A Lady in Disguise: A Novel of Victorian Romantic Suspense (Novels of Victorian Romantic Suspense Book 3) by Sandra Byrd

Author:Sandra Byrd [Byrd, Sandra]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Quaystrokes
Published: 2023-11-23T00:00:00+00:00

I’d thought all of the fabric had arrived but soon came another delivery. It was addressed to me, no return address, but arrived with a note saying it was for me, personally.

Oh, Wilhelm. All was forgiven, and his long years in theater costume, and as my mother’s friend, helped him to know exactly what would please me.

The fabric was a light-silver silk that caught and reflected the light upon every fold. It had been overstitched with lilies. “Whatever should I use this for?” I asked Mrs. W, who had taken the delivery. “I don’t know that I shall ever be invited to an event which would require fabric as grand as this.”

It was almost as beautiful as the fabric for Cinderella’s ball gown, which had cost Mr. Harris, the theater manager, a fortune.

“Come,” Mrs. W said. “Let’s have tea.”

Louisa brought tea to us in the drawing room. The tea was lukewarm, which did not meet with Mrs. W’s approval, but did with mine, as the day was insufferably warm. The girls had propped open the windows upstairs—at my bidding. The young man had not returned after Mother Martha’s stern rebuke.

“The lilies on the fabric . . . ,” I said. “They put me in mind of something.” I spied my mother’s pressed flower book on the console. “Ah, yes! Mamma’s book. How did you meet Mamma?”

“We lived near one another in Hampshire, of course, and although we were not of the same social set, I had met her a time or two at charity events. I was already deeply devoted to the Cause and had reason to mention it to her. Later, when she was in London, we met again at an event in the East End, for the ministry; in the early days, the meetings and speeches were primarily held in unused theaters and she was around the theaters often. From then on, we were friends.”

Mrs. W smiled and continued. “Sometimes, when she needed to flee the city for a time, we would take the train to the country for the fresh air it provided, even visiting Winton Park a time or two, though your grandfather would not see her. I well remember searching for field flowers with her and then pressing them. We had a wooden press, and we’d screw the plates together as firmly as we could, right in the field, to keep them fresh. Next day, we’d place them in our books and make notes before returning to London, leaving the book at Winton for the next time.”

I opened the book and spied a simple flower. “Daisies?”

Mrs. W smiled. “Oh yes. Victoria would not see a flower go unrecognized for its commonality or a lowly position. At first, in our book, she put it ahead of the rose. I switched it later, though, just because it seemed proper that the wild flower should come after the cultivated.”

I touched the daisy, pressed into the page, knowing my mother’s hand had touched it, too.

Mamma and I sat on the lawn at Winton.

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