“You insult our host,” Fairweather said gently, as though she was an ill-disciplined child. He had no idea that she had already saved him from the embarrassment of displaying forged artifacts in his own collection.
Louisa sniffed. “Just because Henry is your dearest, or should I say only, friend, doesn’t give you the right to cast aspersions on the Culpeppers, Persephone Blackwell.”
“Lady Culpepper is already aware,” Persephone replied calmly. She had learned not to let them see her react. Holly looked mortified enough for all of them, shifting from foot to foot, cheeks red as beets. Miss Ivy Jones was pressed to the wall as though she thought she might blend into the silk paper. “She decided she liked it enough that it did not signify.”
Barton was frowning as though his own personal honor had been called into question. “You must be mistaken.”
“Egyptians did not inlay with diamonds,” Persephone replied. “Furthermore, that type of crown is meant to cover the nape of the neck.”
“She’s quite correct.” Fairweather bowed in her direction, suddenly impressed. She answered with a tiny curtsy of her own. That small acknowledgment was better than any declaration of love, no matter what her grandmother had to say on the subject. It was better than chocolate.
“Do tell us about your adventures,” Lady Louisa stepped in front of Persephone calculatingly enough to trod on her toes. Hard. “Digging in the backyard is so provincial next to your own exploits.”
Persephone eased away. Funny how she never felt alone with a pile of dirt and abandoned bones. And she was better dressed then too. She was likely to blind herself if she caught another glimpse of the horrid lime ribbons. She went back to waiting for supper to be announced, trying to surreptitiously work the ribbons free. She’d said she’d wear them, she never said for how long.
“Well done,” Priya said as Persephone shoved the offending ribbon behind a cushion. “Those are particularly hideous. Your grandmother’s outdone herself.”
“She means well.”
“I know,” Priya said drily, untying a yellow and magenta striped ribbon from around her neck. She was stunningly beautiful, with her dark eyes and hair and a penchant for daring necklines and sharp retorts. “She accosted me in the stairwell.”
Persephone chuckled. “Of course, she did. How long have you been hiding in the ferns?”
“Barely a quarter of an hour but, as usual, it’s the best place to survive an interminable evening.”
“You still don’t enjoy a house party?”
“Not one full of condescending prats.” Persephone choked back a laugh. “It seems worse than usual,” Priya added.
“It’s the festival,” Persephone said. “Everyone wants to be seen and heard.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner but you know how I hate to leave my gardens.”
“Almost as much as I dislike London,” Persephone shrugged. “We’re together now so that’s what matters. Not that you give a fig about artifacts or museums.”
“I really don’t,” Priya agreed, cheerfully. “But this seems a lark. I haven’t seen you in an age and besides that Conall asked me to come.”
“So, it’s true, then? He’s looking for a wife?” Persephone asked, surprised. Even more surprising was the small twist of disappointment behind her ribcage. She had no right to be disappointed. She barely had a right to be politely interested.
She peered through the leaves to where Conall leaned against the silk-papered wall in his black evening attire, a predatory alertness to him. Ladies circled him in a froth of white silks and pretty ribbons. There was a hunger to their circling that made Persephone uncomfortable. He may as well be a rabbit loosed to the hounds. She was glad to be off the Marriage Mart. It seemed a dismal way to decide the rest of your life.
Even if this particular rabbit had more of the hunter in him. Oh, he bowed and laughed warmly when lady after lady whispered in his ear. He greeted debutantes pushed forward by eager parents. His smile never wavered, except the one moment he looked up and Persephone could have sworn he was looking straight at her. “Why do I feel as though your brother can see us even through the ferns? And knows that we are speaking about him?”
“He probably can,” Priya shrugged. “It’s an infuriating talent he has. You know what a dreadful big brother he was growing up. He always knew when I was up to something.”
“And me.”
He raised his glass in her direction with a barely perceptible nod of his head. Persephone felt like blushing again, for no earthly good reason. She hoped she wasn’t coming down with the ague from digging in the rain. She didn’t have the time for illness.
Or whatever it was she was feeling.
Let’s call it illness.
She wondered how no one else seemed to notice the way he held himself, as alert as Atlas preparing to shoulder the world. His eyes tracked every guest, lingering, cataloguing, noticing. His reputation had changed sometime during the war, though earls were hardly called to battle. She wondered how Henry might have changed. Conall had always been friendly, but somewhat reserved, quiet. Now, from all accounts, he was invited to every soiree, every dinner party, every ball. To host the Earl of Northwyck was a great coup. He never shunned a wallflower or a dowager. He danced the quadrille instead of disappearing into the cards room. He didn’t smoke cheroots or take snuff. And he left countless blushes in his wake.
“Why were they were pinching their bony noses at you, this time?” Priya asked.
“I pointed out one of Lady Culpepper’s forgeries.”