Page 59 of The Oxford Guide to Scandal and Lies

Gin forced herself to smile up at Donald and laugh along with whatever nonsense his friends spouted.

The first part of the evening passed in a whirl of mindless drivel punctuated with furtive checks around the room for any sign of Marion. Endless names, endless introductions, Donald’s hands growing ever more familiar till Ginevra slid away under the pretense of needing food, champagne, or to powder her nose. After the arrivals ended, Donald held court in the largest drawing room with his cronies, and Gin was relieved to recognize a few girls from the Wiltshire families among which she’d grown up.

For a few moments, Gin was transported to the past, where her mother’s smile welcomed her home, where her father’s dogs caused mayhem tripping footmen. In that world, it was very possible she would have accepted Craddock as an inevitable choice of husband, for she had thought him a tolerable acquaintance for many years. Only her mother’s death had changed everything, from the way Gin thought about love to the things she wanted to achieve, and Oxford had offered her new possibilities for the future. But the echo of a different life haunted her in the Foxley Hall drawing room as she forced herself to laugh along with old acquaintances. What path would she have chosen if her mother had lived?

Though the pressure to locate Marion divided Gin’s attention, there was another familiar face in the crowd she couldn’t help watching. Sarita was radiant in a wine-colored gown with a sweetheart neckline, but the man accompanying her was a stranger. His skin was slightly darker than Sarita’s and he had thick, wavy brown hair that set him apart from the fashionable, sleek Damocles Club members. They made a strikingly handsome couple and circulated throughout the room, chatting to many people. But the way Sarita’s face glowed with pride while the man talked perplexed Ginevra. If he wasn’t a beau, then what the devil was going on?

When Gin returned to Donald’s side, the whisky on his breath hit her in a pungent wave. His arms snaked around her back with a possessiveness that made her skin crawl. “The boys have organized a bit of fun upstairs. Care to join?”

“You smell as though you’ve had enough fun already.” She smiled up at him, trying to pull back, but his hold only tightened.

“The night’s just getting started, Gin.”

“Craddock.” Oliver Whitby, also intoxicated, pulled on Donald’s other side. “Come on, they’re dealing us into the next hand.” He leered at Ginevra, blinking as though it was impossible to place her outside the newspaper’s office, but then brightened. “Bishop! Fancy seeing you here.”

Donald nuzzled into Gin’s hair, and she held her breath, trying not to recoil. “You’ll come for good luck, yes?”

“Of course,” she said with false brightness. “Though you know Lady Luck has a way of turning.”

“Not tonight.” Whitby’s wide, vacuous smile raised the hairs on Gin’s neck once more. “I found us a plump goose to pluck.”

Donald rumbled with delight and pulled Gin up the stairs after Whitby. She twisted back to survey the foyer, but there was no sign of Sidney among the crowd. It would have been a comfort if someone knew where she was going, but Gin stuffed down her fears. If Marion was planning mischief for the evening, the Damocles inner circle was exactly where she needed to be.

Whitby led them into a wood-paneled study on the second floor where men gathered around a table. At one end sat a group of older gentlemen, presumably Damocles alumni, and at the other end, a group of eager prospective members listened to Leland describe in tedious detail all the renovations to his cottage. To Gin’s surprise, Lewis Hughes sat among them, observing the proceedings with amusement. But beside him sat Harold, and Gin’s pulse quickened. How on earth had Sidney lost him already?

Donald released her to pour a drink from the cart in the corner, and Gin slipped behind Harold’s chair. She leaned forward, laughing along with the rest, and hovered near his ear long enough to whisper, “You really shouldn’t be here.”

Harold startled, his innocent eyes clouding with guilt. “It’s just a bit of harmless fun!”

“And you left Iris downstairs?” She tsked, and his cheeks pinked. “Very unchivalrous, Mr. Webb.”

“I—well—” Harold stammered, and for a moment Gin felt truly sorry for making him feel bad. “I didn’t think of it like that, I suppose.”

“Then I suggest you hurry back to her side, and all will be forgiven. She’s a very nice girl—much nicer than me,” she added darkly.

Harold winced, but he shook his head. “You’re right—you’re right. Thank you.” He looked around the table with faint alarm. “Dash it all, they’ve already dealt me in though, and I’ve got money in the pot.” He grabbed her hand. “Would you take my place, at least?”

Across the room, Donald was already refilling his tumbler of whisky, slapping another man on the shoulder as they chortled. The air was redolent with entitlement, a heady haze of comfortable wealth and power, and the thought of having a bit of fun at their expense sweetened the odiousness of Ginevra’s position.

“I’d be delighted,” she said.

Chapter Twenty

Sidney’s untasted champagne fizzled flat as he brooded in his chosen corner of the drawing room. From this vantage, he could see everyone spread across the three rooms where most of the party gathered, a swirling mass that reminded him of little ants—little ants in sequins and tailcoats, toasting each other in those posh, tinkling voices. Did they all affect the same accent on purpose or was it inevitable from generational inbreeding? Even Ginevra had a hint of it, though it waxed and waned depending on who else was around. With him, she relaxed into her vowels; with Craddock, she sounded starched stiff.

For the third time in ten minutes, Sidney eyed the steps up the grand staircase. He could probably take them two at a time, check on Gin, and return to his post in mere minutes. She would be annoyed, of course, but the way Craddock had hovered as they progressed to the second floor made Sidney’s hands clench. Only it wasn’t really his business, was it? The man was technically her fiancé.

For a girl who often said precisely what she was thinking, Ginevra had a maddening habit of going quiet when Sidney was most curious what whizzed through her mind. When she’d suggested approaching Craddock for invitations, she’d seemed resigned rather than eager, which puzzled him. Was it a forced engagement? Or did she really care for Craddock and fret over his Damocles membership, fearing there were secrets to uncover? It made Sidney feel even more of a cad that he would be only too happy to shake out a few skeletons if it detached her from such a wretch.

“Sir.” A footman stopped before Sidney holding a platter of hors d’oeuvres. “The crumpets you requested are being prepared right now.”

“Not really a crumpets kind of party, is it?” Sidney leaned closer, pretending to inspect the tray. “Everything all right in the kitchens?”

“So far, yes.” The agent disguised in a footman’s dark suit politely glanced at the nearby guests, but they were well out of earshot. “No sign of the target or any tampering with the food. If you need anything, I’m floating between the drawing rooms.” He made a small smile. “I think this tray is safe if you’re peckish.”

Sidney’s stomach was beginning to rumble, but he’d brought a packet of nuts as a precaution. “Thanks, but I’ll manage.”

The agent inclined his head and drifted away, and Sidney had to credit the Rook for his ingenuity. Most great houses couldn’t afford to be choosy about hired help with so few young people entering service, and inserting agents among the party’s temporary staff was clever. It was also, however, a weakness that Marion Kirk might choose to exploit.