“Perhaps not,” Mother whispered. She reached forward and gently lowered Jasmine’s finger. In a calmer tone, she said, “But he still took alife.He takes lives every single day. That changes a man. You need to be careful with him. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
Jasmine directed all of her fury into a single look, and she spoke the only truth she knew for certain.“Matthew wouldneverhurt me.”
A knock at the door interrupted whatever her mother might have said next.
Her mother called out, “You may enter.”
Minnie came forward with her head bowed.
“Apologies for the intrusion, my lady,” she said, “You asked me to inform you when the guests have begun to arrive.”
Mother smiled at her. “Thank you, I shall be there shortly.”
After the maid excused herself, Mother gave Jasmine a pained expression. “Your gloves are covered in ink. Change them and meet me downstairs in the salon when you’re finished.”
Mother left the room and closed the door behind her with a softsnap.In the following silence, Jasmine fought the temptation to take the wine-colored drapes and make a rope to climb out of her tower. She could sell every accessory she wore, change her name, and live out her days comfortably in an ocean-side cottage somewhere.
She stared at her reflection in the mirror and saw not a person, but a bauble to be shown off and traded. Not caring about wrinkling her dress, Jasmine sat at the edge of her bed and counted the minutes until someone inevitably came to retrieve her.
***
It was seven-thirty. There shouldn’t be this many people herealready.The Sinclair drawing room was packed beyond capacity. Large enough to house most of Lincolnshire, the walls were painted in deep garnet. Silver Greek columns held up deep, domed ceilings. An open window to his left let in a humid night breeze, cooling the room. A harpist played in the center, her gentle melody drowned out by the drum of conversation.
He searched the room for the lord and lady of the house. Matthew’s gaze found Edward Sinclair, the Marquess of Dorchester, at the front of the room. He stood tall and proud, with grey hair and skin so pale that one could see his veins. A group of Spaniards surrounded him, dressed in their best black tailcoats with golden embroidery along their collars and cuffs. Lord Dorchester spoke softly yet held their rapt attention.
Looks like I’ll have to wait for that conversation.
“I’m going to go find clients,” Zeke informed them. “I’ll inform you if anything bites.”
On evenings like this, Matthew let Zeke do most of the talking. Of the three, he had the keenest instinct about whether someone was interested in their services or wasting their time. Seth couldn’t be bothered. If it were up to him, he would shut down the factory and retire to Lincolnshire permanently. He had to shave his beard for this event and spent most of the night grumbling.
Which was some sort of consolation, if nothing else.
Lady Dorchester entered the room and slowly made her way toward them. She glided through the room with her shoulders set and her chin held high. When she approached them, they both bowed to her.
“Good evening, Lord Lincolnshire, Mr. Reeves.” She looked around. “Where are Cassandra and Caroline?”
“Cassandra is at home resting,” Seth answered. “This pregnancy has been harder on her. She gets nauseous so easily.”
“The poor dear, I remember those days,” Lady Dorchester said. “And Caroline?”
“Caroline is with Lady Worthing for the night.” Matthew pointed across the room. Standing next to Honora, Caroline socialized with a group of gentlemen. Laughter and smiles surrounded her. It was easier for her to shine without his shadow.
Lady Dorchester smiled. “They’re enthralled by her.”
“I’ve been told she’s charming when I’m not around. I’ve never seen that side of her personally.” Matthew gave her a lopsided grin. “On the subject of charming ladies, where is Lady Jasmine?”
“She has been less than charming lately,” Lady Dorchester said, a sentiment Matthew mostly agreed with. “She’s likely pouting in her room.”
Matthew frowned. “I hope I didn’t get her into too much trouble today. Time slipped away from us.”
“Ah, yes.” Lady Dorchester’s eyes narrowed. “During your promenade, which you took her on without my consent.”
“I didn’t mean to overstep,” Matthew quickly assured her. “Had I known she didn’t have permission to be with us, I would have sent her home straight away.”
She smiled as if she didn’t believe him, but didn’t comment. Instead, she gave a simple, “You’ve stolen enough of her time today. She’ll be indisposed for the rest of the evening. As will I. Enjoy your evening, Lord Lincolnshire.”
Matthew’s jaw tensed. When he had first started searching for a wife, he had tried to go about it the traditional way. Attend parties. Ask for dances. Make calls. He had encountered a dozen society matrons who used the exact tone—direct, succinct, and final. It meant only one thing.
