The Masquerade (9 page)

“She has never liked me,” Anna moaned. “And I have always known it!”

Lizzie looked at Anna in some surprise. “Of course she likes you. Come, you must not think the worst, not yet,” she said, taking Anna’s hand.

“At least we have a few pounds—enough for a room if we need to let one,” Anna cried.

“It will not come to that,” Lizzie said firmly, refusing to think otherwise. Eleanor would not be pleased to see them, but beyond that, she could not fathom what would happen—except that she was fiercely determined to convince Eleanor to allow them to stay. “I see a hackney! Wait here,” she cried, rushing down the pier.

The cabdriver was only too happy to accept their fare and he cheerfully loaded up their trunks. Within moments, they were upon Merrion Square, home to the most fashionable of Dublin’s residents. Lizzie and Anna held hands as their coach halted before Eleanor’s home, a huge limestone mansion on the north side of the park. Corinthian columns graced the wide entrance, above which was a towering temple pediment. The house was four stories with several terraces and balconies overlooking the square. The park itself was filled with manicured lawns, blooming gardens and a maze of pebbled paths, but Lizzie did not see any of it. She stared up at the house, consumed with fear and dread.

“Ladies? I got your bags down for you,” the cabdriver said from the sidewalk where he stood.

Lizzie realized he had opened the coach door. She stepped down with his help, Anna following, and quickly handed him the fare they had agreed upon. As the
hackney drove off, she and Anna simply stared at each other in real dismay.

Lizzie bit her lip. “Well, this is it, then. Smile, Anna, as if nothing is wrong, as if we are here on a tour of the city and merely calling on a beloved aunt.”

Anna voiced Lizzie’s very own thoughts when she whispered with some desperation, “But what if she does not even allow us inside?”

“She will have to,” Lizzie said briskly, “as I refuse to take no for an answer.”

“You have become so brave,” Anna said, looking ready to cry.

Lizzie took Anna’s hand, hoping to be reassuring, although she was as afraid as her sister. “You look as frightened as a Frenchman on his way to the guillotine,” she said. “And that will not do.”

Anna nodded, appearing miserable.

The trunks on the street, the two sisters walked up the high front steps, past a pair of imposing, life-size lion statues, and across the portico to the front door where a liveried doorman stood. He nodded at them and opened the carved oak door. Lizzie realized she still held Anna’s hand, a sure sign of her own state of anxiety, and she released it as they stepped into a circular foyer with black-and-white marble floors and a huge gold-and-crystal chandelier. A curving staircase faced them. A servant appeared and Lizzie handed him a calling card. “Good day, Leclerc,” Lizzie said with a slight smile. “Please tell our aunt that we are here.” And even as she spoke, she could hear the high, rather strident tones of her aunt speaking in a nearby salon, and the warm laughter of a gentleman, as well.

“Certainly, mademoiselle,” the butler said, bowing as he left.

“Aunt Eleanor has callers,” Anna whispered nervously.

“Then she will have to mind her manners,” Lizzie returned, knowing that Eleanor never minded her manners. She was so wealthy that she could say and do anything that she pleased. The fact that she had never named an heir had hardly hurt her, either. Such an odd choice entertained society to no end.

Eleanor’s voice rose in sharp protest, breaking their silence. “I do say…
What?
My nieces are here? My nieces are
here?
Which nieces, Leclerc?”

Lizzie and Anna exchanged worried glances.

“I have not invited any relations,” Eleanor cried. “Send them away! Send them away this instant!”

Lizzie gasped in abject disbelief. She would not even see them? But moments later, she heard her aunt’s heels clicking on the floors as she approached, and Eleanor appeared through one of the arched entryways in the foyer, her expression filled with anger and disbelief. Lizzie’s heart sank, but she quickly rearranged her own expression, hoping to make it a pleasant one. Then she realized that a tall, darkly blond gentleman was with her.

Eleanor entered the foyer with the tawny-haired gentleman. “What is this display?” she demanded.

Lizzie stepped bravely forward and curtsied, aware that she was trembling. “Good day, Aunt Eleanor. We have come to town for a spring tour and Mama asked us to call on you. We hope you are well?”

“Well? A spring tour? What nonsense is this?” Eleanor snapped, now flushed with her anger but still clearly taken aback. She was a very small, slender woman with iron-gray curls and brilliant blue eyes. She wore an exquisite black velvet dress with an equally exquisite diamond necklace. Eleanor had never come out of
mourning for her husband, Lord de Barry, although he had died a decade ago.

Before Lizzie could respond, the gentleman stepped forward, taking Eleanor’s arm firmly in his own. He was in his twenties, a very handsome man with a twinkle in his eyes, and Lizzie would have thought him a rogue, except he wore the plainest of clothes—a dark blue jacket and tan trousers. “My dear Eleanor,” he said, sounding very amused, “is this any way to greet relatives who dare to call upon you?”

Eleanor gave him a rude glance. “I have not asked for your opinion, Rory, although, I know you shall give it.”

Rory grinned and dimpled as he did so. “Perhaps the ladies have traveled some distance?” He glanced at the sisters, his gaze lingering on Anna, who looked ready to collapse or weep. Then he looked carefully at Lizzie, his gaze oddly sharp, even searching. But his tone remained light. “I know there is a generous spirit within you, auntie,” he added in chiding reprimand.

Lizzie had not a clue as to who this relation was.

But Eleanor sighed. “Yes, they have indeed traveled some distance. My nieces hail from
Limerick.
” She said the word as if it were offensive. Then she glared at them. “Come fortune-hunting, have you? I have not summoned you!”

Lizzie said firmly, “We are very well, thank you kindly, Aunt Eleanor, although as you can see, Anna is somewhat taxed from our journey.”

Eleanor harrumphed.

Rory glanced at Lizzie briefly and then at Anna again, his eyes impossible to read, before turning back to his aunt. Mildly, he murmured, “And will you not introduce me to such fair beauty?”

Eleanor snorted, then glared at Anna. “Fair beauty?
Well, she used to be a beauty, but one would not know it today. Rory, these are the Fitzgerald sisters, Elizabeth and Annabelle, my brother Gerald’s girls.” She turned to Lizzie and her sister. “This scoundrel is my nephew, his dear departed mother was Lord de Barry’s sister.”

Rory swept them a laughing bow. “Rory McBane, at your service,” he said with extreme gallantry.

“Pay him no real mind, as he is an incorrigible rake,” Eleanor snapped. But Lizzie had already decided that, in spite of his modest manner of dress, he was indeed a ladies’ man.

Anna suddenly made a small sound and reached for Lizzie’s hand. At that moment, she began to collapse, her knees clearly giving way. Rory McBane leapt forward, and as Anna crumpled to the floor in a swoon, he lifted her into his arms. No longer smiling, he said tersely, “Come, Eleanor, your niece is ill.” And he strode with his burden quite familiarly through the house.

Lizzie rushed after him in real fear, Eleanor on their heels. “She has a weak constitution,” Lizzie claimed to his back, terrified now that Anna was ill. She knew the strain of their deception was becoming too much for her sister. “The journey was a difficult one for someone as frail as she is.”

Rory led them into an opulent salon of medium size, placing Anna on a sofa. “Leclerc,” he ordered. “Bring me salts!”

Lizzie knelt beside him, taking Anna’s hand. Rory looked up at her. “Does she often swoon?”

She hesitated, meeting his gaze, which was as green as an Irish spring day. “Sometimes,” she said, adding another lie to the existing pile of them.

Lizzie was watching him carefully, and she saw his gaze narrow in suspicion. She sensed he was clever and
astute, and she feared he was suspicious of them. “She hasn’t felt well for several days,” Lizzie said quickly, telling herself that he could not possibly suspect the truth. Anna was plump now, as she was five months into her pregnancy, but her gowns were high-waisted. All had been let secretly out, and they continued to conceal her slightly bulging tummy. Of course, in another month or so, she would be very obviously pregnant. Lizzie continued to grip Anna’s hand, hoping she would wake up.

Rory stared searchingly at her for a moment and then said, “Eleanor, you should summon your physician.”

“No!” Lizzie cried, and she quickly smiled at him. “It is just a slight flu, really,” she told him. “Anna will be fine.”

Rory was clearly skeptical, and Lizzie waited in some dread. At that moment Leclerc entered, handing Rory the salts.

“Thank you,” Rory said, placing them directly against Anna’s nose.

Instantly she coughed, her eyes fluttering open.

He waved the salts there another time. As Anna coughed again, now wide-awake, he slowly stood. Lizzie rushed to take his place and sit at Anna’s hip. Still gripping her hand, she met her sister’s gaze. “You have merely fainted,” she said softly.

“I’m sorry,” Anna managed to say.

“It’s all right.” Lizzie stroked her brow. Finally, she became aware of her aunt.

Eleanor stood beside Rory, her face a mask of pure displeasure. She said, “Well? Is the crisis over?”

Anna struggled to sit up. “I am so sorry, Aunt Eleanor,” she breathed. “Please forgive me.” The color was returning to her cheeks.

“It is not your fault,” Lizzie said softly. She felt Rory’s gaze and saw him staring far too closely at Anna. Lizzie
hoped he was admiring her beauty, and not trying to discover their secrets.

Slowly Lizzie stood and faced their aunt. “I am sorry to intrude this way,” she said with vast dignity. It was hard to be brave, but there was simply no choice. “Mama insisted we come. We knew it would displease you, but we cannot disobey our mother. Now, as you can see, Anna is not well. Please, let us stay—just for a while.”

Eleanor’s eyes seemed black. “I thought so! There was no spring tour of Dublin! No one tours this city anymore! There was only a deceitful scheme on the part of your mother! I knew it.”

Rory took her arm as firmly as he had done earlier. “Auntie, your niece needs rest. Clearly she is not well and I know you will not turn her away.”

“Lydia Fitzgerald has dared to foist two of her three daughters on me!” Eleanor cried in outrage.

“And is that so terrible, really?” Rory asked her softly. He smiled charmingly at her. “Is it not a boon to have such feminine beauty in your home?”

“Maybe for you,” Eleanor snorted. “Are you taken with one of them? Elizabeth needs a husband,” she said.

Lizzie winced, feeling herself blush. Anna suddenly spoke, struggling to her feet as she did so. Rory dashed to her side to help her. “Aunt Eleanor?”

“Do not get up,” Rory exclaimed, chiding in his tone.

“I am fine,” Anna said, smiling at him. She turned her anxious gaze on Eleanor, and she became pleading. “Perhaps we can be of some help to you. I play the piano and sing, Lizzie loves to read aloud and she is a fine cook. No one bakes a better pie. We won’t be a burden, really—we will be a help. Perhaps you will enjoy our companionship. Oh, please, do let us stay!”

“I do bake a wonderful pie,” Lizzie said with a quick
smile. “We would love to be companions to you, if you will but let us.”

“I have this scalawag as a companion,” Eleanor said tartly. “He never leaves me alone!”

Rory said gently, “You would benefit from such female companionship. It is long overdue and I cannot attend you as much as I would like to. You know I am off to Wicklowe in a few days.”

Lizzie was certain he meant Wicklow county and
not
the earl of Adare’s mansion in the Pale.

Eleanor faced him. “You are the one who thinks to benefit here, I can see that, you handsome rogue. And those affairs of yours shall only land you in the King’s tower!”

Rory raised his brows in mock exasperation. “Do not worry about me, Auntie,” he said. “May I remind you I must go to London soon? I will not be back until midsummer. And then what will you do? I do not wish you to be lonely, Auntie,” he cajoled. Then he grinned. “And I confess I should not mind such pleasant company when I call.” His gaze wandered away from his aunt. Lizzie was surprised when he winked at her.

Eleanor grunted. “You are off and about half of the time. I shall do as I always do—hie myself off to Glen Barry in Wicklow.” But she was clearly falling under his very charming spell.

Rory left Anna and took both of his aunt’s hands. “Do let them stay,” he murmured.

Lizzie had never seen such an open display of gentle persuasion.

Eleanor’s expression broke, softening. “We shall see.” She glared at Lizzie and Anna. “You may spend the night.” With that, she turned on her heel, striding quite briskly from the room.

Rory folded his arms over his broad chest and turned to face the sisters. There was no laughter in his eyes. Lizzie was afraid of whatever he was thinking. Very stiffly, she said, “Thank you, sir.”

His lashes lowered, hiding whatever speculation he might be entertaining, and he bowed. “I hope your sister feels better soon.” Without another glance, he left the room.

Lizzie’s knees instantly gave way. In utter relief, she collapsed on the sofa beside Anna, who wiped at the tears that she now let fall. “Oh, God,” Anna whispered. “She is a witch, a terrible witch! That was even worse than I imagined it would be!”

Lizzie took Anna’s hand. “It is very fortunate that you fainted.” She hesitated and added, “Well, I am afraid we owe Mr. McBane.”

Anna inhaled. “Yes, it seems that we do.”

T
he next day, Lizzie sat with Anna in the family salon, an unopened book on her lap. Anna held a piece of embroidery, but she had yet to make a single stitch, just as Lizzie had yet to read a single word. Yesterday they had wisely decided to retire to their rooms—they had each been given a separate bedroom—and Eleanor had not asked them down to dine. They knew she did not leave her rooms until eleven, so they had spent the morning in careful preparation for their next fateful encounter. It was eleven now.

Lizzie’s head was aching. She rubbed her temples, aware of the beautiful spring day outside the house, and wished she were able to enjoy it. From the windows in the salon, she could see a sky as blue as a cornflower and she could hear birds singing in the park. But how could she enjoy anything, much less the pleasant day, when she did not know if she and her sister were about to be booted from the house? The throbbing in her temples increased.

Suddenly Eleanor’s clicking heels sounded. She was rapidly approaching. Lizzie shared a terribly worried glance with her sister. Anna began to sew industriously and immediately, Lizzie pretended to read with great absorption.

Unbearably stiff, Lizzie stole a glance at the door. It
was opened by the dapper Frenchman, Leclerc, and her aunt appeared in his wake. As always, Eleanor wore black. This gown was a stiff, shiny black satin with black lace cuffs and sleeves, and she wore a different diamond necklace today, this one boasting a huge ruby pendant. Although small and slender, Eleanor had the stature of a queen.

Lizzie shot to her feet, tripping in her haste, and curtsied. Anna also stood, curtsying. “Good morning.”

“Is it a good morning? I wouldn’t know, as I was not expecting houseguests,” Eleanor said, marching into the room. She went directly to Anna. “Are you still ill?”

Anna curtsied again. “I have a cough,” she lied, and coughed delicately behind her hand. “But I feel better and I cannot thank you enough for your kindness yesterday.” She smiled brightly at her aunt.

Lizzie held her breath.

Eleanor stared coldly back. “You mean Rory’s kindness, do you not? Are you taken with him?” she demanded.

Anna’s eyes flew wide. “Oh no, certainly not! I mean, he seems a very fine gentleman—”

Eleanor cut her off. “He’s too charming for his own good when it comes to the ladies, and don’t you forget it. You are still a beauty, even if you are getting plump. Rory might prefer politics to romance, but he still finds time to chase the beauties. I want no affairs in this house, do you hear me? I will not have it.”

Anna curtsied, lowering her gaze in deference. “Aunt Eleanor, I am engaged. Surely Mama wrote you?”

“Of course she did, but you are hardly wed yet.” Eleanor turned to Lizzie. “And that goes for you, as well.”

Before Lizzie could speak, Eleanor turned back to Anna. “Why are you so plump? What happened to that fine figure you once had?”

Anna hesitated. “I have developed a fondness for chocolate.”

“That’s a shame,” Eleanor said bluntly. “If you get too fat, you will lose your extraordinary looks.”

Lizzie dared approach, inwardly quaking. “Aunt Eleanor? It’s a beautiful day. Would you like to take a stroll with me in the gardens?”

Eleanor turned. “You don’t have to humor me, girl. How old are you now?”

Lizzie somehow smiled in spite of her fear. “I am sixteen, Auntie, and I will be seventeen this summer. And I would never be so foolish as to humor you. But I would love to take a walk myself and I simply thought you might wish to join me. But if you would rather sit inside on such a spectacular day,” Lizzie shrugged, “I will walk by myself.”

“I thought you were going to bake a pie,” Eleanor said shrewdly.

Lizzie’s heart raced. “I made an apple pie this morning. If you do not have plans tonight, we shall have it for supper.”

Eleanor actually faltered, although she quickly recovered. “Well, so you intend to earn your keep? I do recall some excellent pies at Raven Hall. Did you make those?”

Lizzie barely breathed, wondering if Eleanor’s remark meant that she was going to let them stay. “Yes, I did. I was thinking of making a lemon tart tomorrow,” she said. “I saw a crate of Spanish lemons in the pantry. If you do not mind, I would use them.”

Eleanor’s eyes sparked and she almost smiled—until she realized what she was doing. She scowled. “I do prefer a good tart to a good pie. But you will have to ask Cook if he needs the lemons.”

“I have already asked him.” Lizzie smiled, and this
time it was genuine. “He asked me to show him my baking secrets. I remembered from your visits to Raven Hall that you prefer a tart to a pie.”

Eleanor made her harrumphing sound and faced Anna. “And you? Are you too ill to read to me?”

“Of course not,” Anna said, although her gaze remained extremely anxious. “What should I read? Or do you prefer to walk first?”

“I will walk first,” Eleanor said flatly. “But you may read to me, if you wish, when I come back. I would hear about the comings and goings at Dublin Castle. Rory pens those columns on government affairs and he also sketches—his cartoons are rather amusing.”

Lizzie was surprised. “He is a journalist?”

“He is a Radical Reformer,” she said with a snort, “and that will surely be the death of him, at least socially! But yes, he earns his living like a commoner, by reporting on the government’s affairs for the
Times.
They
pay
him some small sum for his clever sketches, too.”

Clearly Eleanor did not condone her nephew’s having employment, as true gentlemen did not sully their hands or reputations by earning a living. “He did not seem very radical to me,” Lizzie remarked, more to herself than anyone else. “But I did see that he was somewhat the ladies’ man.”

Eleanor now seemed interested in her. “His politics are excessively radical, Elizabeth. There would be many doors in polite society closed to him for his extreme views were it not for his relationship to me.”

Rory McBane was very fortunate, then, Lizzie thought, but merely smiled.

“Radical or not, he is my favorite relation!” Eleanor cried. Then she glared at them all in warning. Her message was clear—if anyone was to inherit her fortune, it would be her darling Rory.

“Do you think she will be pleased?” Anna asked anxiously as they hovered about the dining room doorway. The long cherrywood table was set for four with crystal, silver, a gilded candelabra and three lavish floral arrangements. It was a beautiful table, indeed.

Anna had not gone with them that afternoon to the Capel Street shops, as the plan was for her to remain in seclusion now until after the baby was born. Still, she had managed to sneak away to a nearby market and had returned with an armful of flowers. Lizzie had helped her make the arrangements. No table could be lovelier.

“I hope so,” Lizzie said mildly. But it did not seem as if anything could please their aunt. She had been in a very ill humor all day. Still, Lizzie was beginning to wonder if her bark was far worse than her bite.

“Perhaps, in spite of her harping, she enjoyed our outing today. After all, we went to a dozen shops and all we bought were two boxes of chocolate.” Lizzie had thought that telling, indeed, after Anna’s earlier confession.

Before Anna could reply, Eleanor said from behind them, “So I harp, do I?”

Lizzie turned beet-red. She whirled to find Eleanor standing in the doorway, her face a mask of abject disapproval, and then she realized that Rory McBane stood behind her, laughter in his eyes. Their gazes met as Lizzie cried, “I didn’t really mean it!”

“Oh, you meant it,” Eleanor said, scowling.

Rory led his aunt into the dining room. “I have never seen such a lovely table,” he exclaimed, winking at Lizzie. “Auntie, don’t you agree?”

She harrumphed, but she stared at the table with narrow eyes.

“And you do harp, incessantly, but it is what makes your character unique,” Rory added. He smiled charmingly at Anna. “Are you feeling better today?”

She smiled back. “Yes, thank you.” Anna asked eagerly, “Aunt Eleanor? Do you like the flowers? I decided to go out after all and I thought you might enjoy them.”

Eleanor did not respond.

Lizzie continued to wring her hands. “Aunt Eleanor? I am sorry, really, and I did
not
mean it. What I meant was—”

“You meant it. Since when did you start speaking your mind?” Eleanor asked her very bluntly. “Your sister Georgina was the bold one, the one with the tart tongue,” she said. “You were the shy one, and here you are, calling me a harpy. Not only that, you chattered ceaselessly all afternoon.”

Lizzie flushed. She had been trying to make light, pleasant and very innocent conversation in an attempt to get their aunt to like them. Very carefully, she said, “I know you do not mean it, but when you speak so harshly to us, it can hurt our feelings, and that is what I meant, that you tend to overly scold.” There, she had probably done it, for no one ever criticized Aunt Eleanor and survived.

Eleanor gaped.

Rory grinned at her, clearly in approval. “Have I not been telling you to mind your manners?” he teased his aunt. “Apparently Miss Fitzgerald agrees with me.”

Eleanor glared at him. “
You
are the one with no manners. Coming here to flirt with my nieces! And do not tell me you have called on
me,
for I know you too well, Rory. I know exactly why you are here.”

Rory laughed. “I am utterly dismayed to know that you can see right through me!” he exclaimed. “But I do
confess, I did come to call on your lovely nieces. In fact, I have come to make certain they have a roof over their heads while they remain in Dublin.”

Eleanor scowled.

“That is very kind of you,” Anna said, touching his sleeve.

“I cannot thank you enough for persuading Aunt Eleanor to allow us to stay. I feel indebted to you, sir.”

“We are cousins,” he said with a courtly bow. “Therefore you owe me nothing.”

Eleanor was watching the pair as closely as Lizzie. “Annabelle is to be wed in September, Rory.”

He hardly seemed disturbed. He smiled at Anna. “Then may I wish you the most sincere congratulations?”

“Thank you,” Anna beamed.

Lizzie was confused. Wasn’t Rory McBane intrigued with her beautiful sister?

“Thomas is from Derbyshire. He is a Morely. Do you know the Morelys from Derbyshire, Mr. McBane?” Anna asked somewhat eagerly.

Rory’s smile vanished. “No, I am afraid I do not. So he is British?”

Anna nodded in pride. “Yes, and he is a soldier.”

Rory stared for one more moment. “So you are marrying a redcoat.”

“He is a fine gentleman,” Lizzie said quickly.

“Yes, and he is
English,
making him a far superior beast to us mere Irishmen.”

“Oh, do cease with your outrage,” Eleanor said sharply. “It is a good thing that one of the sisters will be wed, never mind if he is English, as my poor brother Gerald can barely make ends meet!” She looked approvingly at Anna. “Ignore Rory, my dear, as everything British inflames him. I am very pleased for you.”

“Thank you,” Anna said, clearly disconcerted by Rory’s views.

“And I am a boor,” Rory said, bowing. “I do apologize, Miss Fitzgerald, for daring to express such unpopular views.” He faced Lizzie abruptly. “And you? Will you seek the hand of an Englishman, too?”

Lizzie stepped back. “I really doubt to ever wed anyone, Mr. McBane.”

His brows lifted in real surprise.

“Rory is staying for supper,” Eleanor announced. Suddenly she smiled at Anna, who had taken a seat, clearly weary now. “I like the flowers,” she added.

Anna and Lizzie exchanged astonished glances.

“And now that I have had some time to adjust to the idea, you and your sister may stay for a week or two,” Eleanor said.

Lizzie was busy in the kitchen, putting the final touches on a rhubarb pie. Cook stood besides her, a tall, gray-haired Scot with a pronounced belly. She had just explained to him that her secret ingredient, as far as rhubarb pie went, was a dash of any fruit-flavored cordial liqueur. He gave her a knowing look. “No wonder her ladyship is so fond of your desserts. You put vodka in the lemon tarts, rum in the apple pie and bourbon in the chocolate squares we served last night!”

Lizzie wanted to smile, but it was impossible. Almost two weeks had passed since that fateful afternoon when Eleanor had decided that they could stay at Merrion Square for a while. Anna and Lizzie had settled into a routine, of sorts: mornings were spent in the pearl room, quietly reading, and in the afternoons Lizzie would accompany their aunt on her social calls, shopping and taking strolls. Anna continued to have a slight flu, one that
required her to rest and remain in seclusion. That pretense, of course, could not continue indefinitely. Meanwhile, two letters had come from home, both from Mama, and Lizzie had intercepted them so Eleanor might not yet learn of their scheme. And still, no pronouncement had been forthcoming as to their future at Merrion Square.

Last night, Lizzie and Anna had decided that Eleanor must be told the truth immediately, as neither could tolerate the burden of constant anxiety and incessant fear for much longer. Also, Anna was growing fat and in a very short time it would be obvious that she was carrying a child.

Now Lizzie was filled with dread. She paused, both hands on the floury wooden counter, praying that Eleanor was not already suspicious of the truth. Her aunt had begun to look at Anna strangely, and she no longer urged her to come with them for a walk in the park or shopping.

“Lizzie? Are you ready?”

Lizzie turned and saw Anna in the kitchen doorway, as pale as a corpse. Knifed with more unbearable tension, she quickly smiled at Cook and, handing off her apron, hurried to her sister. “Do we have a choice?” she whispered in return as they huddled outside of the doorway.

Anna placed her hands on her belly, so that her dress was pressed firmly over the expanding protrusion. She looked so obviously pregnant that Lizzie cried out, swatting her hands away. In dismay, they stared at each other.