Mistress of Scandal (Greentree Sisters 3)

“She’s worn down to nothing over this business with Mrs. Slater and that bastard who kidnapped her daughters.” His eyes widened. “Does that mean he planned this, too?”

“I’ll find out.” Sebastian hesitated. “Do you want me to fetch Francesca?”

“Yes. She’ll like that. It’ll comfort her to see her daughter. Francesca’s the one she worries about the most.” His eyes gleamed as he looked up, tears mingling with rage. “What are we going to do about…?”

“Say nothing just yet. Give me time to plan. Then we’ll close the trap.”

Chapter 20

Lil’s elfin face was so serious. As soon as Francesca saw her standing at the door, she knew there was something very wrong.

“Miss, I have bad news. Your mother…Madame Aphrodite, she is very unwell.”

Francesca heard herself say, “Unwell?” but she didn’t believe it. Was her mother playing at illness to bring her running? But no, that was the way of an emotionally unstable woman—the woman she used to think of as Aphrodite. Not the real Aphrodite, the woman with the ink-stained fingers and tired eyes. “What do you mean, unwell?”

“They’re saying she has the cholera, miss, and they’re blaming Rosie for it, saying she brought it into the house. But it’s not true. Rosie’s not sick. There’s nothing wrong with her.”

Francesca tried to comprehend what Lil was saying, but it wouldn’t seem to sink in. She felt numb.

“She’s very bad, miss,” Lil went on gently. “You need to come.”

“Do you mean she’s dying…?” Her voice rose on the last word, incredulous, disbelieving. Aphrodite couldn’t die! She was indestructible. And besides, there was so much more to be said between them…

“Miss?” Lil had taken her arm, and Francesca understood that the maid was seriously alarmed by her behavior. She must pull herself together. She must be strong.

“I’m all right, Lil. Just let me get my cloak and we will go. We will take Uncle William’s carriage. Ask for it to be sent around to the door.”

Lil, who seemed to be glad to have something to do, hurried off to carry out her orders. Francesca stood a moment in her room, aware that she needed to fetch her cloak and gloves, but strangely unable to move. Some of Lil’s words echoed in her mind. Cholera. Rosie. If that were true, then

Francesca knew she was to blame for this. She had taken Rosie to her mother and asked her to hide her. She had brought danger into Aphrodite’s life in the form of Mallory Street, and now this.

I will never forgive myself.

Halfway down the stairs Francesca heard Mrs. March, her voice raised. When she reached the hall she found the housekeeper and Lil toe to toe, glaring at each other.

“Miss wants the carriage. Now.”

“The carriage is not hers to order. This is Mr. Tremaine’s house.”

“Are you sure it’s not yours?” Lil sneered. “You treat it like it was. You’re not the lady of the house here. You’re nothing but a servant, just like the rest of us.”

Mrs. March lifted a hand, and for one awful moment Francesca thought she meant to slap Lil across the face. Shocked, Francesca cried out, and both women’s heads swiveled around. Lil looked relieved to see her, but Mrs. March’s eyes glittered wildly.

“Mrs. March.” Francesca spoke clearly and calmly as she came forward, reaching out to take Lil’s arm and draw her closer. “I want the carriage brought around to the door. My mother is very unwell and I need to go to her, urgently.”

“Your mother?” Mrs. March repeated, face full of disbelief. “As far as I know, miss, your mother is upstairs, tucked up in her bed. I think you are up to something. Some mischief or other. Another guttersnipe to rescue, perhaps?”

Francesca didn’t believe for a moment that the housekeeper believed what she was saying. This was another of her ways of showing them she was the mistress of this house, in her own mind anyway. But Francesca was in no mood, and had no time, to talk her around to a more amenable frame of mind.

“Mrs. March, you are making yourself look ridiculous. Do as I ask. Immediately.”

Mrs. March’s eyes gleamed with malice. She was enjoying this, and was not about to give up the game without a fight. “I will not do as you ask! You have overstepped your authority, Miss Francesca. I’m going to fetch Mr. Tremaine; he needs to know about this. He’ll soon put a stop to your—”

“Mrs. March, my uncle is asleep. I insist that you—”

“No, I’m not.”

The voice was Uncle William’s, and it was coming from behind them. Her heart jumping, Francesca turned toward him. Were there any more shocks to be had this evening? Her uncle was standing at the library door, a glass of brandy in one hand and a book in the other. His austerely handsome face was lined with weariness, but his gaze was as steely as ever.