as the worst of New York society. The thin, hunched American girl from the Majestic was there with her mother, richly dressed but wan and hollow eyed, as if she were still seasick from the voyage. Annis shook her hand, and the hands of other women, young and old. There were, evidently, no gentlemen invited.
Annis wasn’t feeling entirely well, either, although the ache in her belly that had begun the evening before had eased. She wondered if the air of the hotel might be draining her energy, or if it was the noise and bustle of London itself. The smell of coal dust clung to everything, spoiling her appetite and making her long for the fresh air of Central Park.
The lassitude helped her get through the boredom of the party, but it also blurred her thoughts. She had difficulty recalling the names of the people she met, which was not at all like her. Frances had taken charge of that, murmuring them in Annis’s ear after each had moved away. “That’s Mrs. Harlingford. Her daughter just became engaged to an earl.” A moment later, she whispered, “Miss Smythe-Tobin, poor thing. This is her second season. Not a soul offered for her last year.”
Annis roused herself to mutter, “How on earth do you know all that, Frances?”
“I read the London papers, of course. Oh, do sit up straight, Annis, and smile. That’s Lady Eleanor, Dowager Marchioness of Rosefield, and she’s coming our way!”
A stout, stern-looking woman dressed entirely in black approached them, her gloved hand extended to Frances. A conversation ensued. Annis couldn’t remember a word of it, but it seemed Lady Eleanor had approved of the Allingtons. A handwritten note of invitation was in Frances’s eager fingers before they went to bed that night. They were to travel to Dorset, to spend several days as houseguests of Lady Eleanor. Annis, lacking the energy to oppose Frances’s wishes, offered no resistance.
At least, she told herself, as they chugged their way southward in the first-class compartment of the train, they would be out of the soot and crowds of London. She listened with indifference to Frances’s description of the house party. A grand house, supposedly, and a great estate right by the sea. “Only the best people will be there,” Frances said, almost purring with satisfaction. “It will be perfect.”
She made no mention of a possible husband, for which Annis was grateful. In her half-dazed state she dared hope that a few days in the company of the aristocracy would satisfy Frances’s ambition.
They were met upon their arrival at the train station by a footman in blue livery with gold braid on the shoulders. He assisted all of them into a carriage with an elaborate coat of arms on its door. A driver in the same livery sorted their trunks and valises. Frances was delighted by their attentiveness. Antoinette, looking as gratified as her mistress, settled herself on the bench seat. Velma was her usual stolid self, but she sniffed at the freshness of the salt air, and her eyes brightened a little as she gazed at the pretty houses of Seabeck Village.
Annis’s ennui lightened, too, when she saw the matched pair of white horses in the traces of the Rosefield carriage. She thought they must be Andalusians, like the mare she had met in Regent’s Park, though these were bigger, with heavier hindquarters, larger heads, and a more pronounced curve to the nose. They would have been bred to harness, she supposed. Their manes and tails were braided with gold ribbon, and the metal fittings on their tack sparkled. When they set out, she was delighted to feel their power and to note the steadiness of their gait.
She removed her hat and leaned as far out the window of the carriage as she dared, first to assess the movement of the horses and then to appreciate the low green hills they passed through, the prim white cottages behind well-kept stone fences. The breeze set strands of her hair whipping about her face. She caught an occasional whiff of burning wood, a relief after the smell of coal that permeated London. She inhaled a faint flowery scent, too, possibly from the small wild roses that tangled in the shrubs along the road. She wished she could ask the driver to stop and let her pick one to identify later.
She twisted to look at the footman clinging to the back of the carriage. He noticed and touched his forehead. “Almost there, miss,” he