Beguiled. Shannon Drake

      Him? she thought. They’re marrying me off to Lord Farrow?

      Luckily, she realized that Lord Farrow intended to speak. He held her hand, turning her to face the crowd. “I am delighted to come here tonight, to stand in for my son, Mark, who is not able to be here. This is an event long planned by Lord Stirling and myself. Tonight, we announce the engagement of my son, Mark, to Miss Alexandra Grayson.”

      The round of applause that rose was thunderous.

      But no louder than the pounding of Ally’s heart.

      She felt as if she had been struck by a train.

      Engaged? And not to a man who could easily be her father, but to a man who could not even be bothered to attend his own engagement party!

      Of course, it did not matter who the man was. It was…archaic. She had her own plans, dreams, aspirations. She had already set those plans into motion….

      She was numb. Barely aware that her godparents were hugging her, kissing her cheek.

      Barely aware that Lord Farrow had taken a ring from his pocket, that somehow it fit her finger perfectly. Suddenly there was a diamond flashing brilliantly on her hand.

      “And,” Camille announced loudly over the flurry in the room, “here is our first gift to the newly engaged couple. My goddaughter sings like an angel, and her fingers are pure magic on the keyboard, so…”

      Shelby and several of the servants rolled in a glorious piano.

      Ally’s mouth moved; she tried to thank Camille.

      “There is no woman in all of England who looks so lovely in a gown,” Maggie announced next. “Lord Jamie and I have arranged a trousseau.”

      Ally blinked as Molly, smiling broadly, came in bearing an array of stunning materials. Again, the room filled with applause, and Ally found herself hugging Jamie and Maggie, all the while feeling like the worst hypocrite in the world.

      It was Kat’s turn to speak. She walked forward, eyes dancing. “Hunter and I—”

      A horrendous scream cut across her words.

      The whole room seemed to freeze.

      Another scream, followed by an unintelligible spatter of hysterical words, echoed from the entry hall.

      “Excuse me,” Brian murmured, starting in the direction of the uproar.

      As a body, the guests followed.

      Ally, still stunned, found herself swept along in the sea of people.

      In the entry, Shelby was trying to hold and calm a woman. She appeared to be perhaps forty and was dressed totally in black. Her hair was silver-gray, and her eyes seemed to be a matching color, burning with insanity.

      “He’s dead!” she screeched. And, with madness lending her strength, she broke free from Shelby.

      Brian lifted a hand, telling Shelby it was all right, to let the woman be.

      “Eleanor,” he said softly, reaching out to her.

      She looked at him; then her eyes narrowed and she let out another terrible scream. Her black mourning attire sailing around her, she spun, looking at the gathered crowd. “He’s dead! And you, all of you, supporting the queen. Damn you! You will kill and kill again for your own aims. He is dead. My husband is dead. Giles Brandon, worth dozens of the likes of you. He is dead!”

      “Eleanor,” Brian said again, but when Shelby would have moved, he silently shook his head, once more allowing the woman her moment of pain and fury.

      Again she spun, as if looking for someone in particular.

      Ally was startled when the woman’s wild eyes suddenly settled upon her and she stretched out a bony, black-clad arm. “You!” she shrieked. “You would-be child of the elite. Curse you! May you die a thousand deaths. So this is your birthday? And you are newly betrothed? Then again I say, curse you! May you die a wretched death before your wedding day ever falls.”