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“I would prefer to start organizing the scores.”

“And instead the Duchess has trapped you, hasn’t she?”

He huffs, his nose slightly wrinkled, and tilts his head to the side, eyes closing briefly in resignation.

“Viscount?”

“How could I miss such an occasion?”

I run a hand through my hair, shaking it slightly, and then turn my gaze toward René.

“Non, absolument pas. In fact, I am leaving. I only wanted the theme of the exhibition explained to me, so I could work freely.”

“Alone? Not with us?”

“I do not share. Let me know the chosen theme.”

Elijah stares at him. “I sense a certain arrogance in your voice.”

René scrutinizes him from head to toe with his chin slightly raised.

“I imagine you are speaking of yourself.”

“If that is what you desire, we will let you know, Mr. Saint-Clair,” I intervene.

He gives a nod and withdraws.

“Perhaps he doesn’t know how to ride,” Elijah mutter softly.

Lavinia hits his arm hard enough to make him start. He winces slightly, lowering his chin, and a small, muffled growl escapes through his teeth. I sigh, tightening my cloak around my neck, and begin to walk toward the villa.

“It will be amusing,” Lavinia says, the tips of her fingers just barely brushing my back.

Elijah strides ahead of us, hands in his pockets, his steps steady and silent.

The sky above the hills grows darker and darker.

In the courtyard, the horses are already lined up, their manes flickering slightly in the wind; the ground is muddy, so the animals’ hooves leave deep ruts. The duke is already in the saddle ahead, his back straight, hands gripping the reins with confidence, his gaze fixed on the path he intends to follow.

I observe the other guests settling in. Some speak in low voices, others remain motionless, hands resting on the stirrups or the horses’ necks. The smell of hay and leather mingles with the cold air of the hills.

A light rustle behind me makes me turn, Duchess Durant approaches.

“I am sorry your mother has left.”

“She does not care for riding, Duchess.”

“A true pity!” she exclaims, a small smile lighting up her face. “Mr. Lirael does not seem very enthusiastic either.”

I look in the direction she indicates, the golden angel is struggling even to mount his own horse.

I suppress a smile, she nods with satisfaction and detaches herself from me, moving with a fluid step toward Lavinia. She is already in the saddle, her legs firm. The other guests watch her for a moment, marveling, as she sits motionless atop the animal, ready to depart.

A short distance away, amidst the rustle of manes and the breath of the horses, I notice Agnes standing by a horse, her hands lightly stroking its muzzle. She sees me and raises her hand.

I approach. “Mademoiselle Agnes.”

She smiles. “Viscount, I am very glad to see you.”