“That does sound just the thing.” She brightened, straightening her lace cap, which had gone askew. “Are you sure you don’t want me to be there?”
“Quite sure. This isn’t your battle. You’ve been nothing but kind and good to me.”
Sandrine led Miss Hodwell to the stairs and then prepared to face her mother.
At least Francesca had lent her another gown and insisted on dressing her hair properly before she returned. She was presentable.
She took three deep breaths, rubbed her temples for a few moments, and pushed her shoulders back. Right. She could do this. She wasn’t the same person who had left Squalton.
She was London Sandrine. Someone her mother had never met before.
“Sandrine! There you are. We’ve been worried sick about you, haven’t we, Mr. Pilkington?”
“Indeed, we have.”
“Mother.” She kissed her cheek. “Mr. Pilkington.”
“I’m sure you’re wondering why we’ve come,” said her mother.
“I do wonder because I am scheduled to return to Squalton soon.”
“We couldn’t wait any longer. We had to come and rescue you from making a terrible mistake.”
She couldn’t know about Dane, could she? Sandrine’s heart flip-flopped in her chest. She knew from experience that she didn’t need to ask her mother any questions. The accusatory words would tumble out with no prompting.
“We’ve heard the most alarming report, Miss Oliver,” said Mr. Pilkington.
Sandrine swallowed. They had only arrived this morning. They couldn’t have heard reports about inns with only one bed. But perhaps something had reached their ears about the masked ball?
“A most alarming report,” her mother echoed, “about you from Mrs. Philpot, who was visiting her daughter in London last week. She said that you’ve befriended Lady Roslyn Stockard, a young lady whose reputation has recently been sullied.”
“Lady Roslyn is my friend. You don’t know her at all.”
“London has corrupted you, exactly as I said it would. I can see it in your eyes,” her mother said. “You must come home with us at once. Before anything truly bad happens.”
“I’d like to stay the full fortnight, thank you very much.” She’d never contradicted her mother before. It made her heart race and gave her a sick feeling in her stomach. But she mustn’t roll over and play dead as she had so many times before.
“I don’t think you understand the gravity of the situation, Miss Oliver. An innocent girl like you must never hear the things that Lady Roslyn has been accused of. It beggars disbelief,” said Mr. Pilkington with a curt nod of his sharp chin.
“She’s a brazen girl who has been defiled and deserves scorn!” her mother exclaimed.
“She’s my friend. Don’t speak of her that way.”
“You’re shocking me, Miss Oliver.” Mr. Pilkington stared down his long nose at her. “This isn’t the conduct of the young lady I know and revere.”
“I don’t think you really know me at all, Mr. Pilkington. I didn’t even know myself. I’m only now beginning to see that.”
“Don’t hold it against her, Mr. Pilkington. It’s because she’s been poisoned by this Lady Roslyn creature. This hussy who defies society’s dictates and must pay the price.”
Sandrine’s shoulders shook. Whatever Roslyn had been accused of, Sandrine had most likely done nearly the same. She was tainted in their eyes, deserving of scorn. A fallen woman. A hussy.
“Like your own mother pays the price of society’s scorn?” Sandrine asked.
Her mother’s face blanched. “Pardon me, young lady?”
“I know all about my grandmother. She’s alive and well and living in London. I’ve met her, Mama, conversed with her, and I—”
“You have a grandmother in London?” Mr.Pilkington cocked his head. “Barbara, I thought you told me that your parents were deceased?”