Nor would Alice, Grace thought warmly. Alice had turned up at the door of Raven’s Court, windblown and defiant to apologize for her mother’s ill behavior. When she had glimpsed plans for the party spread upon the table, Alice had added her own suggestions.I know just where I can find you the perfect kegs.
“You seem positively overrun with Harcourts, save one,” Mrs. Aylcock said. “Whereisthe Elusive Lord Everdene?”
A chill ran through Grace and she stiffened her spine. “He was called away on some important business.”
“What could be more important than the first event his bride has hosted?” the woman scoffed.
People dying…Grace bit off the words before she could say them out loud. “His lordship has many responsibilities.”
“For your sake, I do hope this won’t stir up gossip. My son confided that the wagers in Whites’ betting book regarding who would trap Everdene into marriage have been amended. They are laying odds regarding how soon he will tire of his bride. Men can be so very wicked!”
Lady Downe frowned at Mrs. Aylcock from a seat on one of the benches, then rose and breezed over with a swish of her deep green skirts. “Truly dedicated Members of Parliament have no time for such trivial pursuits. One never knows when men likeLord Everdene and my husband will be called away to attend concerns of the crown. Committees to serve on, investigations to head. Why, the latest inquiry regarding public health…” She stopped and lay a hand on the Grace’s sleeve with such tenderness her throat ached. “Suffice it to say, Lord Everdene is one of the hardest working men in the House of Lords. We will have a lovely evening despite his unfortunate absence tonight, and shall be able to do wonderful things for the school. Now, Mrs. Aylcock, perhaps you had best go to the retiring room. I fear you have spilled a bit of punch on your bodice, and silk stains abominably.”
With a sour smile, Lady Downe steered Grace away, while Mrs. Aylcock examined her bodice for spots.
“That woman is a nightmare!” her ladyship huffed as she withdrew coins from her reticule and dropped them in a caroler’s outstretched cap. “Pay her no heed. It is obvious to anyone who knows his lordship that marriage agrees with him. I have never seen Lord Everdene smile as much as he has these past months. Not since his mother disappeared. I do not think that the Harcourt children ever recovered from her absence all those years. I knew Countess Ravenscroft before her disappearance from society. She was as kind and gentle a soul as you ever saw.”
“She still is.” The countess had remained in the country, doing good works, but Jane was like an echo of her mother, Lucien’s gentle sister quietly speaking to a young widow dressed in half-mourning. A group of actors outside Fezziwig’s Warehouse invited guests to join a country dance and her ladyship went to join them.
Grace glanced nervously at the clock then paused to take a paper poke filled with treats from one of the street vendors, something about the man drawing her gaze.
His chin was buried in the knitted scarf that swathed his neck, his greatcoat a cheerful bottle green. Fingerless mitts concealed hands that trembled.
His station had been made to look like he was roasting chestnuts. Flames of red and orange silk topped one of the barrels, while the others held refreshments.
One would think the fire was really burning, the way sweat trickled down his temples.
Had he become overly warm? He was standing very near to a brace of streetlamps.
He caught Grace’s eye and looked down quickly.
“I fear it is growing far too warm in here to be wearing so many layers of winter clothes,” she said. “I am very sorry if you are uncomfortable.”
“’Tis not so bad, my lady,” he said in a lilting Irish accent. Perhaps that was why he seemed nervous. Few people were willing to hire the Irish, especially with the unrest in the streets.
“If you are feeling ill from the heat, you are welcome to take a few moments outside to cool…” Something in his expression stirred her memory and she regarded him more intently taking in his tip-tilted eyes, the shape of his mouth…
A muscle spasmed at the corner of his eye, and he shuffled his wares, knocking one of the pokes askew. He looked as if he expected her to have him hauled out by the scruff of his neck.
“I am sorry for staring,” she said gently, “but you remind me of a drawing I saw. It’s of a man we’ve been searching for. Darragh Nolan.”
He jerked his head back an inch, the scarf slipping, revealing a crescent shaped scar on his chin. She gasped in wonder, seeing the truth flare in the man’s eyes. “Itisyou, Darragh Nolan!”
At that moment, she heard a familiar voice from the far side of the room. Her heart leapt with relief.
Lucien stood at the door, still wearing his greatcoat. His hair was mussed, sharp cheeks red from cold. Beloved. Safe. He clapped his hands, as ever, taking command of the space. “Forgive my tardiness,” he announced. “I have arranged a surprise for my wife. We will withdraw to the back garden at once. All of you. Guests, performers and staff as well. This will be an exhibition you will never forget.”
Grace’s heart thrilled and a wave of excitement rippled through the crowd. People began walking out the door.
She was moving between Darragh and the display just as his hand shot out toward the pole of the faux streetlamp. She lunged instinctively, jarring the barrels themselves as she caught the falling post before the glass lamp could crash down and shatter atop them.
“Oh, dear! That could have been—” She froze as stared at the barrel top. The silk flames had slid aside, revealing a sprinkling of dark powder and a coil of fuse disappearing into a knot hole. Grace gasped, looking up in horror. Nolan’s eyes widened, white-rimmed, almost mad. Terror clutched at her chest.
In a heartbeat his arm snaked around her, pinning her arms to her sides. He dragged her against him, his muscles ropy cords made even stronger by his desperation.
She struggled to get free, oversetting a small barrel. Black powder spilled at their feet. She jolted him backwards, then realized her mistake. He reached through one of the false windows, grasping a branch of candles with his other hand.
“Don’t do this!” she pleaded. “Darragh, we’ve been searching for you. Want to help you. You and Sibby Rose and Moira.”
