That was Dominic Rivers in the flesh, though, standing just inside the door to the ballroom, side by side with another young gentleman of the bright and young variety. To my knowledge, I had never seen him before, and now didn’t seem like the time to ask for elucidation.
“That’s what I thought,” Crispin said. “So who…?”
And then the shilling dropped, and his lip curled. “Let me guess. Wolfie’s coming?”
“Don’t call him that,” I said. “And don’t look at me like that, either. I wasn’t the one who invited him. That responsibility lies with your fiancée.”
“My…” It sounded as if he lost his breath for a moment. “Laetitia invited His Highness?”
“Got it in one.”
He stared at me, eyes wide. “Why?”
“Something you’ll have to take up with her,” I said. “I just plan to enjoy the weekend. Between Wolfgang and Mr. Rivers, not to mention Lord Geoffrey, there’s no lack of eligible young gentlemen, is there? Your removal from the marriage mart will hardly be noticed at all.”
I smiled sweetly. “My felicitations, St George, to you and your betrothed. I’ll get out of the way for Mr. Rivers and his companion.”
I stepped into Christopher, who took me by the arm and tugged me away.
It was a few steps later that we came face to face with Dominic and his companion crossing the floor in the opposite direction. I smiled blandly as we stopped in front of them. “Mr. Rivers.”
He inclined his head. “Miss Darling. Mr. Astley. May I present the Honorable Reginald Fish?”
The Honorable Mr. Fish was a washed-out dirty blond, who couldn’t have been a starker contrast to Dominic Rivers’s smoldering Latin looks if he’d tried.
“Fish,” Christopher murmured, while I dimpled.
“A pleasure, Mr. Fish.”
“Call me Reggie,” Mr. Fish said. “Long time, no see, Astley. You’re here to wish your cousin well?”
Christopher nodded and glanced at me. “This is my other cousin, on my mother’s side. Miss Philippa Darling.”
“Miss Darling.” Reggie bowed.
“Call me Pippa,” I told him, “please. If you’re Reggie, I’m Pippa.”
Reggie nodded. “A pleasure.”
I waited for him to say something else, but when he didn’t, Christopher said, “A pleasure to see you both. We’ll get out of your way. Let you go and congratulate the happy couple.”
He shot a look over his shoulder to where Crispin and Laetitia were waiting. I shot one across Reggie’s, to where Lady Violet Cummings and the girl I thought was the Honorable Cecily Fletcher were standing. They had been joined by a third young woman I didn’t know, a darker-haired brunette—darker than the maybe-Cecily, whose hair was a fluffy medium brown, not unlike my own—and all three of them were watching us. When they caught me looking, the new girl and Lady Violet turned away to whisper to one another across Cecily’s body. The latter ignored them in favor of continuing to watch; us, or perhaps it was Crispin and Laetitia beyond us that she was watching. She looked somewhat pale and hollow-eyed, although that may have been the color of her frock. Not everyone can pull off that particular shade of green.
For a second I could hear St George’s voice in the back of my head, “—like a stalk of celery, Darling,” and then I shook it off. I wasn’t the one in the green dress, and Laetitia surely wouldn’t let him say anything like that to Cecily. Saying it to me was one thing; saying it to someone else came dangerously close to flirtation.
Dominic Rivers and Reggie Fish moved on towards the fireplace and the engaged couple, and Christopher pulled me in the direction of Francis and Constance, who had visited the bar cart and were now holding glasses of bourbon or brandy and some sort of cocktail and perhaps sherry. When we got close enough, Constance handed off the two cocktails to me and Christopher, and took the glass of sherry back from Francis, whogave it to her with a little bow before he lifted his own glass in a toast. “To the happy couple, and to none of us strangling the bride.”
“Or groom,” I said, and took a sip of what turned out to be some form of gin drink, with Crème de Menthe and bitters.
Francis eyed me over the top of the glass. “Were you tempted to kill him and not her?”
“I’m always tempted to kill him,” I said.
Of course, I was usually tempted to kill her too, but this calamity was firmly on his shoulders. What happened wasn’t Laetitia’s fault; she had simply snatched at the opportunity she had been waiting for when it was presented to her.
“He’s a fool,” Francis grunted.
“No argument here.”
