And so, as The Night Dancers goes to beta, I have begun An Unpitied Sacrifice.
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Chapter One
London, 1816
In the street outside of the elegant townhouse, Valeria Izquierdo checked the address. The sheet of paper had suffered since her husband gave it to her on their wedding night, five years ago. Stains marred the surface, one corner was torn away, and the folds were worn and beginning to come apart. It was still precious to her, not just for the address, which she had memorized long ago, but because it was a witness to Harry’s care for her—almost the only one to survive the intervening years.
“Take this and keep it safe,” he had said. “If anything happens to me, go to my father. He will welcome you for my sake.”
But would he? Valeria owed it to Harry to put it to the test, but she was not confident that either she or Ricci would find the promised welcome. And if she had no doubt that Ricci deserved recognition and a place, she was not so certain about herself.
That was the reason she had come on her own, leaving her children and her companions at the lodgings her English agent had found. If she was turned away at the door, at least she would be the only one to know and to suffer.
Perhaps, after all, Valeria should have written. But letters are far easier to ignore than callers, and besides, how could she explain the past five years in a letter?
Indeed, how could she explain it at all? Which was why she was dithering in the street like an idiot. What would those who had nigh worshipped El Phantome say if they could see her now? What would her current followers say, come to that?
It was the last consideration that allowed her to break the paralysis that kept her hesitating in the street. She could not ask the women with her to approach the families of their husbands or lovers when she was not prepared to make such a move herself.
Five paces brought her to the steps that led to the front door. Ten of them, bridging a kind of small dark courtyard set into the ground and surrounded by a fence. As she looked over the rail, a maid with a basket came out from the house from the basement below and set off up a flight of steps that brought her up to street level, where she opened a hitherto unseen gate in the fence and turned set off down the street.
Two more steps, and then knock on the door, she commanded herself.
The knocker was in the form of an ugly little man. Ricci and Marie-Therese would love that. She lifted the ring that the little man held in his oversized hands, and dropped it again to strike the brass plate below. Knock, knock, knock.
And wait.
But she had not taken more than a couple of breaths before the door opened. The man who opened the door stood in the entrance way, ensuring she could not enter. He had the air of an upper servant of some kind. “May I be of assistance, Madam?” he enquired.
Valeria had come prepared with a small rectangle of pasteboard, according to the English custom. She had written her name on it. Both her own name—Señora Valeria Eneco Izquierdo—and Mrs. H. Redepenning, for the English had the custom that a woman took her husband’s name upon marriage.
“Please ask Lord Redepenning if he will see me,” she said the butler, handing him the card.
She was permitted inside, to stand in the entry hall, still wearing her bonnet and coat, while the butler went up the stairs to discover the wishes of the master of the house. It was a lovely space, with furniture that was not new but that had been lovingly dusted and polished so that it gleamed with a rich patina. The carpet and the matching stair runner were likewise a little worn but clean and richly covered. On one wall, a large mirror in a gilt frame reflected light around the hall and made it seem larger.
A large vase of fresh flowers stood on a table under the mirror, adding a light floral high note to the atmosphere.
The butler came back down the stairs almost immediately. “His lordship shall see you, Madam.” He gave a shallow bow. “May I take Madam’s bonnet and coat?” Once he had placed the items on a polished brass coat stand near the door, he led her up the stairs.
On the landing for the next floor, he turned right and opened the nearest door. “Your visitor, my lord,” he said.
Perhaps he does not want to mangle my Basque surname nor give me the family’s surname when I have not yet been accepted.
The man stepped out of Valeria’s way, and she walked into the room where her husband’s father waited.
She knew him immediately. Both of the men who stood up when she entered were relatives of Harry’s—that was clear at a glance. Both had the striking blue eyes. The older gentleman must be Baron Redepenning, her father-in-law. He was still vigorous and handsome, and his eyes were as striking a blue as her husband’s. However, his hair had faded with age to a sandy-brown rather than her husband’s guinea-gold, and also receded from his forehead.
His well-lined face had the heavier look around the jaw of a man approaching old age, and his figure was also somewhat stouter than his son’s. He still had the carriage of the soldier she knew him to be. He held a general’s rank, though when she asked for him at the Horse Guard yesterday, she had been told he was retired.
He inclined slightly toward her in a bow and smiled in welcome.
The other man’s hair was still bright gold. No smile here. His blue eyes were hard with suspicion, and his brows were drawn together in a frown.
