To Sketch a Sphinx - Rebecca Connolly Page 0,17

task at hand, scheming for opportunities to unearth what she could. But this moment before her would bear more truth than anything else she would endure for some time.

This was the home of her legitimate family, actual relations that would be hosting them, and she was about to properly make their acquaintance for the first time in her life.

Anticipation and anxiety ran a footrace within her at the prospect. Swallowing was impossible, breathing unbearable. And she was exhausted.

The door of the house opened as they approached, a second footman stepping out and moving to join the first to help with their trunks. Then an older gentleman with greying temples stepped out and snapped a bow.

“Madame Pratt, Monsieur Pratt. Welcome. Le baron and ze family will please greet you inside.”

“Thank you,” Pratt replied in a clear tone, sliding his hand from Hal’s to offer a more polite arm to her, which she took in the same smooth motion.

At least the butler would find them collected and proper, even if no one else would.

Hal continued silently beside Pratt as they moved into the house, following the butler within, her throat going dry and tightening all at once.

What if her mother had grossly offended her French relations before she left, and this was all just a dramatic plot that would end with her being thrown out onto the streets of Paris with her sham of a husband? She had no other connections in France, and she doubted Pratt did, either. Everything in the mission hinged on them being able to move about in high circles, and without any other operatives to confer with safely, changing the tone of said mission would be infinitely more difficult.

There hadn’t been time to wait for an answer to the letter she’d sent to her mother’s cousin, practically inviting herself and her new husband to stay with them, so she had no assurance that they wanted the company.

But they had been let in, almost as though they had been expected.

Would they now be informed that there was no room for them here? Or that their would-be hosts would rather not be hosts?

Hal found herself looking around the entry as they stood in it, and her breath caught at the finery she saw. Gilded edges to nearly every surface from ceiling to floor, exquisite artwork adorning that ceiling, and the marble beneath their feet glistened, echoing every step placed upon it. Even the sconces on the walls were gilded, and the candles within them burned brightly despite it being the middle of the day with plenty of daylight streaking through the windows.

There was no sense to that but to reveal a complete lack of concern for the cost of candles, nor the wasting of them.

Strange.

“Zis way, monsieur, madame.” The butler gestured down a corridor somehow even more gilded than the entrance hall, and it was only then that Hal realized she had been gawking like an urchin in a palace.

Apparently, her husband had as well.

“I feel as though I will dirty something just by being in the same room,” Hal muttered out of the corner of her mouth. “Why is everything white and gold?”

Pratt said nothing beside her and only continued moving in the direction the butler led them, attention fixed ahead.

Hal frowned up at him. “Say something.”

One edge of his mouth lifted just enough to give her an indication of life. “You told me not to provoke you. I’m doing my best to accommodate that instruction.”

A startled chuckle erupted from her, and she clamped her free hand over her mouth, the brief sound of her laugh echoing off the pristine surfaces of the house. Hal squeezed her eyes shut and found herself curving into Pratt’s side in an attempt to recover herself as more giggles bubbled up.

“But if you would like my insight,” Pratt went on, seemingly unruffled by her current state of hilarity, “I will admit that I find the expanse of white to be slightly unnerving when not dressed in finery. The gold is an elegant touch, but I have the strangest sense of being in a palace rather than a residence.”

“It would seem that the family fortunes are intact, even if the title is not,” Hal murmured between snickers, straightening herself up and facing forward yet again. “Perhaps Tilda’s efforts were not in vain.”

Pratt grunted once. “After seeing the adornments in this house, I will kiss Tilda’s feet when we return to England, mark my words.”

Hal grinned up at him, her nerves miraculously abated for