The Postilion (The Masqueraders #2) - S.M. LaViolette Page 0,102

house later this afternoon. In fact, she’s coming here to pick her up.”

Jago frowned at this unwanted news. “Why is Catherine going to Mrs. Valera’s house?”

Mariah’s brow furrowed at either his tone or the emphasis he’d put on Ria’s name. “I don’t know. Something about her costume for the masquerade.” She turned from Jago to Benna. “Will you have time to take me up to those trunks you mentioned, Ben?”

“Yes, of course,” Benna said.

Jago couldn’t help noticing that Benna sat down as far from him as the table allowed.

“Why don’t we go after breakfast, say in half an hour?”

Mariah nodded eagerly.

“What trunks are these, Ben?” Jago asked.

“I found another half dozen not far from the section of attic where the roofers replaced the lead. They look as they’ve been there for a long time—years,” she added. “They’re mainly filled with clothes.”

“I need to change my costume,” Mariah volunteered.

“Oh?” Jago said, buttering a slice of bread. “You’ve not got much time.”

“I know,” she said, her expression anxious. “But it turns out that Mrs. Valera will be going as Cleopatra, so …”

“Ah, I see. Not a good idea to wear the same costume as one’s hostess,” Jago said. Especially not when one’s hostess could have doubled for the real Egyptian queen.

Benna and Mariah chatted about possible costumes while Jago tried not to gaze at his secretary in calf-eyed adoration.

***

Jago was working in the library some hours later when there was a light knock on the door.

“Yes?” he called, removing his glasses and rubbing at his eyes; as delightful as last night had been, he was rather sleep-deprived today.

Nance entered. “You’ve got visitors, my lord.”

Jago could tell by his butler’s pursed lips who at least one of the visitors was.

“It’s Mrs. Valera and several of her houseguests, sir. I’ve taken the liberty of showing them into the Yellow Salon and ordering tea.”

Jago glanced at the longcase clock. Well, it was teatime, anyhow. He nodded at his butler. “Very good. I shall join them directly. Er, did you tell Lady Trebolton?”

“I’m afraid she is not feeling well, my lord.”

Jago knew what that meant. He watched absently as Nance left the room, his mind on his sister-in-law. Today must be one of her bad days; Jago had a sneaking suspicion that her mood had something to do with Ria’s wretched masquerade ball, which Claire was insisting on attending.

While Jago certainly could use the help supervising his gregarious nieces, he didn’t like exposing Claire to such exertion. Still, he was pleased that she was finally taking an interest in her daughters.

He sighed, pushed to his feet, and strode to the large mirror that hung above the mantlepiece.

As he’d suspected, he had a smudge of ink on one cheek. He wet his finger and rubbed at the stain, his mind still on Claire. He had diminished her laudanum dose gradually, until she was taking only about one-third of what she used to consume every day.

While she had looked more robust lately, he’d noticed a disturbing tendency toward extreme vivacity that was often followed by worrisome lows.

Jago didn’t understand; she should have begun to feel more emotionally level by now. He hoped she wasn’t somehow managing to sneak more of the drug into the house.

Or perhaps it had just been a difficult few weeks what with all the excitement about the wretched ball and upcoming holidays. He knew the process of weaning oneself from opium—even a derivative—was long and exhausting.

He’d go check on her after dispensing with Ria and her guests.

As Jago strode down the corridor toward the newer part of the house he couldn’t stop thinking of his sister-in-law and the rather lurching nature of her treatment. He wondered, not for the first time, if he shouldn’t bring in outside help.

He wasn’t comfortable treating a member of his own family for such a condition, it just seemed too fraught with emotions to impose the proper distance. Perhaps he might ask Elinor for her opinion, although that felt like a betrayal of Claire’s confidence.

When he reached the sitting room, he pushed the matter of Claire from his mind, pasted a smile on his face, and prepared to deal with whatever foolishness Ria and her guests were likely to have brought with them.

***

“I love it!” Lady Mariah cried, her grin lighting up the dim, cobweb-ridden attic.

Benna couldn’t help returning the younger woman’s smile; the gown they’d found in one of the trunks was truly spectacular.

“Do you think Newton will be able to get this—what is this called?” Mariah held