Page 41 of A Lady’s Guide to Mystery and Mischief

Farah smiled at him in return, hoping he’d find comfort in the gesture. She couldn’t fault Leila her honesty, after all. She, like Grey, simply—

Well, they simply didn’t like Francis.

“I would normally make an attempt at politeness,” Leila told Farah. “Especially in mixed company. But as you are not yet engaged to Francis, I would much rather make my mind known.”

“I appreciate that,” Farah murmured, wondering if she might be the one to bring this broken family back to rights. It seemed wrong that they should be so against one another.

“Ah, I think I spot Mrs. Bancroft,” Leila said, peering into the throng of people. “If you’ll excuse me.”

“My apologies,” Grey said the minute Leila was out of sight. “My grandmother has never been very good at keeping her opinions to herself. She doesn’t mean to be rude, just—”

“It’s all right,” Farah said, meaning it. After all, there was no reason for her to feel truly defensive on Francis’s behalf just yet. Such emotions could be left for after their engagement. At present, she was burning with curiosity, and dying to know what had happened between Francis, Leila, and Grey. “Do you have any other family?”

“None.” Grey paused, a sheepish expression crossing his face. “Are you sure you’re all right? I don’t want you to think poorly of m—of us.”

“I prefer honesty over insincerity,” Farah assured him. Then, “Peregrine? Is that what she called you?”

A surprising flush bloomed across his cheekbones. “My real name. I prefer Grey.”

Farah grinned, desperate to convince him that she was not offended by what she’d heard. “So do I.”

*

Killing one’s grandmother was frowned upon. Grey knew this. Hell, Leila knew this, which was why she continued to happily embarrass him in front of every person who had the misfortune of being acquainted with them.

He remembered a time when he didn’t care what Farah Rafiq thought of him, but that time had long since passed. She likely thought Grey and his grandmother a pathetic pair, going on about Francis the way they were wont to do. They had their reasons, of course, but—but he’d decided to help Farah. It wasn’t his place to make decisions for her, and it wasn’t as though Francis would endanger her. It was just—God, he hated his fucking cousin.

Farah placed a gentle hand on his arm. “I think I’ll take a turn about the room.”

Just as Grey was about to nod, a voice from his nightmares cut through the crowd.

“Is that Peregrine Montgomery? At a musicale?”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Turning, he saw her. She looked exactly as she had five years ago—hair so blonde it appeared pearlescent, eyes a deep brown, and a smile as charming as it was cheeky. She hung onto a handsome man, who gave Grey and Farah a polite nod.

“Miss Audley,” Grey ground out. “I—”

“Mrs. Steele now,” Susanna supplied, her curious gaze shifting to Farah. “I don’t believe we’ve met, Mrs. Montgomery.”

She’d gone and married. Of course. It was what any woman with sense would have done. He was so caught up in his mortification that he almost missed that Susanna had called Farah Mrs. Montgomery.

“Oh, no.” Farah’s cheeks colored. “Miss Farah Rafiq. A pleasure.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Susanna said with her customary civility. The man next to her remained stoically silent, his back straight as a rod. “What a beautiful gown you have on tonight.”

“Thank you,” Farah murmured, her confusion well-concealed enough to fool everyone but Grey. “Though it pales in comparison to yours.”

Grey surveyed Susanna’s ensemble with disinterest. She wore a dress of shining bronze and a string of sapphires around her neck. A small reticule dangled from her wrist—a reticule of deep blue velvet.

“Nonsense,” Susanna was saying, waving her hand in the air.

Grey felt Farah stiffen, a clear indication that she’d spotted the same detail he had.

“And what a lovely reticule!”

Susanna tittered. “You should see the matching gown. I had a reticule for tonight that suited this dress perfectly, but my cat tore it to shreds. You know how they can be.”