Beside him, Frederica looked up sharply from the napkin she was using to mop up bits of ragout which had sprayed onto her dress. Frowning, she dropped the cloth.
Darcy demanded, “Who dares interfere with our dinner!”
There was no answer until Georgiana said, “Mistletoe, show yourself. Fitzwilliam, I asked him to watch your food. He can sense the presence of poison.”
Poison? It could not be true. Or could it? Napoleon wanted him dead, and the wards had stymied his assassins. “Are you saying the ragout is poisoned?”
The air before him rippled, revealing a rickety figure perhaps four feet tall, with strange ears that pointed away from his body. “It is bad, it is bad!”
Darcy's mouth went dry. If it was true, one more minute and it could have been too late – not just for him, but for everyone at the table. “What about the rest of the food?”
The little fae shuffled slowly around the table, stopping to sniff each dish. He pointed a tremulous, spindly finger at the fish. “That is bad, that is bad. Not so bad as the other.”
Elizabeth quavered, “I already had a bite of it.”
Fear stabbed through Darcy. Not his Elizabeth! Would Coquelicot be able to heal a poisoning?
Frederica leapt up and grabbed Elizabeth's hand. “Come. We are going to get that out of you.”
She led Elizabeth from the table to the door. Darcy made to follow them, but Frederica waved him back. “Stay there. Elizabeth will not thank you for watching this.”
He hated it, but it was true. “Send for me if she needs me. Instantly.”
Frederica nodded, and the two women disappeared.
Who had poisoned the food? He beckoned another footman. “Bring Cook here.”
Jasper spoke as the footman bowed and left. “Darcy, is your cook French?”
“Of course, but he has been with me for years.” Everyone who could afford it had a French cook. Could he have been persuaded to treachery by loyalty to his country of birth?
Jasper rose. “Then I will go, too, in case he runs or makes a fuss.” He departed, leaving only Darcy, Georgiana, Roderick, and the fae who was still finishing his circuit of the table.
“All the rest is good, all is good,” the lesser fae pronounced.
Georgiana said, “Well done, Mistletoe. You will be rewarded for this service.”
“Indeed you shall be,” Darcy said, and then a thought made him frown. “Mistletoe, have you been watching all my meals?”
The fae glanced at Georgiana. “As the great lady ordered.”
“Even my dinners alone with my wife?” The idea churned his empty stomach. Did he have no privacy at all?
“Even those, even those.”
Georgiana said, “The food for a private meal can be poisoned as easily as any other.” She sounded defensive.
“You should have asked me,” Darcy snapped. What had he said at all those meals, believing no other ears would hear it?
Georgiana raised her chin. “You would have refused, and I will not risk losing you.”
Jasper burst in, breathing heavily. “Your cook collapsed just before dinner was served. His assistant said he tasted the ragout several times to check the spicing, as is his habit.”
Darcy felt his blood draining from his head. Someone had tried to kill him – and nearly succeeded. “Have him taken to Coquelicot straight away.”
“Already in the ballroom under her care. His assistant is feeling ill, too. Your housekeeper is making certain no one else touches those dishes.”
This must be the work of the French assassins. The King of Faerie had never tried to kill him.
