Chapter 1
London, Winter 1890
For all her whining about not being invited, Willie would have hated Lord Coyle and Hope Glass’s wedding. The vicar’s monotone set the scene for a staid affair that continued at the breakfast reception held at the bride’s London home. Although Lord Coyle’s townhouse was bigger, tradition dictated that Lord and Lady Rycroft host the event and, as Matt stated in a muttered breath as he steered me to a corner away from the beaming mother-of-the-bride, tradition was the glue that kept the upper-classes from falling off the top shelf.
“There are very few young people here,” I whispered to Matt as I surveyed the small number of guests in the drawing room. “Where are all of Hope’s friends?”
“She probably doesn’t have any.”
“Don’t be unkind. Besides, she can be quite charming when she wants to be.”
Hope’s charms were on full display at the reception. She smiled prettily, as each guest congratulated her, and clung to her new husband’s arm as if she adored him. It was a rather pointless show. Not a single person in that room would believe she’d married the grotesque Lord Coyle for love. The lifelong bachelor was one of the wealthiest men in the country, and his power and influence were extensive. Matthew’s cousin had made a very good match, albeit a loveless one. Yet I didn’t envy her at all.
I rested my hand on Matt’s arm and smiled up at him.
He smiled back. “I hope the food is good. I need something to rub Willie’s nose in.”
“Now that is unkind.”
“She deserves it after saying I look fat in this suit.” He pressed a hand to his stomach. His very flat stomach. There was hardly an ounce of fat on Matt’s body.
“She didn’t say fat, she said you look as though married life is agreeing with you.”
“That’s a euphemism for getting fat.”
I rolled my eyes. I never suspected he’d be so sensitive about his looks. “You know Willie is incapable of giving compliments so they’re usually shrouded in sarcastic set-downs. She was really being quite sweet when she said marriage agrees with you.”
An elderly lady passed by and smiled at Matt.
He gave her a shallow bow. “Don’t let Willie hear you calling her sweet,” he said through his smile. “She’ll shoot something just to prove you wrong.”
Aunt Letitia broke away from the clutch of ladies she’d been chatting to and joined us. Her face bore an earnest look, and I steeled myself for what I suspected would be a lecture. “What are you both doing hiding in the corner?”
“Hiding,” Matt said.
“You should be mingling. There are people here who haven’t met India and are put out that you didn’t invite them to your wedding.”
“Even now?” I asked.
“The older we get, the longer our memories are. And our grudges.” She took my hand. “Let me introduce you to Matthew’s second cousins.”
“I have second cousins?” Matt asked.
His aunt gave him a narrow glare. “You met them at Patience’s wedding to Lord Cox.”
“You can’t call him that anymore,” I reminded her as she tugged me towards Matt’s second cousins. “He lost the barony when the real heir was—er—found.”
I glanced at Lord Coyle, conversing with his guests alongside his new wife. He’d been the one to set in motion the events that upturned Patience and Byron’s life by informing the elder half-brother that he was, in fact, the true heir. It was no surprise that the couple hadn’t attended the wedding of the youngest Glass sister to the man who’d orchestrated their downfall. They’d taken Byron’s children on a holiday to Scotland, using the excuse of escaping the London gossip after the news became public, but I suspected it was also to avoid facing Lord Coyle today.
They would have to do it at some point, however.
“He was Lord Cox when she married him, so that’s how I will refer to him,” Aunt Letitia said. “Come along, India, Matthew. Duty calls. You must meet every single guest before the breakfast is over.”
“Thank goodness they have so few friends,” Matt said.
“Many are in the country for Christmas and the winter.”
“England is covered in railways, Aunt. They could have come if they wanted to.”
“Don’t be impertinent, Matthew. Lord Coyle wanted to keep the wedding to a small number of intimates. That’s why most of the guests are from the Glass side and only a few influential friends of his lordship.”
I wasn’t sure if I classed Lady Louisa Hollingbroke or Lord Farnsworth friends. As members of the magical collector’s club, along with Coyle, they were acquaintances at best. He had not invited other members of the club, only those with a noble title. Not even Sir Charles Whittaker was among the guests, and certainly not the Delanceys, who were extraordinarily wealthy but not titled.
“Oh, look,” I said as a procession of footmen entered carrying silver trays. “The food has arrived.”
Aunt Letitia pulled me hard alongside her. “No eating until after you’ve met the second cousins.”
Matt and I performed our duty and spoke to every Glass family member, most of whom were of Aunt Letitia’s vintage. We even spoke briefly to the middle Glass sister, Charity, and with civility too, even though she didn’t deserve it after claiming Cyclops had behaved abominably toward her when he’d done nothing of the sort. When she asked if Cyclops had mentioned her recently, Matt gave her a tight smile, said, “No,” and steered me away.
I plucked a tasty looking French pastry off the tray carried by a footman and shot a glance towards the bride and groom, seated on the sofa. While Hope smiled as she chatted to the woman beside her, Lord Coyle alternately gazed longingly at the door then at his wife. When Lord Rycroft tried to engage him in conversation, Coyle gave him a curt response that stole the smile from Rycroft’s eyes. He bowed and moved away.
The dining room wasn’t large enough to seat everyone, so the guests congregated in the drawing room where some had to stand. Upon a signal given by her mother, Hope rose from the sofa like a delicate butterfly, clad in white silk and lace, and exited the room. With a strained smile, Lady Rycroft urged Charity to assist her sister. Charity scooped up Hope’s long bridal train and flung it over her forearm like a butler carrying a freshly ironed newspaper. She dawdled behind her sister until Hope hissed something at her over her shoulder that made Charity quicken her pace. The two of them exited the drawing room with Lady Rycroft at their heels.
“Oddest wedding I’ve ever been to,” came the laconic voice of Lord Farnsworth behind me. “The groom looks like he’s ready for a nap and the bride doesn’t look like she minds that her new husband’s as old and dull as dirt.”
Lord Farnsworth was dashing in a tailcoat and white bowtie, his burnished blond hair parted down the middle. His blue eyes would have been piercing if not for the half-closed lids that hooded them. I wondered if he hid his best features on purpose before dismissing the notion. Why would anyone do that? Particularly one who declared himself on the marriage market.
I’d seen Lord Farnsworth quite a number of times since first meeting him, weeks ago, at a collector’s club soiree where I’d been the guest of honor. He turned up at our house at the oddest times, such as the evening he’d left the opera during the interval and the morning when he’d joined us for breakfast after clearly having no sleep and far too much to drink. That had been Willie’s fault. They’d met at a gambling den and she’d invited him back for breakfast after he complained of losing his cook to an opponent in a game of poker.