A Stroke of Malice (Lady Darby Mystery #8) - Anna Lee Huber Page 0,2

was swathed in a bold shade of scarlet, the fashionable puffed sleeves finished with organza and lace trim. The colors offset her white hair and creamy skin to perfection, and made the duke, with his saggy jowls and the paunches under his eyes, appear rather sallow.

For my part, I was most surprised to see them standing arm in arm, though I knew they often enough did so for show. Both of their current lovers might be present among the guests, but that wouldn’t stop them from performing this bit of pageantry.

Having been raised by a mother and father who adored each other, and taught us to eschew such immoral behavior, I found the rampant infidelity among a large portion of society to be awkward and disconcerting. But I was also aware that much of the nobility did not marry for love, but for wealth and connections. For many, the best that could be hoped for was mutual respect and friendship with their spouse.

I moved a step closer to Gage, deeply conscious of how lucky I was. My first marriage to Sir Anthony Darby had been arranged, and it was not an exaggeration to call it the worst years of my life. I hesitated to call his subsequent death a blessing, but it most certainly had saved me from further torment. To have then found Sebastian Gage, a man who loved and accepted me for who I was, seemed at times a miracle.

His hand pressed against the small of my back, drawing me in, as he always had. As I hoped he always would.

“We are pleased to welcome you all to this year’s Twelfth Night Ball,” the duchess declared, raising her voice to be heard over the murmur of the crowd. “As those of you who have attended in the past will recall, our first order of business is to select our Lord of Misrule and his glorious Lady.”

At this, the duke’s butler—who was quite possibly the tallest man I had even seen, his head seeming to nearly brush the doorframe—and four footmen stepped forward to slice the cake.

“I hope you have all been enjoying my staff’s confectionary work of art, for it’s now time to taste it. But chew carefully,” the duchess warned, her eyes lively with good humor. “For the gentleman who finds the bean in his slice of cake and the lady who finds a pea, shall be crowned lord and lady for the evening.”

I was aware of the tradition of crowning a Lord of Misrule, or alternatively the King of the Bean or the Abbot of Unreason, but I had rarely taken part in any Twelfth Night festivities. Growing up along the Borders region between England and Scotland, we had been more apt to follow my mother’s Scottish family traditions than those of my father, who was from southern England. The Rutherfords, along with most of the Scots, made mischief at the turn of the New Year on Hogmanay rather than on Twelfth Night. In fact, Trevor, Alana, Philip, Gage, and I, along with Alana and Philip’s children, had celebrated Christmas at our childhood home along the River Tweed. We had then welcomed in the year of 1832 at our aunt and uncle’s annual Hogmanay Ball before traveling further north to the Duke and Duchess of Bowmont’s castle. But for all that Sunlaws might lie in the heart of the Ettrick Forest, an ancient hunting ground of the Scottish kings, firmly entrenched on Scots soil, their family an offshoot of the noble Kerr clan, the dukes had been happy to adopt the traditional merriments from both sides of the border.

We watched as two footmen distributed slices from one side of the cake to the women, while the other two footmen passed slices from the opposite side of the cake to the men.

Feeling an anxious stirring in my stomach, I leaned closer to my sister to whisper. “If I find the dried pea in my slice of cake, will you claim it instead?”

Her gaze cut to mine, thick with understanding. I had never been eager to be the center of attention, and despite the strides I had made to distance myself from the scandals of my past, and stare down those who sought to belittle me, the prospect of acting as lady for the evening was beyond me. I would not enjoy myself in the least.

She nodded once.

Relieved on that score, I felt my shoulders relax as I received a slice of the heavy cake and began to