of the first townhomes in London to have a phone, it seemed that Joseph Farrow still could not accustom himself to the sound of it. He winced at the shrill clang.

      Jeeter, Joseph’s valet and butler, hurried into the drawing room to lift the receiver off the cradle. He answered with complete dignity, announcing that the caller had reached the home of Lord Farrow. Then he was silent as he held the receiver and looked toward Joseph.

      “Detective Douglas,” he said quietly.

      Joseph looked at his son as he walked over to speak. “Lord Farrow here.”