A Stroke of Malice (Lady Darby Mystery #8) - Anna Lee Huber Page 0,1

the prospect of eating dessert at four o’clock in the afternoon, though Gage and I were less certain what the remainder of the evening would hold. The duchess’s annual Twelfth Night Ball was somewhat notorious for its revelry and high-spirited antics, and invites were coveted among the elite. Normally, I would have wished to avoid such a fashionable soiree, but a friendship had recently developed between me and the duchess, and despite her infamous reputation, I realized not all the things whispered about her and her family were true. And thus, all the things said about their party were not likely to be either.

In any case, I was not here only for the festivities, but also to finish painting the duchess’s portrait after she’d been called away from London suddenly a month prior. Though we hadn’t yet had much time to discuss it, she had already mentioned she’d set a room aside just for the purpose, and I looked forward to beginning our first session together in the next few days. Capturing the duchess’s aging beauty accurately and unflinchingly on canvas was a rare challenge for my abilities, and I was anxious to succeed.

“Oh my,” my older sister, Alana, Lady Cromarty, breathed in admiration as she moved forward to stand beside me at the table, linking her arm with mine. She leaned forward, squinting at the marzipan figures. “Kiera, is that a herald? And a hunting dog? And . . . is that courtier . . . ?” She broke off, her eyes widening.

“Yes,” I replied. There was indeed a page or courtier exposing his bottom to the maid next to him.

Apparently, not all the rumors about the Bowmonts’ Twelfth Night Parties were untrue.

She straightened. “Well, given the speculation of all that went on in our royal court in centuries past, I suppose they could have chosen a much more shocking depiction to re-create.”

Even so, I elected not to circle the cake to examine the marzipan figures on the other side.

We glided away from the cake, our husbands following in our wake. Footmen circulated the room with glasses of wassail and whisky, and we each accepted one as we took up a position near the far end of the table while the remainder of the guests continued to congregate in the room. There was a palpable air of excitement as everyone anticipated the commencement of the festivities. Alana’s and my brother, Trevor, paused at the threshold looking rather dashing in his dark evening clothes, his gaze sweeping over the assemblage. A wide grin split his face as he caught sight of us and he began edging his way through the crowd toward us. The jovial spirit had infected him as well.

I didn’t know whether the duchess had already intended to invite Philip and Alana to her party—they were the Earl and Countess of Cromarty after all—but I was quite certain she had invited Trevor on my behalf. The same could be said for my friend Charlotte, the widowed Countess of Stratford, as well as my cousin Rye Mallery, who had been ardently courting her. I dipped my head to her as our eyes met across the room, pleased to see that her eyes were shining and her cheeks flushed happily as she stood close to Rye’s side. It was true, Charlotte’s great-aunt, Lady Bearsden, was an old crony of the dowager duchess. In fact, the two ladies were seated in chairs near the windows, cackling over some outrageous bit of gossip, no doubt. However, I still suspected Charlotte had been added to the guest list because of me.

That the duchess had thought to do so made my heart warm even more toward her. She was aware of my scandalous past, and she could commiserate in some ways that other people could not. That she’d made such an effort to make me feel more comfortable showed I wasn’t wrong in my assessment of her. Beneath her bold facade and irreverent defiance lay a heart of empathy and kindness.

As if summoned by my thoughts, she appeared in the doorway with the duke. At the sight of them, the assembly broke out into a smattering of applause. The duke and duchess nodded their heads, as if this was their due, gliding into the room. The diamond necklace glittering around the duchess’s throat seemed to compete with the dazzle of the crystals in the chandeliers overhead. The duchess knew how to present herself to best advantage, and tonight was no different. Her elegant figure