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Was she wrong about him? She’d been so convinced that she knew better than everyone else—that they only saw the artificial side to him whilst she saw the reality, the disdain he had for her. Yet nothing he did yesterday could be considered disdainful. In truth, Oliver had been a gentleman and done his best to shield her from Lady Mary’s cruelty.
She took an absentminded mouthful of toast and set the slice upon her plate when she realized it had gone cold.
Her brother folded the newspaper carefully into four, put it upon the table and looked directly at her. “We have Blake dining here tonight.”
“Why are you telling me?” Eleanor asked.
“Because you cannot spend the evening hiding in the boot room,” Anton said.
His wife put a hand to his arm and offered a cautioning look.
“I had no intention of hiding. Blake is practically family.” She glanced at Aunt Sarah who was feeding her cat milk directly from a bone china teacup and then to Demeter. “Do you really think me so rude?”
“Not at all, dear.” Aunt Sarah set the cat down. “Simon just misses your company, do you not, Simon?” Her aunt lifted the cat and squeezed him tight. He blinked lazily, entirely used to the attention her aunt gave him.
“I know you would not miss the dinner,” Demeter said. “Anton is being silly. However...”
Eleanor lifted her brows. “However?”
“Oliver is coming too,” Anton said. “And you shall be polite to him for a change, Eleanor.”
“Oliver is coming here?” she repeated, aware her heart gave a strange little jolt. Three days in a row. Three days of Oliver’s company. No wonder her family thought she would scurry off. She had not been quiet about her dislike of him.
“Eleanor is always polite,” Demeter protested.
Eleanor gave her sister a grateful look. It was not necessarily true. She’d always found it difficult to comprehend the ways of Society—how one could be pleasant to a person’s face yet say awful things when their back was turned. None of her sisters were exactly adept at that kind of deception and she too had a tongue that would not be silenced.
“You know, Oliver does not come from the politest of families.” Aunt Sarah gestured wildly with a spoon before plunging it into a teacup. “His mother is a frightful beast. I used to call her the Beast of Bath when we spent time there.” Aunt Sarah’s lips twitched. “She overheard me once and tried to trip me over by putting her foot on my skirts. Little did she realize it would send me right into the arms of the most handsome man.”
“Uncle Simon?” Demeter asked.
“Oh no. I believe it was the Comte de Saint Germain. But,” Aunt Sarah grinned broadly, “it made Simon wildly jealous, and I am certain we would not have married had it not been for that moment. So you see, girls, everything happens for a reason.”
Eleanor was not certain she believed in fate. Could it be argued that Demeter’s gown was stolen for a reason? Or that some of the many troubles they had encountered as an investigative club were to lead somewhere? Admittedly, all her sisters had found their husbands thanks to various investigations but those had been spurred by tragic incidents in some cases. After all, one could not claim her having to work with Oliver was destiny, could one? Fate would not put two such different people together.
Aunt Sarah pressed a kiss to the top of the cat’s head. “You hated that Count, did you not?” she said, then continued to mutter to the animal.
Anton tutted and rolled his eyes. Shortly after Uncle Simon’s death, the cat had arrived and installed himself in their house. Because of the dark patch that looked like a moustache against a flash of white fur, Aunt Sarah had decided it was the reincarnation of her husband. Anton most certainly did not. Eleanor wasn’t sure she believed that either, but the animal brought their aunt comfort at a terrible time.
Eleanor turned her attention back to Demeter. She couldn’t keep putting off the inevitable and perhaps her sister would have a better idea of who was targeting her. “Demeter, I wonder, did Blake mention anything of your wedding gown?”
“No, why would he?”
“The things is...” She picked up a fork and jabbed her discarded toast. “It has gone missing.”
“Missing?” Demeter blinked. “Did Blake know this?”
Anton set down the paper once more. “Your wedding gown is missing?”
“Blake knew,” Eleanor admitted.
“Pffft, it’s only a gown.” Aunt Sarah waved a hand. “Who cares what one wears to marry the love of their life?”
“I care,” muttered Anton. “It cost a fortune.”
“And you care because it’s your sister’s wedding gown, do you not, my dear?” Eliza prompted.
“That too,” he added begrudgingly.
