Page 5 of A Single Thread of Moonlight

I edged further along, pulling back the corner of the drape and clinging to the shadows.

Helena was facing away from me. She was tall and clad in a sophisticated gown of apricot silk. Her hair was coiled at the back and still as dark as I remembered. Not a grey hair in sight. When she turned slightly and I saw her in profile I was startled by how young she looked. I suppose as a child every adult seems older than the hills, but Helena could not have been much more than forty now, and she looked younger than that. Her face was regal, with a definite set to her chin and mouth. Her dark green eyes were framed by long black lashes. She was still a beauty.

Something seethed inside me.

“My daughter must have the best of everything,” she was saying. I saw Agatha, standing to her side, running her fingers across the bolts of fabric Madame had already pulled out for them. There was no sign of Cassie.

Agatha was no longer the child that I remembered. She was a young woman, almost twenty-one. I would not have recognized her, except that she looked much like her mother, though her mouth was softer, her eyes smaller and more grey than green. She smiled at Helena’s words, a self-satisfied smirk that made my toes curl in my sensible boots.

“Of course, of course!” Madame Solange agreed. “Mademoiselle will be very well looked after ’ere. Your special guest will not be able to take ’is eyes off ’er.”

Agatha gave a pleased titter and Helena smiled.

“Naturally, I hope for your discretion,” Helena said in a low voice, and Madame nodded seriously. “But when one is preparing to welcome royalty into the family home, one must put on a bit of a display. We’re hosting a house party at our estate in Kent which is to be quite the affair. That will last a fortnight; there will of course be a large ball, as well as another formal reception, dinners, luncheons, excursions … all the usual entertainments.” Helena’s eyes gleamed. “Most urgent, though – before we get to all of that, there’s a ball being given here in town at the end of the week, which we are to attend, and Agatha must look her best.”

I thought fast. We knew all about the Devonshire House ball; we had several customers who were planning to attend. It was being given in honour of the visiting Prince Stefan, a member of the royal family of a small Austro-Hungarian principality, distantly related to our own Queen Victoria. His visit had caused quite the stir among the matchmaking mamas who visited Madame Solange.

So, he was the prince Agatha was to marry.

“We expect there to be an announcement any day now,” Helena added, the words heavy with meaning. “All eyes will be on Agatha. Then of course the prince will be our guest at Holland Hall for two weeks, alongside several other important visitors.”

I knew what Helena was saying. If Agatha – a future princess – showed off Madame Solange’s work while spending time with the cream of society, then it could mean big business. Helena might be rich, but she wasn’t above trying to make a deal on a new wardrobe.

Madame sucked her cheeks in for a moment and then smiled. “Eet will be our verrrry great pleasure to dress your daughter, Madame. I think that we can come to an arrangement that ees très agreeable to us all.”

With a flick of her wrist Madame gestured Claire forward.

“Now thees particular design ees very suitable for a luncheon…”

I let the drape fall from my fingers and backed away into the sewing room where Annie was hard at work.

“Where have you been?” she snapped.

“Sorry,” I muttered. “I was dizzy. I just needed a bit of fresh air.”

“Gawping at the customers isn’t going to help with that,” Annie retorted. She peered at me closely. “Are you all right now?” she asked, reluctant concern creeping into her voice.

I nodded.

“Then press this gown quickly, will you? Claire will be through any second.”

I did as I was told, letting the familiar monotony of the work steal over me. I needed to focus on something else while I caught my breath.

Now that the shock was starting to wear off, I found that what I was actually feeling was anger. Hot, violent, crimson-silk anger.

Helena and Agatha both looked so carefree, so pleased with themselves, the picture of health and prosperity.

They’d built a nice life for themselves – or rather, they’d stolen it. Stolen from my father, stolen from me.

Agatha was going to marry a prince, was she?

Over my dead body.

CHAPTER THREE

One thing was clear: I needed to go to that ball.

It was at the ball that Helena was hoping to secure a proposal. Something had to be done about that.