“She is not found,” General Dijon said gravely. “She has been taken, but by whom we know not.”
“What is the theft of a dog beside a murderer running loose among us?” Lady Margaret shivered—theatrically this time, though the jewels jingled just as effectively. “It’s enough to give one nightmares.” She stole another glance at Lord Prunesly. The professor studied his wineglass as he twirled it, presumably testing his sloshing theory on a smaller scale.
“The dog,” General Dijon said stiffly to Lady Margaret, “is one of only four mature bitches of her breed on this continent or any. She is worth more than all the jewels in your jewelry box, je vous assure.”
Sir Henry set down his fork. “Now see here, sir. I’ll not have you speak to my wife in that manner.”
Beside him, his daughter Ann sat with her head bowed, her round cheeks livid, staring at her lap.
The prince stared at her.
“Dear Miss Feathers,” he said. “You appear a bit flushed. You must drink more wine to revive your spirits.” He gestured to a footman.
“Oh, I could not, your highness, thank you,” Ann peeped. “I don’t wish to muddle my head and say things I mustn’t.”
His high brow wrinkled. Then he waved the footman away and pushed his own glass from his plate.
“How perfectly dreadful to grow so crimson even when the climate is frigid,” Lady Penelope said to Lord Vitor beside her, with a glance of sympathy at Ann which was entirely false. She offered no vulgar shivers but smoothed her fingertips over her shawl. Snugly gloved, her slender hands subtly drew attention to her perfect breasts.
But Lord Vitor didn’t seem to notice; he was watching the prince. For an instant he shifted his attention to Ravenna. His cheek creased.
Dry. Tongue.
Wine.
She grappled for her glass and met Lord Case’s gaze from across the table. But he turned to his brother.
Lord Vitor spoke quietly now with the bishop’s niece on his other side. Juliana’s eyes twinkled. She giggled, then replied softly. Even at the distance her voice sounded sweet with its Italian accent, like music.
Abruptly, the goose weighed like rocks in Ravenna’s stomach, Iona’s bright laughter seemed overbright, Sir Henry’s chuckles forced, Lady Grace’s cheeks gray, and Cecilia Anders’s silent worry like a blaring trumpet. Across the table, Sir Beverley turned a sober gaze to Petti. There was something they were not telling her. They had secrets, she knew, that they never shared with her aloud but she understood. This time she did not understand.
Everyone had secrets, it seemed.
Her head spun—from candle fumes or the heavy food or too many humans in one place casting each other glances full of suspicion or worry or . . . something else. She had to go. The walls of the dining room seemed to creep closer to the table, the candlelight to grow hazy. She could not breathe properly.
“Miss Caulfield,” Sir Henry said. “Sir Beverley tells me you are a medical woman of sorts.”
“I have some experience caring for sick animals, yes,” she managed. How could the rest of them bear this? The frigid snow outside seemed infinitely preferable.
“I wonder if you wouldn’t mind paying a visit to the stable with me tomorrow,” Sir Henry said. “One of the beasts I brought along for his highness’s inspection has come up lame. My coachman believes it may be an abscess. But he’s a Frenchie, of course, and I don’t trust him with my cattle like I’d trust an Englishman—or Englishwoman.” He gave her a friendly wink.
“I will be glad to examine him.”
“Fine, fine.” He took a hearty sip of wine. “I don’t mind traveling, you see. Neither does Lady Margaret. But I don’t like my animals in foreign hands, and that’s the truth of it.”
“But don’t you intend to do business with Prince Sebastiao’s father?”
He cracked a laugh. “In the name of Zeus, I do indeed! But once he’s paid for the beasts, they’re no longer mine, are they?” He laughed.
She tried to smile.
Now Lord Vitor was smiling at Juliana.
“M’dear,” Petti said quietly. “You look as though you might spring up from that chair at any moment.”
“I do? I don’t.” She ducked her head. “I would not embarrass you and Sir Beverley so.”
“That Courtenay . . .” Petti drew out the syllables. “He is a fine-looking young man, isn’t he?”
Her belly constricted. “Do you think so?”
“Intelligent too, from what Beverley tells me.” His fingers played a thoughtful staccato on the edge of the table.
“Fancy him, do you?” she mumbled.
“My heart belongs to another, of course. But I’m not dead. I can appreciate quality from a distance.” His cloverleaf eyes danced. “I don’t think you should.”
“Appreciate quality?”
“From a distance.”
“If you continue this,” she whispered, “I will stand and leave at this moment, and damn good manners.”
He chuckled. “Beverley and I won’t be around forever, m’dear. You must find your sanctuary elsewhere while you are still young.”
“But—” Panic twisted in her tight stomach. “I—”
He patted her hand. “We haven’t let out your room at Shelton Grange yet, dear girl. You needn’t fret.”
Prince Sebastiao rose and offered his arm to Ann. “Shall we all adjourn to the drawing room? Yes, yes! All of us at once, no gentlemen lingering here. Come, come, Miss Feathers. Lady Iona.” The guard opened the door.
Ravenna escaped, slipping around the wall of the great hall of the medieval keep and to the front door. The guard at the door nodded, but he did not follow when she turned toward the stable. Her personal guard, the man Lord Vitor had assigned to remain with her, was nowhere to be seen. But she carried a knife in her pocket now. Forewarned and armed, she would be fine.
In the stable, scents of comfort filled her nostrils. She tugged her shawl more tightly about her and asked a groom to direct her toward Sir Henry’s stallion. A beautiful creature but skittish, it remained at the back of the stall until she encouraged it to her with soft words. It came limping. Its temperament seemed good; still, she would not enter the stall now. In daylight she could examine the hoof more effectively. And she hadn’t really come here now for him.
The mother of the puppies now sprawled on her side in the storage stall. Four of the pups nursed, the runt tucked behind its siblings away from the teats, awaiting its turn at the scant leftovers. Wearily the bitch lifted her head and her tail slapped against the straw.
“How you have grown in two days,” Ravenna said as she knelt. The runt turned its head at her voice, uncurled from its spot, and stumbled through the straw to her. “This time I have not come empty-handed.” From a knot she’d made in her borrowed gown she drew a cutlet of veal encased in a crust of bread. Tearing the food into tiny pieces, she fed it to the runt. Then one by one, she took all five pups onto her lap and examined them. Little bundles of elastic muscle and silky fur, they gnawed at her with sharp teeth as she declared them each healthy. Then she gave the bitch attention, examining her mouth, ears, paws, and abdomen. Someone was feeding her well, which explained why she still allowed the pups to nurse, and the continued existence of the runt.
Finding nothing more to do, she stood. “Until tomorrow.” She turned to leave.