A Secret Love (Cynster 5)

"Indeed, miss. Do you wish for tea?"

"Please."

The tea arrived but did little to alleviate the feeling of helplessness that dragged at her. Every time she thought she was on the brink of substantiating some solid fact, the proof evaporated. Her hopes would soar, only to be dashed. Meanwhile, the days were passing. The day Crowley would call in his promissory notes was inexorably approaching.

Doom leered at her through Crowley's eyes.

Alathea sighed. Setting aside her empty cup, she flopped back in the armchair and closed her eyes. Perhaps, if she rested just for a few minutes…

"Are you asleep?"

Realizing she had been, Alathea blinked her eyes wide, then smiled-a spontaneous smile of real joy-at Augusta's little face. "Hello, sweetling. Where have you been today?"

Taking the question for the invitation it was, Augusta climbed into Alathea's lap and settled herself so she could see Alathea's face. Wedging Rose between them, she proceeded to distract Alathea with a detailed account of her day. Alathea listened, putting a question here and there, making understanding or sympathetic comments as required.

"So, you see," Augusta concluded, hugging Rose to her chest and snuggling closer, pressing her head to Alathea's breast, "it's been a frightfully busy day."

Alathea chuckled; raising a hand, she smoothed Augusta's hair. Small arms, small body tucked close to her side, she felt a warm, emotional tug; Augusta was the daughter she wished she could have had. She banished the thought immediately; she was obviously overtired. Too much investigating.

Too many meetings.

Then Augusta wriggled and sat up. "Hmm-mmm." She sniffed at Alathea's throat. "You smell extra nice today."

Alathea's answering smile froze on her face as she realized the significance of Augusta's remark.

She was wearing the countess's scent.

Good God! She closed her eyes. What would have happened if she'd run into Gabriel? She'd been in the city and, earlier, not far from St. James, his habitual haunts.

Drawing in a breath, she opened her eyes. "Come along, poppet. I need to go upstairs and wash before dinner." Before anyone else noticed she was not quite the same woman she had been.

Two evenings later, Alathea was sitting with Jeremy in the schoolroom, Augusta in her lap, a detailed atlas from Hookhams open on the table, when the little tweeny appeared, breathless, at the door.

"If you please, Lady Alathea," she piped, "but it's time for you to get dressed, m'lady."

Noting the way the little maid was wringing her hands and at a loss to account for it, Alathea looked at the mantel clock.

Then she understood the agitation.

"Indeed." Lifting Augusta and settling her on the seat with a fond kiss, Alathea met Jeremy's eyes. "We'll continue this tomorrow."

Only too glad to escape the shackles of African geography, Jeremy grinned and turned to Augusta. "Come on, Gussie. We can play catch before dinner."

"I'm not Gussie." The tone of Augusta's objection boded ill for the peace of the evening.

"Jeremy…" From the door, Alathea fixed him with a matriarchal eye.

"Oh, very well. Augusta then. Anyway, do you want to play or not?"

Leaving them in reasonable harmony, Alathea hurried to her room. By the time she reached it, she was even more agitated than the tweeny. They were to dine with the Arbuthnots, then attend the ball their old friends were giving to formally introduce their granddaughter to the ton. It was a major function; all the senior hostesses would be there. Being late for such a dinner without some cataclysmic excuse would sink one beyond reproach.

But the tweeny, who had thus far only helped her get ready for balls without dinners preceeding them, had not realized the earlier hour involved. Not until she'd noticed Serena, Mary, and Alice were all busy dressing.

Oh, God! Alathea stilled the panic that gripped her as her gaze swept her room and found no evidence of any chemise or stockings, let alone her gown, gloves, reticule… Nellie always had everything ready, but with the tweeny she had to specify every item.

For one instant, Alathea considered developing a horrendous headache, but that would leave old Lady Arbuthnot with an odd number about her table. Stifling a sigh, she waved the maid forward. "Quickly. Help me with these laces." At least her hot water was ready and waiting.

As she stripped off her gown and quickly washed, she issued a steady stream of orders for all the items she required to appear presentable. From the corner of her eye, she kept watch on the little maid, making sure each item was correct before asking for the next.