A Stroke of Malice (Lady Darby Mystery #8) - Anna Lee Huber Page 0,3

taste it. Appearances had not been deceiving. It was as delicious as it looked, which made it difficult to consume slowly. Especially as I would have happily swallowed the pea and claimed ignorance.

Before I’d realized it, I’d devoured nearly half of my cake. As compared to the few dainty bites the trio of ladies standing near us had eaten while mincing up their slices in search of the pea.

“A bean and a pea,” one of them scoffed. “You would think the duke and duchess would join the rest of the polite world and use gold tokens instead. It’s far more gentile.”

“I wish they would follow the example of Lady Cowper and send us our roles in the mock court before the party,” a second lady remarked waspishly. “I’ve brought half a dozen gowns for this evening, and yet I still might have to send my maid to search through their musty trunks for an appropriate costume.”

“It’s perfectly dreadful,” the third commented with no small dose of melodrama.

Alana’s gaze met mine and she rolled her eyes, having overheard the same exchange. These ladies had missed the purpose of the evening’s merriment. In forming a mock court, we would be making fun of ourselves, and of the conceit and pomposity of the royalty and nobility who came before us. It was a chance to turn everything on its head—to transform the fool into the wiseman, and the servant, the king. Little as I wanted to be the lady, I understood that choosing the roles ahead of time would take away some of the charm and excitement from the festivities.

The duchess was a clever woman, and I suspected she also recognized another pitfall of assigning the parts before the party began. Her guests might accuse her of choosing them herself rather than selecting them at random. There was also certain to be a great deal of wrangling, as guests tried to convince her to give them different roles. By drawing the roles at the start of the party, she had chosen the path of least resistance. Guests like these ladies might complain about the inconvenience, but they could not argue it was unfair.

A gentleman across the room gave a hearty shout, and we all craned our necks to see who it was. Lord Edward Kerr, the duchess’s third son, lifted his arm triumphantly in the air, having found the bean.

The duchess circled the room to examine his prize before proclaiming, “We have our Lord of Misrule.”

Several of the men pronounced huzzahs while Lord Edward bowed with a great flourish.

“I shall endeavor to be a kind and noble ruler,” he declared as he stood tall, pushing his auburn hair back from his forehead. An impish grin split his face, immediately belying his words.

His youngest brother, Lord Henry, the duchess’s sixth child, stood next to Gage, and he groaned before grousing under his breath. “Of course, it would be him.”

Lord Edward waggled his eyebrows. “Remark, I did say ‘endeavor to be.’”

The assemblage laughed.

Given the fact we were all required to obey the Lord of Misrule’s commands for the evening, no matter how ludicrous, I hoped he wouldn’t abandon those tenets completely.

He swiveled left and then right, scouring the room. “Now, I get to choose my fool for the evening, do I not?”

“Yes, dear,” the duchess replied. Her lip curled at one corner, and I wondered if she already knew whom he would choose.

He clapped his hands together, rubbing them. “Excellent. Where are you, Hal?”

Lord Henry heaved a sigh, before trudging forward. But for all that it was evident he wasn’t looking forward to being his older brother’s right-hand man and lackey for the evening—and who could blame him?—he didn’t seem particularly troubled by it. In fact, he smiled good-naturedly as his brother clapped him on the shoulder.

“Now, who is to be my lady?” Lord Edward moved to circulate the room, as if he could coax out the pea’s existence simply by the allure of his smile.

I returned my attention to my cake, determined to finish it—and swallow any pea it might contain—before he reached me.

Happily, I had nothing to fear, for a moment later, a bashful voice spoke up from the edge of the room. “I-I believe I have it.”

The duchess approached her to confirm this, followed by her son. “Indeed, you do, Lady Malvina.”

We all clapped as Lord Edward bowed and then offered the young lady his arm. They followed the duchess toward the center of the room as another pair of footmen stepped