hear a but,” Clevedon said. “I distinctly hear an unsaid but.”
“Not precisely a but, your grace,” Halliday said. “It is more of an impertinence, for which I do beg your pardon.”
When Clevedon only looked at him expectantly, Halliday said, “We had been under the impression that Miss Erroll—that is, Miss Noirot—would be visiting us again.”
Clevedon straightened away from the table. “What the devil gave you that impression?”
“Perhaps it was not so much an impression as a hope, sir,” Halliday said. “We find her charming.”
We meant the staff. Clevedon was surprised. “I should like to know what it is about them. They seem to charm everybody.” The housemaid Sarah had gone happily enough to live above a shop and act as interim nursemaid until the Noirots had time to hire a suitable person. Miss Sophia had even disarmed Longmore.
“Indeed, they possess considerable charm,” Halliday said. “But Mrs. Michaels and I both remarked their manner. We agreed that it was nothing like what one expected of milliners. Mrs. Michaels believes the women are ladies.”
“Ladies!”
“She is persuaded that they are gentlewomen in reduced circumstances.”
Clevedon remembered his first impression of Marcelline—his confusion. She’d sounded and behaved like the ladies of his acquaintance. But she wasn’t a lady. She’d told him so.
Hadn’t she?
“That’s romantic,” Clevedon said. “Mrs. Michaels is fond of novels, I know.”
“I daresay that is the case,” Halliday said. “In any event, they were not what one would be led to expect. Mrs. Michaels was greatly shocked when I informed her we had milliners to wait upon. But she told me that she was entirely taken aback when she met them. They did not strike her as milliners at all.”
Servants were more sensitive to rank than their employers. They could smell trade at fifty paces. They could detect an imposter a minute after he opened his mouth.
Yet his servants, keenly aware of their position in the employment of a duke, had believed the Noirots were gentlewomen.
Well, it only showed how clever those women were. Charming. Enticing. Three versions of Eve, luring men to…
Gad, what the devil was wrong with him? It was reading all the damned magazines, with their serialized sentimental tales.
“You saw them at work,” Clevedon said. “They know their trade.”
“That is undoubtedly why Mrs. Michaels imagined they were women of rank who’d fallen on hard times,” Halliday said. “I must confess that at first I thought it was one of your jokes. I beg you will forgive me, sir, but it did cross my mind that these were some cousins from abroad, and you were testing us. Only for an instant, sir. Naturally, it was obvious there had been a fire, and it was no joke.”
The footman Thomas appeared in the doorway. “I beg your pardon, your grace, but Lord Longmore is here to see you, and—”
Longmore pushed past Thomas, strode past Halliday, and marched up to Clevedon.
“You cur!” Longmore said. He drew back his arm, and his fist shot straight at Clevedon’s jaw.
Meanwhile, at Maison Noirot
Lucie sat in the window, gazing down into St. James’s Street.
She’d been sitting there for hours.
Marcelline knew what she was watching for, and she was dreading what was to come. “It’s time for your tea,” she said. “Sarah has laid out the tea things on your handsome tea table, and your dolls are in their places, waiting.”
Lucie didn’t answer.
“Afterward, Sarah will take you to the Green Park. You can see the fine ladies and gentlemen.”
“I can’t go out,” Lucie said. “What if he comes, and I’m not here? He’ll be very disappointed.”
Marcelline’s heart sank.
She moved to sit next to Lucie on the window seat. “My love, his grace is not coming here. He looked after us for a time, but he’s very busy—”
“He’s not too busy for me.”
“We’re not his family, sweet.”
Lucie’s eyes narrowed and her mouth set.
“He made a beautiful home for us,” Marcelline said, keeping her voice steady with an effort. “Only look at all the fine things he bought for you. Your own tea set and tea table. Your own little chair and the prettiest bed in the world. But there are others in his life—”
“No!” Lucie jumped down from the window seat. “No!” she screamed. “No! No! No!”
“Lucie Cordelia.”
“I’m not Lucie. I’m Erroll. I’ll never be Lucie again. He’s coming back! He loves me! He loves Erroll!”
She threw herself on the rug. She shrieked and sobbed and kicked her feet.
Sophy and Leonie ran into the nursery. Sarah raced in, and stopped short, her expression horrified. This was her first experience of Lucie in a tantrum.
She started toward the raging child.
Marcelline put up a hand, and the maid backed away. “Lucie Cordelia, that is quite enough,” she said, keeping her voice calm and firm. “You know ladies do not throw themselves on the floor and scream.”
“I’m not a lady! I hate you!”
Sarah gasped.
“Come, Erroll,” Sophy said. “You’ll only make yourself sick.”
“He’s coming back!” Lucie shrieked. “He loves me!”
Marcelline squared her shoulders. She moved to Lucie and scooped the child into her arms, in spite of flailing arms and feet and deafening shrieks. She held Lucie tight against her and rocked her, as though she were still the tiny infant she’d been once.
“Stop it,” Marcelline said. “Stop it, love. You need to be a big girl.”
The kicking and punching stopped, and the screaming softened into weeping. “Why c-can’t we st-stay th-there? Why d-doesn’t he k-keep me?”
Marcelline carried her to the window seat and held her, rocking her and stroking her back. “If everyone who loved you kept you, where would you live?” she said. “Then where should Mama be? Don’t you want to live with Mama and Aunt Sophy and Aunt Leonie? Have you grown too fine for us? Do you want to go away and live in a castle? Is that it? What do you think, Aunt Sophy? Shall we dress Erroll in a princess gown and send her away to live in a castle?”
It was nonsense, most of it, but it quieted Lucie. She tightened her hold of her mother’s neck. “I can live here,” she said. “Why can’t he come?”
“He’s a great man, sweetheart,” Marcelline said. “He has his own family. Very soon he’ll be married and have his own children. You can’t have every handsome gentleman who takes your fancy, you know.”
Erroll quieted. The motion of her eyes told Marcelline the child was thinking. She was only six, and children had difficulties with logic, but the prospect of being a princess might suffice to distract her.
The tempest over, Sarah said, “I’ll tell you what, Miss Erroll. Let’s have our tea with the dolls, then we’ll take a walk in the Green Park. Perhaps we’ll see the Princess Victoria. Do you know who she is, miss? She’s the king’s niece, and one day she’ll be the Queen of England.”
“If you do see her,” Marceline said, “you must take