The forced smile on Helena’s lips faltered as she turned to greet Miss Drummond, whose bored expression gave Helena a flutter of hope that her henna-dyed hair obscured her true identity just enough that Miss Drummond didn’t recognize her brother’s missing fiancée.
“This,”—Miss Venning, pointing at Helena’s light pink sarsnet sleeve—“is the material I was searching for yesterday. I adore how the gown changes color as she moves.”
Miss Drummond’s nose wrinkled. “The hue wouldn’t compliment you as well as it does Miss Rowe. Slate was a fine choice.”
Helena’s gaze landed on Miss Drummond, studying her face for any indication that her lack of recognition was feigned, but Miss Drummonds’ green eyes, which flicked to Helena for confirmation of the observation, remained cordial.
“I agree with your cousin,” Helena said, bobbing her head.
She couldn’t quite bring herself to speak Miss Drummond’s name aloud.
Miss Venning beamed. “You’re both so kind. I do hope you remember that affinity while you’re attempting to lighten my reticle.”
“I do not promise mercy,” Miss Drummond said, adding a soft chuckle that sent a shudder slithering down Helena’s spine.
Despite the congenial tone, a sinister undercurrent flowed through Miss Drummond’s comment, and… Wait a moment, did she just wink?
Chest constricting, Helena indicated the parlor with a trembling hand. “Please enjoy some refreshments before the games begin.”
“I know so few ladies who reside in Wiltshire,” Miss Drummond said as her cousin turned toward the doorway, “I do hope we’re seated together for the whole of this evening. I’d love to speak more with you, Miss Rowe.”
If it cost her every possession she owned, Helena would ensure that did not happen.
She forced her lips into a—hopefully—sympathetic smile. “Miss Webb felt it best to change seats every hour to allow each lady a chance to converse with those outside their usual circles. The table assignments were selected at random.”
That was before Helena learned she’d be spending the evening playing cards with her jilted fiancé’s younger sister, who was decidedly not a supporter of Eveline Braddock or her family… Especially after Helena vanished in the middle of the night, leaving no trace of herself or the valuable family ring.
Miss Venning placed a comforting hand on Miss Drummond’s arm. “I’m certain all the ladies attending this evening possess personalities similar to Miss Rowe, and therefore, any table we play at will be a delightful experience.”
“Of course.” Acquiescing with her cousin, Miss Drummond nodded. “It wasn’t my intention to disparage any lady. I was merely hoping to nurture this new connection.”
“Perhaps Miss Rowe would join us for tea later this week,” Miss Venning said, ushering Miss Drummond toward the parlor as a knock sounded on the outer door.
“An excellent suggestion,” Miss Drummond replied, glancing over her shoulder and locking eyes with Helena. “I’ll send an invitation.”
The words themselves were not a threat, but something about Miss Drummond’s tone caused Helena’s heart to stutter, and she took an involuntary step backward.
Thankfully, the first table Helena sat down at contained Miss Venning, Miss Isabel Philbert, and Miss Creasey, whom one could argue was not a nicer substitute for Miss Drummond, but at least Helena didn’t need to worry about accidentally revealing her identity during the gossiping conversation that accompanied each round of cards.
And with the ladies occupied by the latest rumors, Helena used the distraction to deal herself the best hands.
Earning one hundred pounds before midnight seemed entirely probable.
Lifting her cards, Miss Creasey tilted her head to the left, indicating the table nearest them. “Your cousin is quite striking, Miss Venning. I’m surprised she’s unattached.”
“Sadly, that is the reason Miss Drummond came to stay with us,” Miss Venning said, then drained her cup of punch and exhaled a heavy sigh as she set down the glass. “My cousin has been quite unlucky holding onto her fiancés. Her mother hoped Wiltshire would offer better opportunities.”
“Fiancés?” Miss Creasey arched her eyebrows. “How many has she lost?”
“Three,” Miss Venning said, tossing three coins into the center of the table.
“Is that your wager or your answer?” Miss Creasey’s eyes flicked between the money and Miss Venning.
A mysterious smile crossed Miss Venning’s face. “Only Miss Drummond can confirm the truth.”
“I can’t ask your cousin about her failed engagements,” Miss Creasey muttered as she added her coins to the stack.
“You could,” Miss Philbert said, setting her cards face down and placing her money in the center of the table. “However, it would be incredibly offensive, and I’m quite certain Miss Venning would be obligated to disinvite you from her ball.”
