She had expected to be noticed, perhaps even shunned. She had arrived braced for impact, half-ready to feign illness and flee back to Lambton at the first raised eyebrow. But so far, not a single person had even hinted that she might be more than just Miss Bennet of Hertfordshire. It was almost disappointing.
Almost.
She melted into the background as easily as if she had been painted there, her expression calm, her wit folded neatly behind her teeth. She sipped her wine slowly. She admired the embroidery on a passing gown that was ambitious but not successful. And she made precisely one mental note to ask Mrs. Gardiner whether anyone in Derbyshire still danced, or if it was all parlour tricks and harp solos now.
Lady Chiswell, in a plume-trimmed turban, swept into the center of the room. Her voice rang above the cheerful din.
“My dears, if I may have your attention! We shall begin with a little amusement—entirely harmless, I promise!”
The muscles along her back drew tight like a bowstring.
Lady Chiswell raised a hand and beamed.
“My dear friends, welcome—belated though this celebration may be! Illness delayed our Twelfth Night, but the snow has been kind enough to keep the spirit of mischief alive. Before supper, we shall indulge in a little diversion with a game of Riddles. You will each find a slip and a quill near the sideboard. Compose something clever—anonymous, of course—and allentries shall be placed in this basket. The most amusing shall be read aloud and, naturally, guessed at. No prize but glory… and perhaps a few suspicions confirmed.”
Elizabeth’s stomach dropped.
The noise of the room dimmed, or perhaps her hearing had simply vanished. She stared straight ahead, her eyes fixed on the window but not seeing it at all. Her lungs forgot themselves. Her gloves felt suddenly too tight.
It couldnotbe. It could notbe!
Notthisgame. Not here! Someone must suspect!
She took a sharp step backward, bumping into a side table. A bowl of candied walnuts rattled ominously.
“Excuse me,” she said to no one in particular, and turned in a tight, deliberate circle as if she might locate a coat, a door, a trapdoor in the floor—anything to make a dignified exit before she collapsed into the fireplace or began shrieking.
“Lizzy—” came a familiar voice, gently urgent.
Mrs. Gardiner appeared at her elbow with a face that said, quite clearly,please do not faint or flee until I have explained.
Elizabeth clutched her reticule like a lifeline. “You knew?”
Her aunt winced. “I was hoping it would not come to this part.”
Elizabeth’s breath stuttered. “They will know. They will read one line and—”
“They will do no such thing,” Mrs. Gardiner said firmly, lowering her voice. “Elizabeth, listen to me. Those pamphlets never reached this far. I asked Lady Chiswell myself—discreetly—and she had not heard a word of it. Not even a rumor.”
Elizabeth blinked. “You askedLady Chiswell?”
“She has always been a good gauge of local gossip,” Mrs. Gardiner replied. “And if anyone in Derbyshire had heard of some disgraceful satire scribbler from London, it would be she.”
Elizabeth made a soft, strangled sound. “She is a menace! Have you forgot that she holds an annual auction to sell off eligible gentlemen for charity? I won Mr. Darcy for a picnic lunch!”
Mrs. Gardiner gave an unrepentant laugh. “Which you then spent mocking his choice in waistcoats, if memory serves.”
“He wore a cravat like it was a form of penance,” Elizabeth muttered. “I had no choice.”
“Nevertheless,” her aunt continued, more gently, “Lady Chiswell was not aware of your supposed crimes. She simply liked the idea of clever sayings and wished to amuse her guests. That is all. You are not in danger. And Lady Chiswell—who, you must admit, never met an entertainment she did not immediately attempt to improve—declared it would make a perfect parlour amusement. She told me about the old game: submitting anonymous epigrams and verses to guess the author. It is quite a real tradition, you know.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth said darkly. “It is called torment the hostess until she regrets offering biscuits.”
“She was thrilled,” Mrs. Gardiner went on. “Declared it the very thing to warm the spirits after such a long, dull January.”
“I am not taking part.”
“Indeed. Ah…” Her aunt gave a soft, almost guilty smile. “About that. You remember yesterday morning, when Mrs. Hartley asked if I had a headache and you offered—very nobly—to take your tea alone?”
