Page 29 of The Beautiful Ones

Nicholas Fairhaven did most of the talking. Within half an hour, he had discovered precisely what each person wished to believe about himself.

He treated Philip George as an authority on hunting dogs, listened to Lucien's opinions on Thoroughbreds as though fortunes depended upon them, and invited Warren Dewey to describe the affairs of the county with all the respect one might offer a governor.

Warren expanded beneath the attention.

“My father knows every merchant between Richmond and the coast,” he said. “There is not a cargo unloaded on this stretch of river without his hearing of it.”

Judge Dewey's knife stopped against his plate.

“Warren,” he said.

Nicholas smiled as if the interruption were affectionate. “A useful acquaintance for any family with commercial interests.”

“The courts come to Father before they trouble themselves with merchants,” Warren continued. He had taken too much wine and too little warning from the judge's expression. “Half the records in the county bear his signature.”

“And the other half?” Nicholas asked.

Warren laughed.

“The other half are not worth preserving.”

The laughter around the table came late and uneven.

Judge Dewey set down his knife. “My son mistakes dullness for wit.”

“Most young men do,” Octavia said.

Her voice was soft, yet every woman heard her.

Augusta Dewey looked sharply toward Warren. Lavinia George lowered her eyes to conceal a smile. Madame Lebon's mouth tightened before she remembered that Octavia was a guest.

Octavia turned to Augusta with an expression of perfect sympathy. “You must forgive me. Your son's confidence is admirable. A mother can only hope her influence remains visible after a young man begins moving through the world without her.”

Augusta straightened. “Warren has never lacked for a mother's influence.”

“No,” Octavia said. “I can see that.”

Lavinia's smile escaped.

Octavia turned toward her. “Mrs. George, that is a charming cameo. Italian, is it not?”

Lavinia touched the brooch at her throat. “My husband brought it from New York.”

“How adventurous of him. Many gentlemen would hesitate to choose jewelry without their wives present.”

Reuben George glanced at the cameo as if he had never seen it before.

“It was selected by my sister,” he said.

Octavia's dark eyes widened by the smallest degree. “Then your sister has intimate knowledge of Mrs. George's taste.”

Augusta raised her napkin to hide her mouth.

With two compliments, Octavia had wounded three women and implicated a man who had done nothing more treacherous than purchase a brooch.

She did not seem malicious. That was what unsettled me. She pulled at people's vanities with the idle precision of a girl plucking petals from a flower.

Across the table, Cécile had noticed it too. Her eyes met mine briefly.