The Mark of the Midnight Manzanilla A Pink Carnation Novel by Lauren Willig Read Free Book Online Page B

stridently.
    “The ball is in two days,” said Uncle Henry wearily. “The cards have gone out already.”
    Lucien looked at him with gratitude.
    “All the same,” Uncle Henry added, looking to Lucien, “we do trust we will see you there.”
    It was more a command than a request.
    In a gentler tone, Uncle Henry added, “It would mean a great deal to us to have you join us.”
    The last thing Lucien wanted was to go out into society. But, with the weight of four pairs of Caldicott eyes upon him, there was little he could do but say, “I will not fail you.”
    “Haven’t you?” said Aunt Winifred. And then, “Come, Clarissa.”
    Clarissa went, pausing only to give Lucien a long, hard look on her way out. “Welcome home,” she said.
    Her welcome did not sound particularly welcoming.
    Uncle Henry squeezed his shoulder in passing. “It’s good to have you back, my boy.”
    “Thank you,” said Lucien, his throat tight with a tangle of emotions. Uncle Henry, of all of them, sounded as though he meant it.
    The only one left was Hal.
    Hal had been eleven when Lucien left. Now he was a young man, with his fine, fair hair cut fashionably short, and his waistcoat generously adorned with jangling fobs. Once upon a time, he had been Lucien’s shadow, tagging along after him to the stable and the Home Woods, filching tarts from the kitchen as a signal of his devotion, always ready to take the junior part in any drama.
    Now he looked at Lucien with hurt, accusing eyes. “I didn’t believe it when they told me,” he said, in a low voice.
    “Believe—”
    “That you had come back.” Hal’s voice broke on the last word. He gave a bitter laugh. It made him sound, thought Lucien, very young. “But, then, I didn’t believe it when you left, either. Just like that. Without a word.”
    If he had left word, they would have found him and made him come back. But Lucien couldn’t say that.
    “I’m sorry?” he ventured.
    “Sorry,” his cousin echoed, with all the scorn of twenty. “And now, I suppose, you expect to waltz right in and have everything just as it was.” His voice went up. “Well, it isn’t. And it can’t be.”
    “No,” agreed Lucien, thinking of Marie-Clarice’s cold, hard eyes, of his mother’s grave, his father’s portrait on the wall, “it can’t be.”
    Hal gave Lucien one last, suspicious look. “Mock all you like,” he said furiously, “but you’ll see. We don’t want you here.”
    And he slammed the heavy door behind him.
    “I don’t want to be here either,” said Lucien. But Hal was already gone.
    No use to explain that he couldn’t leave. Not yet. Not until he brought his parents’ murderer to justice.
    But in the meantime, it seemed that he had a ball to attend.
    Chapter Three
     
    Lady Clarissa Caldicott’s ball was held in Richmond, at the home of Lord Henry Caldicott and his wife.
    The trip from London had taken even longer than usual, due to the glut of carriages on the road. The circular drive before the house was jammed, and the pale marble stairs were all but invisible due to the procession of ladies and gentlemen making their way up to the great doorway that loomed between two tall flambeaux.
    Sally, Lizzy, and Agnes zigzagged their way up the stairs, trailing behind Sally’s sister-in-law, Arabella, who had been tasked with chaperoning them for the evening, and Sally’s brother, Turnip, who bounded enthusiastically ahead to clear a path for them, like a particularly energetic golden retriever.
    Technically, both Lizzy and Agnes were meant to be under the eye of Lizzy’s stepmother, Mrs. Reid, the former Miss Gwen. But ever since it had come out that Miss Gwen was the author of The Covent of Orsino , she couldn’t go anywhere without being mobbed by admirers.
    Miss Gwen did not admire her admirers.
    And when Miss Gwen did not admire, she tended to apply the pointier portion of her parasol to whichever bit of anatomy was nearest. Matrimony and the arrival of an