“No time like the present,” Christopher said. “At least you’ve got some color in your cheeks now.”
I sniffed. “There was color in my cheeks before, too. You put it there yourself, upstairs in Constance’s room.” Along with rice powder, mascara, and lipstick.
“You know what I mean,” Christopher said and plastered a benign expression on his face. “Don’t let her see that she gets to you. Turn that frown upside down.”
I scowled at him as, in front of us, Constance went up on tiptoes to kiss Laetitia’s cheek.
“Felicitations, old chap,” Francis said and slapped Crispin on the shoulder. The latter staggered. Constance murmured something no doubt appropriate to her cousin along with the kiss, and then they stepped out of the way, and it was our turn.
Christopher squeezed my hand and took a step forward. I, perforce, followed.
CHAPTER THREE
This wasmy first time seeing Crispin since the engagement was announced in theLondon Times. Christopher, I was fairly certain, had spoken to his cousin on the exchange in the couple of weeks since then, but he hadn’t told me anything about the conversation they may have had. I had no idea, at this point, whether Crispin was regretful of what he had done, or whether he was happy to have done it, and how he felt about my part in any or all of it.
He looked like a gentleman should at his engagement, resplendent in white tie with mother-of-pearl studs and cufflinks, and a platinum watch fob dangling from his waistcoat pocket. His hair was slicked back from his face into its usual sleek coiffure, a few degrees darker than the platinum shade it is naturally, and his eyes were the cool gray of metal. Steel, or perhaps chromium. Something hard and impenetrable. Something I hadn’t seen in a while. Not since we had managed to bury the hatchet we had been carrying since we were children—not in each other’s backs—and become something almost like friends.
“Darling.” He showed teeth. There’s really no other word for it. Although the smile became a touch more genuine when he turned to Christopher. His voice warmed, too. “Kit.”
“Crispin.” Christopher leaned in, one hand on Crispin’s shoulder, and I could see his lips move as he murmured something in Crispin’s ear. The latter closed his eyes for a moment, and leaned into the comfort, before he nodded.
“Miss Darling,” Laetitia’s voice cut through my preoccupation like the shrill sound of a police constable’s whistle, and when I turned to her, she was showing teeth, as well. “How thoughtful of you to stop by to wish us well.”
She’s an inch or so taller than me, so she could quite literally look down on me, something I did not appreciate. Her tone wasn’t very pleasant, either.
“It seemed the least I could do,” I answered, with a show of teeth of my own, no more sincere than hers. “We were delighted to hear that St George had found someone worthy of him.”
Meaning, of course, that they were both base individuals who belonged together. Next to Laetitia, Crispin tensed, although it might have been because of something Christopher said, not anything to do with me, or more likely, with his fiancée.
Laetitia’s eyes narrowed. They’re blue, surrounded by long, thick, mascaraed lashes, and they matched the flowers on her evening gown. After a moment, and an up-and-down look, she told me, condescendingly, “What a charming frock. Although I’m frankly surprised you left off the orange blossoms.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said, with a toss of my head. Until Francis said something upstairs, it hadn’t crossed my mind that anyone would think I was making a statement by showing up in white, but now I was determined that no one should get the wrong idea. Least of all Laetitia; she might believe I was jealous, and that was the last thing I wanted. “I’m hardly likely to tellCrispin to propose to you and then show up to your engagement party in a wedding frock, am I?”
Her expression flickered a bit over that, so perhaps he hadn’t mentioned my involvement in the proposal.
There was no reason why he would, of course, although I might have expected some sort of acknowledgement for my suggestion, seeing as it had worked out so well for the both of them.
“Trade places,” Christopher murmured in my ear. A second later, he had tugged me over to his right and taken my place in front of Laetitia.
He’s charm incarnate when he wants to be, and when he congratulated Laetitia on her betrothal, he sounded warm and sincere. I could see her practically melt under his regard. She clearly couldn’t tell, as I could, that he was putting it on with a trowel, and was no happier about the engagement than I was.
Crispin cleared his throat, and I turned back to him. “St George.”
“Darling.” He gave me an up-and-down look of his own. “Is that for me?”
“The frock?” I looked down at it and back up. “You can have it if you’d like. But it’s not precisely your color, and I expect it would be a bit short on you. Besides, your fiancée might not approve, you know.”
“The mourning,” Crispin said.
“Mourning?” I flicked a glance at Laetitia. “Isn’t your fiancée the one in mourning?”
“Laetitia has no reason to mourn,” Crispin said. “She’s got me. You don’t.”
I rolled my eyes. “I didn’t want you, you realize. If I had done, I wouldn’t have told you to propose to someone else.”
He shrugged. “So why the mourning?”
“I’m not in mourning. Who mourns in white?”
