She would be congratulated instead of pitied.
Prudence Hardiwick arrived with a large group of her giggling friends, all of whom had dressed as various members of royalty. After helping themselves to the wine most of them hurried off to the ballroom, obviously eager to dance. Prudence stayed behind to approach Jennet.
“Are you telling fortunes tonight?” she asked. “If you are you should have a crystal ball, you know. It is just the thing now.”
Jennet shuffled the deck effortlessly as she looked up at Prudence. “I find the cards a more reliable source. Would you care for a reading?”
Greystone felt amused as he watched Prudence sit down and his former betrothed select cards at random and lay them out on the table. Jennet had some skill in cartomancy; she had demonstrated it to him and his parents on more than one occasion. Yet the lady’s real gift came from her keen observations of others.
“Six of spades,” Jennet said to Prudence, tapping the first card she put down between them. “This means that you long for an alteration in your situation.”
That provoked a giggle. “Oh, yes, ever since my last season in London.”
Jennet nodded and placed another card on the table. “The jack of clubs. You have a young admirer who has taken an interest in your future.”
“That would be Peter Mason, poor dear. He is so awfully amusing, and only four years younger than me.” Prudence sighed. “I wish we could spend more time together, but since his sister has been widowed … ” She shook her head.
“This is the card of jealousy,” Jennet said as she put a five of hearts next to the jack. “Someone resents this change in your life.”
“Not Mama, certainly,” Prudence said, and then her expression shifted into a scowl. “Peter’s sister has been unbearably proper since our introduction. She will not permit us to sit together alone whenever I call. She even told him he could not come to the ball with me.”
“Two of clubs.” Jennet watched the other woman’s face. “Your future happiness depends on how you deal with the obstacle that comes between you and your heart’s desire.”
Prudence frowned. “I cannot remove his sister.”
“The card does not represent a person, but a problem.” Picking up the cards, Jennet returned them to the deck. “Something you enjoy indulging in now should be made absent from your situation.”
The other woman drew back. “Surely not attending balls and assemblies. I should die of dreariness.” She thought for a moment. “There is ever so much talk about me.”
“Is this talk kind?” Jennet asked, and then when Prudence grimaced she said, “Then you have named your obstacle.”
“I must go and speak with Morwena. She is the worst gossip, and always telling tales about me,” the Hardiwick girl said, and hurried off.
Greystone almost laughed out loud. While she had displayed the cards, Jennet’s interpretations of them came more from the Hardiwick girl’s reactions. She still possessed the uncanny ability to judge people by their expressions, which she demonstrated just as admirably with the next four guests who sat down for a reading.
“She is a marvel, your girl,” Arthur Pickering murmured as he joined him. “I believe I will ask her to marry me again before we return to London tonight.”
“She is not my girl, and you are wed to your work.” Greystone considered clouting his companion on the ear, and then realized what he had said. “I am riding with you now?”
“London sent word. They intercepted a message that contains a mention of Renwick and the Raven,” Pickering said in a lower voice. “I expect the French have already sent hunters to search for the black bird. Perhaps even that bastard Ruban himself.”
The most infamous criminal in England, Ruban had never been seen by any man still breathing. Those who encountered the Frenchman in person had been murdered before they could identify him. Others in pursuit of him had suddenly gone missing without a trace, including one of Greystone’s oldest allies, now presumed dead.
“I should very much like to stay,” Greystone said through his teeth, “that I might greet him in the flesh.”
Pickering made a tsking sound. “There you go, thinking only of yourself and your wonts, you selfish prig. You forget that I am but the messenger. I will need you to watch my back.”
“Very well.” His gaze went back to the women at the table. “I will do as you say. Only leave Miss Reed alone.”
“How intriguing. I recall you saying she is nothing to you.” Through his mask Pickering’s placid brown eyes turned as sharp and clever as a fox’s. “After all this time and distance, the flame of true love yet burns.” He laughed.
Greystone saw Jennet turn her head toward the sound to regard them both. “You’ve made her notice us.”
His partner in crime elbowed him neatly. “You did that when she arrived and you nearly devoured her hand, you idiot. Jennet Reed can never be yours. Remember that, and your purpose.” He strode toward an older couple. “Lord Kellworth, quite delighted to see you. Might I steal your lovely wife for the next dance?”
Pickering’s warning of Jennet Reed, can never be yours, blurred into Lady Greystone’s soft voice saying Remember your choice.
Greystone met Jennet’s gaze, which had not wavered from him. He realized that he had somehow stepped out of the shadows without being aware of his own movement, and now he was walking to her. Her brows arched as he approached, but otherwise she remained still and watchful. He took the chair across from her, and gestured toward the cards in her hands.
She took in a quick breath and then scowled. “I have no need to deal the cards for you, sir,” she said crisply. “You are as transparent as water to me.”
Greystone barely heard her, entranced to be close enough to touch her again. He could smell the sweetness of rose water and almond oil from her skin, and beneath that her own intoxicating scent. The glow from the hearth made her hair look like banked embers coming to life again. Her eyes shone with the cool green of priceless jade and the growing heat of anger. By God, she was all fire and beauty, as alluring as if their years apart had dwindled to as many days.
He could say nothing. If he spoke, she would know him.
Jennet slapped down the deck. “As you have nothing to say, permit me to offer you some advice, sir. Lying jackals always come to bad ends. If one particular cur, whom I will never forgive, chose to pointlessly beleaguer me, I should kill him dead.”
Greystone watched her rise and march out through the garden doors. Pickering was right, he thought as he stood. He truly was an idiot.
Chapter 8
Jennet stopped at the glass doors at the back of the reception room, and looked out at the terraced gardens. The fury she felt did not want to subside. Indeed, it still swelled in her breast like some internal fire stoked by the outrageous desire she had seen in the straw man’s dark green eyes. The shadowy emerald shade of his gaze had been unmistakable, and brought back an echo of something he had said once to her.
We will have green-eyed children, I expect. May our girls be as bewitching as their mother.
You will change your mind on that, she had told him, when our daughters come of age.