A Wicked Conceit (Lady Darby Mysteries #9) - Anna Lee Huber Page 0,31

was stronger because she’d never allowed herself to be put into those situations in the first place. Maybe that thinking was flawed. Maybe I didn’t give myself enough credit. And maybe I expected too much of Alana.

I watched as she paced toward the fire burning in the hearth and then pivoted to return, the rich crimson satin folds of her skirts nearly snapping with the movement. Her hands were clasped before her, and yet they fidgeted minutely, as if demanding to escape the other’s grasp.

Philip was right. Alana was anxious. I should have noticed it before. And I might have had I not already been so irritated with Gage, and had my sister not immediately launched into criticism.

Knowing Alana, she had expended a great deal of effort to make this dinner party a success. She’d conceived of it some weeks prior, after her return to Edinburgh and the discovery of the publication of The King of Grassmarket, thinking to bolster our reputations. I hadn’t been of the opinion that such a move was necessary. After all, nothing had stopped society from believing what it wished in the past, and those people who knew and loved me and Gage would already realize the allegations the book made were untrue. But Alana had been insistent, so I hadn’t stopped her.

However, Philip’s words made me think that perhaps her anxiety wasn’t about the success of the dinner party, but rather the entire state of my affairs. With this insight, I felt the tight ball of injury and affront I’d continued to nurse since our argument at Sunlaws Castle two months past begin to loosen. I knew Alana had only ever wanted happiness for me, and while we might disagree on what that happiness might entail, I could appreciate her goodwill. That she now worried that the insinuations made about me in the book and play threatened that happiness and felt anxious to help remedy it only spoke well of her.

I crossed the room, prepared to make peace, when she suddenly plopped down on the spring green sofa where Gage had elected to sit with one ankle propped over the other knee.

“Don’t you think your wife should take more care?” she demanded. “Walking in this weather hardly seems conducive to her health.”

I stumbled to a stop, feeling as if I’d been delivered an underhanded blow. Alana knew how protective Gage was of me. How he struggled against his impulses to keep me wrapped in cotton swaddling. Especially now that I carried his child. For her to appeal to him in such a manner simply to get her way was a rotten, dirty trick.

I glared at her.

“Kiera will do as she wishes,” Gage retorted before giving a humorless laugh. “I certainly can’t stop her.”

I transferred my outraged gaze to my husband, wanting to demand of him just what he meant by that. I followed his requests when they had merit, and never took action without thoughtful deliberation, or put myself at risk unless there was very good reason to. I was nothing if not reasonable.

Unfortunately, the first of Alana’s guests chose that moment to arrive. Figgins hesitated in the doorway, clearing his throat before announcing them. “Lord and Lady Kinnear.”

Alana leapt up at once, her face transforming into a welcoming smile without the least trace of the rancor that had marred it a moment before. But I was not so gifted in such things. Gage knew this. His gaze darted to mine briefly as he rose from the sofa, his public mask of relaxed charm falling into place.

I inhaled a deep breath before turning, attempting to affix a pleasant expression on my face, or at least something that conveyed indifference, but I feared I faltered. The feel of Gage’s solid presence at my shoulder, his warm hand splayed across my lower back, steadied me, but I could tell the damage was already done. Lady Kinnear was a notorious gossip, and the vicious delight glinting in her eyes left me in no doubt as to whether she’d overheard Gage’s remark.

The party had scarcely begun, and Alana’s efforts were already failing. This did not bode well for my reputation or our reconciliation.

* * *

• • •

Though I knew Alana would scold, I couldn’t resist sneaking upstairs away from the party for a short time. Three hours of feigning goodwill and making pleasant small talk, while still minding my tongue, had given me a ferocious headache. If I didn’t sit quietly for a few minutes, I feared I