Beloved (24 page)

Ella considered. She might merely be wishing, but she had a strong feeling that when Great-Grandmama spoke of persuading a
man that he was the “right” man, there would seem to be a definite possibility that she referred to Saber.

The envelope in her hand bore only her name—in a spidery hand. She extracted the paper inside.

“Ella?” Papa persisted.

She glanced up. “Do you think I should stay?”

“Yes,” he told her. “And so does your mama.”

“I do,” Mama agreed. “And we should not keep Miss Able waiting indefinitely.”

“Show her up,” Great-Grandmama told the butler. “If you don’t need me, Ella, I think I shall retire until dinner. And you
should busy yourself preparing to leave, Justine.”

“Roses have been delivered,” Finch said. “Red and cream and yellow. And lilies. And a box wrapped in silver cloth. In the
dining room. All for Miss Ella. I’ll show Miss Able up.” With silent, measured steps, he departed.

“Tell me you will make this a happy time,” Mama asked Ella.

Ella felt Great-Grandmama’s gaze and met her eyes. “I shall do very well with Great-Grandmama,” she said, noting how the old
lady’s shoulders relaxed a little. “I should be upset if I thought I had kept you from my little brother and sister when they
need you so.”

“That’s that, then!” Papa smiled hugely. “Let’s leave Ella to her visitor. Isn’t this the girl who’s engaged to old Wokingham?”

“Yes,” Ella and Mama said in unison.

Mama laughed. “I believe I shall come with you at once, Struan.”

Great-Grandmama went through the adjoining door to her bedchamber and Mama and Papa left the room, passing Precious Able as
she came in.

Awash in a froth of flounced, lavender gros de Naples with a profusion of silk violets beneath her bonnet brim, Precious bobbed
and lowered her eyes demurely. The instant she was alone with Ella, she closed the door and rushed forward, arms outstretched,
as if to meet an old and treasured friend. “I told that creepy old butler he needn’t come up with me,” she said breathlessly.
“I said we knew each other really well and didn’t need him. Did I act precipitately?”

Ella evaded Precious’s embrace by turning and indicating a chair. “This is a surprise,” she said, also evading the girl’s
question. “Sit down. I’ll ring for some refreshment.” What could they possibly talk about? Why would Precious Able come at
all?

Precious plopped down, fluffing her skirts around her and settling a little velvet reticule on her lap. “No refreshments for
me, please. I simply couldn’t eat a thing. I am beside myself, Ella. Beside myself. I searched my mind for someone to turn
to—for a friend—and found none. But then I thought of you and I remembered how kind you were to me at the Eagle-tons’.”

Kind?
Ella remembered little kindness in their exchange. “Are you sure you wouldn’t care for some coffee? Or chocolate?”

“Absolutely not.” Precious splayed a hand on her ample bosom and fluttered her red lashes toward the gold and cream plastered
ceiling. “I could not force a single thing down my throat. I am in such a fuss, Ella. I’ve come to you because I sensed you
have a good heart and that—although we do not know each other well—you may consider being a friend to someone who is alone
and very troubled.”

“Surely—” Ella broke off, torn between compassion and suspicion. “Surely your mama and papa—”

“No!” Precious spread her arms and lay back in the chair. A tear coursed each cheek from wide-open eyes. “You do not understand.
No one does. Not even my dearest Woky.”

“I see.” Ella didn’t see at all. “Is this Woky—?”

“Lord Wokingham. My intended. He is the very best of men. His extreme concern for my well-being—and my reputation, of course—may
even be partly to blame for the agony of loneliness to which I am doomed.”

“Agony of loneliness?”

“Absolutely,” Precious said. “Ella, you are so beautiful. And green does become you so. What a perfectly lovely dress.”

“Thank you.” Ella blinked at the change of topic. “Please don’t cry.” She produced a lace-edged handkerchief and took it to
Precious.

“Would you be my friend?” The girl leaned forward. “Would you?”

Refusing friendship was outside Ella’s experience. “Why don’t you explain what has happened?”

“Mama and Papa had to return to Lancashire.” The velvet reticule claimed the attention of Precious’s plump fingers. “You see,
we are not particularly well off. I wouldn’t mention such a vulgar thing, but I feel a generosity in you. You are not a person
who judges others on the basis of their wealth—or lack of it.”

“No.” Ella understood a kind of desperate poverty Precious could not be expected to as much as imagine.

“I am entrusted to my fianc#8217;s care.” Precious clutched the reticule. “I am lodged in his house until our wedding.”

Uncertain as to what her reaction should be, Ella said nothing.

“My companion is a boring woman provided by Woky. Agatha. A drab elderly maid who never speaks a word, except to chastise
me.”

“Surely you could speak to your fianc#8212;”

“I could
not,
” Precious said, the picture of misery. “He is so good. And so kind. I cannot bring myself to complain about a single thing
he does for me. He is providing for my every comfort. He spares no expense.”

“But you are not happy.”

“No.” Precious’s high voice soared even higher. “Woky is so concerned with propriety that he does not even allow himself to
see me—except for brief moments with wretched Agatha in attendance.”

Ella murmured sympathetically. “He
never
speaks to me other than in polite platitudes.” Warming a little to the other’s sadness, Ella pulled a chair close to Precious’s
and sat down. “Evidently Lord Wokingham is determined to treat you with the utmost respect.” Even thinking about the Wokinghams
turned Ella’s stomach, but she kept all hint of revulsion from her face. “Once you are married it will be different.” What
a perfectly dreadful thought.

“But I should like to know him a little first,” Precious wailed. More tears erupted from her eyes. “And I am so lo-lo-lonely.”

“Pomeroy doesn’t talk to you?” Ella managed not to grit her teeth.

“He’s angry.” The red lashes flickered downward. “He wanted me himself, but Woky would not have it.”

“And you’re glad?” Ella asked softly. “Glad because you want to marry Lord Wokingham.”

“Oooh!” Doubling over, Precious sobbed loudly. Her back heaved and her hands pawed at her voluminous skirts. “Oooh, what shall
I do?”

Horrified, and moved, Ella caught Precious’s hands and smoothed their backs. “Hush,” she said firmly. “Hush, Precious. Tell
me what I can do to help you. I will if I can, you know.” The poor creature was undoubtedly the victim of her parents’ willingness
to abandon her to strangers. Ella was too familiar with the tearing hurt of being tossed aside as if one had no worth.

Gradually, the sobbing subsided. Precious sniffed and raised her head. Large, wet smudges marred her lavender skirts. She
clutched Ella’s hands as if to hang on to life itself.

“That’s better,” Ella told her, smiling reassurance. “You aren’t alone anymore.”

“Th-thank you,” Precious said, and her face crumpled again. “You are so k-kind.”

“Let’s be sensible.” This showed signs of being an even more trying day than had already proved to be the case. “You are to
marry Lord Wokingham and this makes you happy. We must concentrate on that and find ways to help you deal with any loneliness.”

“You don’t understand.” Precious made strangled sounds. “Can I tr-trust you, Ella? Am I right to assume you are good and true
and would never divulge a confidence?”

“I am not a gossip,” Ella said shortly. “I find no pleasure in the unhappiness of others.”

“Oooh,” Precious whimpered, squeezing her eyes shut and crying afresh. “I think you will make what I must do bearable. I am
so grateful to you. I don’t want to marry Woky. He’s good to me, but he’s old—and h-he drools a little.”

Ella’s stomach made an entire revolution. She swallowed. “Then why are you marrying him?”

“I must. I must do what my parents tell me to do. I must marry for money and position, and my prospects have seemed poor because
we have so little wealth of our own. Mama and Papa say Woky is an answer to our prayers—a dream come true.”

The stuff of nightmares rather than any dream Ella could imagine. “You should not do this thing if it is so distasteful to
you.”

“There is no choice. I am committed and I will do it.” Shifting forward on her chair, Precious blinked against moisture on
her lashes. “And it will be all right, I know it will. It will be now that I have your friendship. I so needed someone honorable
to trust, and I found you! This must seem strange, my coming to you like this. But I believe in divine providence, don’t you?
I believe I was guided to come to you and that it was exactly the thing to do. You are the sweetest, most generous person
I’ve ever known. With you as my helper and friend, I can bear the weeks to come.”

Perhaps, if she was more concerned for another’s happiness than for her own, she would be more able to bear the pain of Saber’s
rejection. “You may come here whenever you please,” Ella said, smiling, and patting Precious’s hands. “But I do believe you
should contact your parents and explain your true feelings for Lord Wokingham.”

“I cannot.” Precious shook her head until her red curls bounced. “This much I can do for them. They have been so good and
generous to me. They sacrificed everything to give me this Season. I am fortunate that a man of Woky’s standing noticed me
at all. I am resolute, Ella. He has honored me with this offer of marriage, and I shall honor him. I shall be a faithful,
obedient wife. He will be proud of me.”

How awful.

“And I shall manage well enough if you will attend me.”

“Attend you?” Ella frowned inquiringly.

Precious clung to her. “My parents cannot be in London for the wedding. I shall have no one—no one but you. Will you attend
me? Will you help me prepare and be with me during the ceremony? It is to be private—performed at Lord Wokingham’s mansion
here in London.”

“Ah.” What could she say? How could she refuse—despite her loathing at the prospect of being in the Wokinghams’ home?

“You will come, then? You will help me prepare and stand with me for the ceremony?”

Ella regarded the other’s anxious face and said, “Yes, of course I will.”

“D
o you remember Lushbottam’s?”MMNMMMM

Sickened, Ella stared at the words on the single sheet of heavy notepaper and sank slowly into the chair Precious had vacated
minutes earlier.

From below came the hollow boom of the front door closing behind the departing visitor.

Ella settled shaking fingertips on her mouth and tried to breathe deeply enough to calm herself.

“An exotic girl in red chiffon. Transparent red chiffon. A virgin for auction, Mrs. Lushbottam said. We both know that was
fabrication, don’t we, my dear one?”

“Who are you?” Ella said aloud, barely able to breathe at all now. First strategically dropped scraps of red chiffon, now
this dreadful note. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“No virgin you, exotic girl. Just one more of Mrs. Lushbottam’s ‘lady tailors’ who were skilled in accommodating any size
or shape of gentleman. Such a clever notion. Did you have fun in that house of debauchery? Did you revel in the acts you performed
there?”

She had performed no acts. A victim. A helpless victim paraded before the eyes of cruel men and women who stared at her body
and made lewd comments. Even the nature of what those acts might be was not clear to her. She had been blindfolded most of
the time. The women, the
tailors
had spoken of certain things, but Ella had not understood.

“Do you think everyone has forgotten what you were? What you are? Impossible. Your breasts are pointed, the tips sharp and
uptilted. The hair between your legs is as black as the hair on your head. An invitation. But you know that, of course. A
neat conspiracy. “Virgin!” And now you hope to trick some upright man into marrying you. You think to evade your past.”

Ella surged to her feet. She must get away from here. This evil person could shame not only her, but her dear family.
Max.
Max must never be touched by this. If he were to as much as get a hint of this subversive attack upon his sister, he would
be almost impossible to restrain. He’d try to search out the culprit and deal with him.

Saber, Saber.

If only she could just feel his warm arms about her, look into his serious eyes and know he would be there to help her be
strong.

She would not cry. There was no time for tears, and tears would not heal this oozing wound of horror.

“Well, lady tailor, you must wait for my next communication. Fear not, I am not ready to send you back to threading needles.
Not yet. Perhaps never, if you do as you are told.”

This mad person intended to control and manipulate her. For what purpose?