But, much as Lucien trusted their judgement, he had a wife and child to consider for the first time, love far too precious to lose.
He scowled as he searched the rooms for anything out of the ordinary—which waseverythingat the moment, he admitted with grim humor. Oh, he’d hosted gentleman’s dinners at Raven’s Court through the years, serving up simple fare, his best port and strategies for political schemes. But now, the townhouse was awash in swishing skirts, the fragrance of perfume and the hum of feminine anticipation.
Raven’s Court had never felt alive in quite this way, not even when his mother had been hostess to events in the past. But then, she had dreaded them, while Grace possessed a unique giftfor drawing people out, making them part of the good she hoped to do.
Cassandra had applied her artistic skills to the canvas backgrounds for the tableaux Grace had planned, painting star-spangled skies and vignettes from the Dickens novel A Christmas Carol. Some, the exteriors, like Scrooge’s famed counting house, others, interiors like Fezziwig’s warehouse, and Bob Cratchit’s home, each to be illuminated with candles and oil lamps that glowed.
Penelope had entertained little Kit while she organized serving pieces Lucien had forgot he’d even possessed and Jane had filled gauze bags with treats for the children who would be caroling among the guests. Gingernuts and boiled sweets, pencils and India rubber balls and colorful tin horns. When Kit escaped his mother’s eye and began attempting to toot one, Lucien had muttered something about the fresh hell the women were unleashing. But he couldn’t help imagining his own child delighting in such a toy, and Grace’s laughter as he marched about.
Now, Simon’s son was off with his nanny in the nursery that had stood empty for so many years. Simon and McLeod were doing one final check with their informants, and Lucien was trying to stay the devil out of the way as the women completed their toilettes.
He donned his own garb then retreated to his study, leaving Penelope, Jane and Grace hastening back and forth between rooms, exclaiming over jewelry and fans and making last-minute adjustments to gowns and hair.
Only Cassandra had not joined in the preparations with the same enthusiasm, seeming as edgy as Lucien as the hour for the party approached. They had not spoken alone since the revelation she’d intended to sabotage his marriage, but when he peered into the ballroom, he was surprised to find her there.She was garbed in a severe gown of black satin with red ribbon trim, yet she looked strangely younger, more uncertain. Once, he might have quietly slipped away, but he stepped closer. “You’ve done lovely work on these tableaux,” he said, gesturing to the painted toy spaniel beneath a Christmas tree. “This looks like our old dog Flash. He even has one of Jane’s dolls in his mouth. He led us on many a merry chase.”
“It is so strange, is it not?” Cassandra mused, running her fingers over a candlestick decorated with the stars their mother had loved. “It’s as if Raven’s Court is waking up after some enchantment. I see the same silver, the same ballroom floor and paintings, and yet, it feels so different from the way it was when we were children.”
“Yes.”
“I had buried so much. Seeing mother’s things brings it flooding back.”
He saw her shudder and wondered what she was reliving. They each had their own nightmares.
“The last time I was here is when Father introduced me to Thornsby, insisting I waltz with him,” Cassandra said.
Thornsby, the evil man their father had betrothed Cassandra to against her will. Mother had been attempting to spirit Cassandra to safety the night Lucien had sounded the alarm. He hadn’t known of his father’s machinations…and yet, it turned Lucien’s stomach to remember that his actions had enabled their father to deliver Cass into the hands of the lecherous bastard who had preyed upon a girl not even out of the schoolroom. Thank God, their mother had managed to obtain Cassandra’s release, even from the asylum the earl had imprisoned her in.
He tried to think of the words to say to his sister, but before he could speak, Cass’s voice came, soft, uncertain.
“Have you ever wondered if our family is cursed?” She looked up at him, her gaze searching his face.
Lucien shook his head. “I don’t believe in curses.”
“I do. Do you remember Paola, my maid?”
Lucien pictured the grim Italian woman with the eyepatch who had looked at him as if he were the devil. “It would be hard to forget her, especially since she was the one who taught you to wield a sword. Strange, I hadn’t marked the fact that she did not accompany you here.”
Cassandra picked at her thumbnail, and shrugged. “She was called away. When we were in Italy, she introduced me to a Romany seer, an old woman who said…sins demand payment in blood. She knew a Sin Eater, said he could wash the curse away, but I refused. I wanted you and Father to pay for what you had done more than I wanted to be free of some evil spell…even if that could free Jane and Simon and Mama. Even if it could free me.”
Lucien had felt the same kind of poison, eating away at him…before Grace.
“I always accused you of being like Father,” Cass said. “But perhaps I am the one?—”
She stopped at the sound of someone else entering the room, a footman looking irritated, red splotches on his face.
“Pardon the interruption, my lord, but there is a person at the front door who insists on seeing you.”
Lucien glanced at the ormolu clock on a table. Possibly some news from one of the guards posted on the corners outside?
“He refuses to come inside,” the footman huffed in high dudgeon. “I explained that lords do not address strangers on their doorstep.”
The back of Lucien’s neck prickled. “I’ll see him. Cassandra, perhaps we can continue our conversation later.”
“Heaven forbid.” She waved her hand, shuttering that hint of vulnerability away. “Go on, before I say something even more foolish.”
Troubled, Lucien made his way down to the front entry, the arches and nooks bedecked with holly and silver ribbon.
A hard-eyed man stood outside the townhouse door, his coat worn but clean, his soft cap pulled over mouse-brown hair badly in need of a trim. There was something vaguely familiar about him, though Lucien couldn’t place him.
