Willie didn’t see her coming until it was too late. She groaned when Mrs. Delancey reached us, not even trying to cover it up. “I ain’t signing no temperance agreement,” Willie told her. “You can shove it—”
“Willie!” I drew in a breath and hoped to draw in some patience along with it. “What she’s trying to say is, she prefers to have a drink now and again rather than completely abstain,” I told Mrs. Delancey.
Willie peered past Mrs. Delancey. “Speaking of which, have refreshments been served yet?”
Mrs. Delancey moved to block Willie’s view of the adjoining refreshment room. Willie stepped the other way and Mrs. Delancey responded. It looked like an odd dance performed between unwilling partners.
“You can’t supervise me all night,” Willie said.
Mrs. Delancey patted her arm. “I know, dear. That’s why I’ve convinced Louisa to serve alcoholic beverages to the men only. The women will have tea.”
Willie stamped her hands on her hips. “That ain’t fair.”
Duke chuckled. “It’s her house; she can do what she wants.”
“How did you convince her?” I asked Mrs. Delancey.
“By telling her the story of Miss Johnson’s visit to my home just before Christmas and how she threw up in my magical vase after drinking too much the night before.” Mrs. Delancey gave Willie a smug look. “She suspected you might bring Miss Johnson tonight and agreed it was best to keep the brandy away from her so it doesn’t happen again.”
“I ate a bad oyster that time,” Willie muttered. “I can hold my liquor.” She marched off toward a group of men that included Oscar. Perhaps she hoped to blend in with them and be offered a glass of brandy by an unobservant footman.
Mrs. Delancey looped her arm through mine as if we were intimate friends. “What a delight to see you here, India. Have you met Mr. Trentham yet?”
I followed her gaze to where Fabian Charbonneau was chatting to a portly middle-aged man with a bushy moustache and a thick crop of curly gray hair. He gazed up at the French iron magician with what could only be described as adoring eyes. “Is he the toymaker magician?”
“He is indeed. I’m looking forward to hearing him speak. He brought a large trunk with him that I suspect is filled with all sorts of magical wonders. I do hope he’s prepared to sell some things. Mr. Delancey has given me free reign to purchase any item I wish, no matter the cost. He couldn’t come tonight, alas, but it appears all the usual members are here, except Lord Farnsworth.”
“Mr. Trentham and Fabian seem deep in conversation.”
“They’ve been inseparable ever since Louisa introduced them. Would you like to meet him?”
“Perhaps later.” I searched the room for Sir Charles and spotted him talking to Lord Coyle. They stood to one side of the room by a large potted fern.
“Speaking of Mr. Charbonneau,” Mrs. Delancey said. “Do tell me you’ve reconsidered and will resume creating new spells with him. You two can achieve so much together.”
“Dear me, it seems Willie has managed to get a drink already.”
I took the opportunity that Mrs. Delancey’s distraction provided and slipped away. I unfolded my fan and placed it in front of my face. With a shake of my head at Cyclops and Duke, I distanced myself from my conspicuous companions and hid behind the potted fern.
Lord Coyle’s tone was cross, but I couldn’t make out his words. From my position, I couldn’t see either of their faces. It was possible Lord Coyle wasn’t cross with Sir Charles at all, but simply irritable thanks to his new wife banning him from smoking cigars.
As if my thoughts summoned her, Hope appeared by my side. She was dressed in a dark green gown with black lace ruffles down the skirt and at the elbows. The low neckline showed off her décolletage and the emerald and jet necklace nestled there. “India, what are you doing hiding back here? Why, it’s almost as if you’re trying to eavesdrop on my husband and Sir Charles.”
Lord Coyle and Sir Charles broke off their conversation. Sir Charles bowed to me as I emerged from my hiding place, but Coyle merely grunted.
“Glass not here?” Lord Coyle asked as he peered around the room.
“He had another engagement,” I said.
“I see you have your other bulldogs with you instead.”
“I know you’re not familiar with the concept, my lord, but they’re my friends. I wanted them to come.”
His eyes narrowed so much they almost disappeared beneath the folds of his protuberant eyelids. “You’re bold tonight, India.”
The corners of Hope’s mouth turned down. “Indeed. You become more and more American every day.”
I laughed. “That isn’t the disparagement you think it is.”
Hope’s gaze turned hard and became even harder when her husband laughed too. “I like this boldness in you, India,” he said. “You should leave your husband home more often.”
“Perhaps we all should.” Hope marched off and was soon swallowed up by the gathering.
Sir Charles cleared his throat and he too made his excuses, although more politely. I was left alone with Lord Coyle, but instead of feeling trapped, I did feel emboldened. It was most likely because, for the first time since meeting him, I had the upper hand. He owed me a favor. Matt had sold him the magic flying carpet we’d used to fly to Brighton to capture Amelia Moreton. The cost of the sale had been Lord Coyle’s information. We were yet to collect our debt.
But it was a debt we shouldn’t even be owed. Matt hadn’t sold him the actual flying carpet, but a fake one that held no magic. Being artless, Lord Coyle couldn’t tell the difference.
“Your wife despises you already?” I asked cheerfully. “That was fast. It took me more than two weeks to decide I didn’t like you.”
“She is simply upset that I haven’t given her free access to my fortune.”
“Isn’t that a new necklace she’s wearing?”
“It’s a family heirloom. She wants more.”
“In my experience, she always does.” I went to walk off.
“I have some news for you,” he called after me.
“I don’t want to hear it.” Even so, I hesitated.
He leaned on his walking stick. “This is free and won’t be covered by my debt for the rug.” His jowls trembled with his smile. “Do you remember Hendry?”
“The paper magician who murdered a man and tried to kill me?”
“The very same. He’s getting married.”
I blinked slowly. Mr. Hendry preferred men to women. For him to marry, he must have good reason, and I suspected that reason was because he owed his freedom to Lord Coyle, who’d saved him from being hanged for murder. It seemed Lord Coyle had collected that debt by forcing him to wed.
It also seemed his lordship was going to great lengths to ensure the continuation of the paper magic line; a lineage that would end with Mr. Hendry if he didn’t have children.
“Is his new wife a magician?” I asked.
“You’re an intelligent woman, India. What do you think?”
“I think she is.”
He simply smiled, or attempted to. Lord Coyle’s smiles tended to look more like grimaces. “Let’s hope the happy couple enjoy a long and fruitful life together.”