Within moments, Scarlet fell asleep. Matteo smiled, enjoying her soft breathing until he was sure she would not awaken with movement. Then he lifted her gently in his arms, carrying her up the back walk and into the house. Once inside, he gestured with his head to the nearest servant to help him. The maid led him to Scarlet’s room, where Annabeth waited. He gently laid her on the bed and crept out, closing the door softly behind him.

Chapter Fourteen

Scarlet stood in a grand foyer outside the sanctuary doors that entered into the great hall. She breathed large deep breaths of happy satisfaction. Her brother-in-law had offered to give her away before he and his wife had left on an urgent trip to Wales, but Scarlet declined and instead stood alone. She preferred it this way—at least, she had when she had planned the wedding. She smiled, thinking of the planning—a beautiful, frenzied excitement, as she’d organized all the details. She and Mrs. Bussworth had pulled off a masterpiece, she was sure of it, and in only three weeks’ time.

She took in the details of her dress and laughed out loud, and then she laughed louder at herself, standing in the foyer of the sanctuary, finding amusement in her wedding dress. She hoped Matteo would be able to hide his amusement. She wore yellow—bright canary yellow—with a bold headdress of teal and peacock feathers. It rose to great heights on her head and then cascaded down her back in folds of feathers and ribbon and fabric. The dress bumped out behind her in the largest rump of the Season. And the fabric trailed below it, gathering in ruffles as it flowed to the floor and on down two feet after her. At her sleeves, she had stitched together ribbon and fabric in great mounds, the layers hanging all about her arms, down to her fingertips. She was a walking display, one big distraction. Which is exactly what she hoped.

She and Simon had discussed at great length how close they had come to losing their personas and their disguises. Andrew and Simon both were linked in one way or another to the Pimpernel, and more and more people tied her to them in friendship. The soiree in her home and much of what she did at the parties amongst the ton were to help dispel any suspicion that she would be a significant risk to the committee in France. As long as they discounted and underestimated her capacity, she and her league would be safe. She had used the evening soiree in Paris as another measure to prove the vacancy of her brain and the ridiculous focus on fashion eccentricities. They hoped LeFevre would think nothing of grand consequence could come forth from a mind such as hers.