is that the tree will take up some room, so we must limit the number of guests.”
That presented a bit of a problem, as Marek didn’t quite know how to absent himself from Dromio’s company for a Saturday evening without a proper explanation. He didn’t know how to accept an invitation to a gathering like this if Dromio wasn’t also invited.
“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” she said, as if reading his mind.
Marek looked at the invitation again.
“Lord Douglas has already sent word that he’d be delighted to attend.”
“Did he!” Miss Dumont said, her eyebrows lifting with surprise. “I hadn’t heard he’d come down to London.”
“Do none of you read my gazette?” Mrs. Honeycutt asked her.
“I’ve read every one of them,” Miss Dumont insisted. “Most of them,” she amended. “And those I haven’t read are stacked by my bed.”
Mrs. Honeycutt shook her head and turned her attention to Marek. “Anyway, Mr. Brendan, will you come?”
“I—I fear it may prove difficult.” He had to think of a way to dodge Lord Dromio.
“Splendid,” Mrs. Honeycutt said, her bright smile returning. She refused to take no for an answer. “Shall I send a carriage for you? Donovan can fetch you, if you like.”
“Thank you, but I’ll make my own way.”
“How very independent of you,” she said cheerfully. “Well then, Mr. Brendan, our duty has been dispatched. Until we see you again, then.”
He felt exposed on this sidewalk, as if he shouldn’t be here. He’d spent so much of his life in the shadows that he imagined the whole of the Weslorian delegation behind him, sniggering. On the slim chance that they were, he slipped the invitation into his coat pocket. He bowed.
Miss Dumont pulled her cloak about her. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir.”
“The pleasure is mine.”
The women started to walk away, but Mrs. Honeycutt glanced back once more. She said something to her friend, then skipped back to him. “Don’t fret, Mr. Brendan. You look as if you are fretting.”
“I’m not...fretting?” He wasn’t certain what that meant. “No, Mrs. Honeycutt. I’m thinking.”
“Think of it as the same sort of party you’d attend in Wesloria. Perhaps even the same tree.”
Forget that he would never attend a party like this in Wesloria. He asked curiously, “How could it possibly be the same tree?”
“It will be a lively evening. Doesn’t that sound enticing? And there will be some very important people attending.” She glanced around them, as if she suddenly worried someone might see her or hear her. “Someone who will be very helpful to our cause.”
“It’s our cause now, is it?” he asked, smiling a little.
“Have you not realized it by now?” She laughed, and the sound of it whispered through him on butterfly wings. How could he resist her or her invitation? He was curious about the soldiers. If they indeed existed, and she had the person to verify that they did, he wanted to find them. But, mostly, he wanted to bask in her warmth a little more.
“Oh, I can see by your smile that you will come,” she said. “And may I say, I couldn’t be happier. Good day, Mr. Brendan!”
He said nothing as she hastened down the street, looping her arm into Miss Dumont’s when she reached her.
At the corner, both of them paused and looked back at him, then carried on with what looked like, from where he was standing, a burst of laughter.
A funny feeling came over him. A premonition that one day he’d watch her skip away from him forever...and that astonishingly, he would be very unhappy when she did.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The invitation to the Iddesleigh Christmas gathering became the most coveted in all of London when it was announced that the Duke and Duchess of Tannymeade would be in attendance and would graciously escort the Weslorian princesses. King Maksim and Queen Agnes remained behind at St. James Palace, where it is noted that the king’s health has not improved.
A gift of la fée verte from the Marquess of Douglas and three sprigs of mistletoe from Lady Chartier made the evening much more festive than anyone might have anticipated. Neighbors reported that carolers threw open the windows and the sound of their voices could be heard blocks away. Three hackneys were called the following morning to cart some of the most ardent revelers away.
Ladies, one must take care not to mix an incalculable amount of spirits into one’s Christmas punch. Please do follow the recipes provided in this publication.
—Honeycutt’s Gazette of Fashion and Domesticity for Ladies
ELIZA INSISTED