“But, monsieur,” Arielle said, “the plague would remain among us here even as we would seek to escape it. One of us is the murderer.”
“I plead innocence.” Lord Case strolled into the room. “Will you believe it of me, mademoiselle?”
Arielle lowered her eyes modestly. “If you wish it, my lord.”
“Speaking of Italians,” Petti said, “we lack the company now of only Miss Abraccia, Miss Anders, and Lady Iona to complete the complement of virgin sacrifices in the house. What do you think, my lord? Shall we call the others in and have a portrait painted?”
The room went dead silent. Ravenna stifled a chuckle. Lord Case smiled but his eyes went to the general’s daughter. Then his attention shifted to her and lost all hint of pleasure. The laughter died in Ravenna’s throat.
“Oh, sir,” Lady Margaret chortled with an operatic trill. “You flatter me! It has been nineteen years since I was a bride, though perhaps you would not know it unless my own dear Ann were not seated nearby. How amusing you are.” She tapped his hand playfully.
“Mr. Pettigrew.” Ann’s fingers twisted together in her lap. “I beg your forgiveness, but you do his highness an injustice. He is a fine man. It would not be a sacrifice to marry him. Rather, the opposite.”
Lady Margaret beamed proudly from bejeweled ear to bejeweled ear.
“With those words you reveal yourself to be a true lady, Miss Feathers.” Petti looked about. “Now, who would like to review her Shakespeare? I’ve never tread the boards myself, but I knew plenty of actresses in my younger days, so I suppose I am an expert at the theater of sorts.”
“Oh, sir.” Lady Margaret chuckled. “You are incorrigible!”
“I do like it when a lady calls me that, m’dear. Now, recite to me your lines and I shall be all that is useful. Miss Feathers, do come assist your mother and me.”
Dutifully, Ann moved to sit by Lady Margaret, and the three of them bent their heads together.
“Lord Case,” Lady Penelope said, sugar dripping from her lips, “how do you like the part of Romeo’s cousin, Benvolio? It seems insufficiently noble for you. Perhaps it should have been assigned to another gentleman.”
“With a prince, a belted earl, a baron, and a knight, not to mention my own terrifyingly impressive brother in the house, I should be afraid to demand any role but whichever those inestimable gentlemen delegate to me.”
“You are too modest,” Lady Penelope purred. “It shows your good taste, which”—she cast a glance at Lady Margaret and, pausing upon Ravenna briefly, returned her attention to the earl—“is sadly lacking among the prince’s guests.”
He smiled, but hardness settled at the corners of his mouth. “Rather, I speak through begrudging humility. In matters of character I am outclassed in this company.”
“I cannot believe it,” Lady Penelope demurred, leaning slightly toward him as if Ravenna and Arielle were not present. “But we must give our inferiors their due, I suppose.”
Mademoiselle Dijon rose. “Miss Caulfield, I should like your advice on a cap I embroider for my father. Will you assist me?”
Ravenna followed her from the room. Lord Case watched her depart even as the twins demanded his attention.
Once across the threshold, Arielle bent her head, her lips tight. “Les s?urs . . . Ladies Penelope and Grace . . . ce sont des vipères. Do you say this in England? The vipers?”
Ravenna laughed. “Yes. I suppose women can be horrid in any language.”
“But, I must tell you, Ravenna . . . Lady Grace, she does not like all that her sister says.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Last night when Lady Penelope danced with the prince, I watched her sister. She stood alone beside their mother. Looking upon Penelope, she wore a face froide comme la pierre. Like the stone.”
The same as at dinner two nights earlier. At her sister’s side, Grace moved and spoke like a shadow, mimicking her sister in everything. But away from her twin she revealed another facade.
“Thank you for telling me this, Mademoiselle Dijon.”
“Je vous en prie, mademoiselle. Enfin, I do not believe you wish to waste your moments at needlework with me, non? You must go now. Solve this murder, I pray, and find ma chère petite.”
Ravenna hurried across the great hall where the night before she had nearly lost her head at the touch of a man’s hand. At the base of the stairs she paused. Men’s voices issued forth from a doorway near the dining room, the unmistakable accents of Monsieur Sepic among them. She went toward the open door.
Gentlemen lounged about a beautiful wood-paneled room at the center of which a billiards table reigned. Sir Henry and the prince stood by the table, cue sticks in hand, with General Dijon looking on. Back turned to the game, Lord Prunesly peered through his spectacles at a diagram of hunting dogs framed in glass. Lord Prunesly’s son slouched in a corner, his hair falling over his brow in a sullen slant. Sir Beverley reclined with his usual subdued elegance in a wingback chair across from Monsieur Sepic, whose hand clasped a glass of golden-red liquid. Lord Vitor leaned against the wall beside the mantel, watching her, the only man in the room to notice her.
Of all the gentlemen guests, only Lord Whitebarrow, Petti, and Lord Case were absent.
Sir Henry glanced up from the table. “Ah, Miss Caulfield.” Billiards cue in hand, he came toward her. “I am delighted to see you. Delighted! You find us gentlemen at our vice early this morning. His highness was teaching my lord here”—he gestured to the distracted Lord Prunesly—“a few tricks of the table, and as there’s a new layer of snow on the ground the rest of us are here for the entertainment. But that’s all nothing to a clever girl like you, is it? Immensely clever, I say, gentlemen! The poultice she wrapped about my animal’s hoof has done the trick. He walked three times about the courtyard this morning without complaint. The lameness persists, of course. That’ll need time to heal. But he’s mightily improved. In the name of Zeus, mightily improved! I shall have to call you Lady Miracle now.” His brow turned thoughtful. “Fine name for a horse, that.”
“Ah, mademoiselle.” The prince approached, took her hand, and lifted it to his lips. “You brighten this gathering of men with the soft smile in your eyes. For me, it is enough to ensure a morning of joy.” He tilted his head. “Churlishly, however, I must command that you give me, your host, a vision of the smile of your lips as well, so that my day will be bright throughout.”
She obliged. “Will that do, your highness?”
His fingers tightened on hers. “Sufficient for a lifetime if I weren’t vastly greedy.” He gestured to the billiards table. “You see we are hard at work.”
Not solving the murder. She held herself back from looking at Lord Vitor. “I do. Has Lord Prunesly learned what he must to be a worthy opponent?”
“I fear he has little head for the game,” the prince said with pursed lips. He lowered his voice. “You know these bookish sorts. All brain. No bravery.” He winked.
“My sister Eleanor is a tremendous scholar and she has the courage of an archangel. But, as this is your house, I will allow you your mistaken opinion.”
He grinned and tried to draw her into the room. She tugged her hand away. “I cannot intrude upon your game.” Or go any closer to the man she had stood beside in the dark last night. Her pulse was already far too rapid though an entire room separated them. “I hoped to speak with Monsieur Sepic.”