fought over like two dogs, then almost as quickly she decided it might be interesting to be in the middle. It would certainly be good preparation for London.
“My answer is as honest as your question,” Lord Jess insisted.
“You will excuse me if I will now wonder which Lord Jessup Pennistan I am seated next to. The one who charms or the one who challenges.”
He laughed at her asperity, which made her blush. Did he think she was flirting? Or did he just never take anything seriously?
She gave him her back and turned her attention to the earl. “Your fairy is easy to identify. That shock of white hair is as unique as it is distinguished. But why is his chin in his hand in such a contemplative pose?”
The earl laughed quietly. “The countess is a clever woman. But I do wonder who fashioned these. A doll maker, perhaps?”
“We could ask her after dinner.”
“Where’s the fun in that, Miss Brent? I should rather investigate and work it out ourselves, then ask the countess if we are right.”
That was a little odd, Beatrice thought, and moved to change the subject. “Tell me, my lord, what are your interests beyond Parliament and your estates?”
“Can you not guess? I love a puzzle, a riddle, even deciphering codes. If there is a mystery to be solved, I’m the one for the job.”
“So your figure is mulling over some conundrum as you sit on the branch.” It explained his inclination to seek out the answer rather than ask. He was not like any gentleman she had ever met, but then she had never met an earl before. He was, most likely, unique among his peers as well. What fun it would be to come to know him better.
“I do believe the Belmont on the branch has solved a puzzle and is ready for a new one.”
“Truly? Here is a conundrum for you.” Beatrice began to explain what she called “the mystery of the false Rembrandts.”
The earl looked sincerely interested and Beatrice did not even think of Lord Jess for the next little while.
CECILIA COULD NOT believe she was seated next to Marquis Destry. At least Lord Crenshaw was known to her, but the rule of table etiquette meant she would have to speak with both of them for an equal amount of time.
She would be so much more comfortable where Mrs. Kendrick was sitting, between her father and Lord Jessup Pennistan. Lord Jess might be unacceptable to her father but he had been kind when she met him earlier in the evening and not nearly as intimidating as a man who was heir to a dukedom.
Cecilia held her hands tightly in her lap and waited for the footman to serve the first course. Her fairy looked back at her, seated on an elegant chair surrounded by flowers but otherwise unremarkable.
Was she the only one who had no distinguishing characteristic? How awful. She examined the miniatures more closely. The baron’s figure was coatless with his fists raised, ready to fight anyone who might round the branch, and Lord Destry wore his signature red kerchief.
“The countess has the right of it with you, Miss Brent.” Lord Crenshaw nodded toward the figure.
“Do you think so?” She did not mean to sound coy but was curious about what his interpretation might be.
“But of course. You are seated on a throne, queen of all you survey.”
“Oh, my goodness. That cannot be.” She looked from the baron to the marquis, making an effort to include him in her conversation with Lord Crenshaw. “Surely our hostess is queen of this realm.”
“I imagine you could interpret Miss Brent’s figure in a number of ways,” Lord Destry said. “It could be—”
“There is no doubt of your representation, Destry,” Lord Crenshaw interrupted. “Your figure is the smallest on the table. We might have overlooked it were it not for the red scarf you use to call attention to yourself.”
Lord Destry ignored the comment and continued to speak. “It could be that a woman of Miss Brent’s obvious refinement needs no more entertainment than to sit and observe the world pass by. Look, even the flowers gather around her.”
“I do love the garden and spend as much time there as I can. Perhaps that is the symbolism the countess intended.”
“The flowers are only a frame for your beauty,” Lord Crenshaw added.
“I think the flowers rest at your feet in homage,” said the marquis.
Was this a contest to see which one of them could embarrass her the most?