Once Upon a Maiden Lane (Maiden Lane #12.5)(31)

But she’d never thought she would do anything but work until the day she died. Most people in London—in England—did so, after all.

But now she was in a grand ballroom, in the most beautiful dress she’d ever seen, whirling slowly around the heir to an earldom—and, more importantly, the man she would marry.

It was like a fairy tale come true.

Henry grinned at her with those devastating dimples when they came together again. “You look happy.”

She smiled at him as they placed their palms together and walked around each other. “I am.”

He leaned close as if he would kiss her in the middle of the ballroom, with everyone watching, and she didn’t stop him.

She lifted her face to his. She didn’t care if they had an audience. They were in their own little world.

Henry held her hand aloft and had begun to pace with her down a line of ladies and gentlemen when there was a shout from the main door to the ballroom. Mary started. At first she thought—wildly—that someone was objecting to their flirtation.

Then a woman pushed through the crowd, coming nearer. She wore a plain gray gown and shawl, neat and clean, but not a ball gown by any account. It was a dress Mary might’ve worn just a few weeks ago.

The music stopped.

People turned to look.

The woman halted, and Mary got a good look at her face. It was her own.

Her heart seemed to stop.

The woman threw up her chin and said in a clear voice, “I am the real Lady Cecilia.”





Chapter Eleven



On the sixth day there was tremendous excitement in the kingdom as the prince announced his engagement…to the maiden who had found him on the shore. He’d forgotten all about Clio. That night she wept in Triton’s arms, devastated that she’d been so silly as to forsake her beautiful tail for a man who couldn’t see her for what she was.

But Triton was worried. He knew that if the prince did not kiss Clio on the morrow her life would be forfeit.…

—From The Curious Mermaid



Henry stood to the side of the crowded sitting room and watched Mary.

His Mary.

His fiancée.

The woman he loved.

Sweat slid down his back. The woman who had interrupted the ball so dramatically stood by the marble fireplace mantel, looking like a doe cornered. A thin young man in a gray bobbed wig was beside her, his chin up as if he was terrified but determined.

Normally he’d feel sympathy for them both, but this woman was attempting to take Mary from him.

“Quiet.” The single word was spoken by Lord Caire.

Everyone turned to him.

Joanna was tearstained and draped over Seymour on one of the settees. Lord and Lady Angrove stood behind Joanna, and the dowager marchioness sat in a chair by herself, her dark eyes still and observant. Lady Caire held Mary’s hand as she sat beside her. The Earl of Keating and Mother sat with Kate and Becca, Father looking near apoplectic. For some reason Fitzgerald and his wife were also in the room, sitting by themselves. Henry wasn’t even sure why they were there, but they must’ve followed the rest of them into the sitting room. The Earl of Angrove had announced to those assembled in the ballroom that the family would retire to deal with the woman claiming to be Cecilia.

“Now,” Caire said when the room was quiet. As her former employer, he seemed to speak on Mary’s behalf. “Let us discuss this mystery.” He turned to the woman standing by the fireplace. “Who are you?”

She lifted her chin, and in that moment she was the spitting image of Mary. “I’m Cecilia Albright.”

“Then why haven’t you come forward before this?” Henry snapped.

“I—I…” She fumbled in a small bag dangling by a string from her wrist and withdrew a letter. “I received this a week ago. It says that I’m Cecilia Albright. That I was stolen as a baby and left with the vicar of Lesser Inchwood.” She gulped and looked around the room. “Well, and that part is true at least. My father was the vicar and I was left on the doorstep of his church as a baby. Everyone in the village knows this. He and his wife kindly adopted me, though they of course thought I was a by-blow of some fallen woman.”

The letter shook in her hand.

Henry glanced at Lord and Lady Angrove, but they seemed frozen. Caire had obviously elected to sit back and observe the proceeding.

Henry strode forward and took the letter gently from the girl’s hand. He looked down at it and read:

Twenty years ago I left you on the step of the church because I couldn’t do what he asked me. I can’t bear the sin anymore. You are the true firstborn daughter of Lord and Lady Angrove.



The signature was scrawled: A Friend.

Henry looked up at the girl. “I think it plain that you’re an Albright.” He glanced at the earl and his wife, then turned back to her. “But this is no proof that you’re Lady Cecilia.”

Lady Angrove straightened and said heavily, “There is a way to prove who is Lady Cecilia. The man-midwife used forceps on my Cecilia when she was born. It tore her skin and left a scar.” She lifted her hand to touch her head just behind her left ear. “Here.”

Henry gave the letter to the earl and then crossed to Mary. He looked into her big brown eyes, so like those of the other two women.