Suffragette in the City by Katie MacAlister Page B

Helena. She was wearing a stunning pale pink dress—a sheer tunic covered the dark silk underskirt, very narrow and elegant, with a matching coat. A pink hat decorated with feathers and dried flowers completed her ensemble.
    “Good heavens, Lady Helena,” I said in stark admiration, “That dress is absolutely mouth-watering. It’s like spun sugar.”
    She waved her hand depreciatingly and asked, “Please call me Helena. I don’t use the title, and even though we’ve known each other only a short while, I feel as if you are an old and dear friend.”
    I consented, and sent Theodore, the footman, in search of a cab.
    “Is your friend Miss Debenham not joining us?”
    “Emma? No, she’s not at all interested in the cause. Well, I should correct that—she is interested, but she has her studies to attend to. Her insights are very much in demand at Sappho’s Circle.”
    “Is that a literary salon?” Helena asked.
    “I believe it’s some sort of club for Greek scholars. She mentioned something about occasionally staying overnight when she was engaged in late-night study sessions.”
    Helena, no more a scholar than I was, murmured something noncommittal.
    “Did you manage your headache with success?” I asked with a smile.
    “Oh yes—well, I think I did.”
    I looked at her questioningly. “I’m afraid Griffin suspects something. He told me, just as he and my brother and sister-in-law were leaving, to please be careful with whatever it was I was planning.”
    “Oh, dear. That does sound rather ominous.” I chewed my lip in thought as we entered the cab.
    “I never could hide anything from Griffin.”
    “I’m surprised he let you stay home alone, if he suspected you. I had thought his opinion of women would demand that he play watchdog.”
    “You are mistaken about Griffin, truly you are. You must give him credit for having suffered a broken heart.”
    “A broken heart? Mr. St. John?” I asked incredulously.
    “It happened a long time ago, when I was a girl, but I know Griffin still feels it a great deal.” She looked at me sideways. “Rather, I thought he did.”
    I said nothing, but looked at her inquiringly.
    “When Griffin was eighteen, he fell madly in love with Grace Perry, the cousin of my sister-in-law, Letitia. I was living with Harold and Letitia then, my parents having died some years earlier, and Griffin had just returned from his Grand Tour. Grace was staying with us, and Griffin—well, you know how these things can happen.”
    I nodded, absorbed in a variety of mental images, many of which concerned just what Griffin looked like underneath all those clothes.
    “Grace was a very outspoken woman, rather rough and common I think now, although she impressed me at the time. She was a little older than Griffin, and had done a lot of traveling by herself. Although she was fond of him, I don’t believe that she ever loved him in return.”
    “Were they engaged?”
    “No, not formally, although I believe he had been pressing her. She left shortly thereafter.”
    “Why did she leave?”
    “She and Griffin had an argument one night. My sister-in-law was having a dinner and Griffin tried to press Grace into a commitment so they could announce their engagement that night.” She glanced at me, her lips curling slightly. “I was supposed to be upstairs since I was too young to attend the dinner, but I had hidden in my brother’s library and was reading a book of fairy tales. Griffin and Grace did not know I was curled up on a chair when they had their argument.”
    “Ah. So the lady jilted your brother?”  This was delicious gossip, and as ashamed as I was for participating in it, I reveled in every moment.
    “Yes. She told Griffin that she had no intention of marrying him, that he was not the type of man any sane woman would spend the rest of her life with, and she did not intend to waste the best years of her life adapting her lifestyle to his.”
    “That was rather blunt of