Page 25 of A Season for Scandal

“You’re just where you should be,” I said firmly, grabbing my hat from the nail on the wall and heading for the door.

After making my way through the busy shop, stopping every now and then to greet a customer, I stepped out into the dazzle of August sunshine.

The note had been from Mrs Finch, but rather than directing me to the Aviary as expected, instead I was instructed to make my way to Izzy’s house as soon as possible. This was, I assumed, going to be a discussion of the events at the Lucky Penny. Hopefully, Mrs Finch would have already set about recovering the contents of the deposit boxes. I tried not to feel nervous, but thanks to my conversation with Sylla I was aware that the mission had not been marked down as an unprecedented success.

It was only a ten-minute walk to Izzy’s home on Grosvener Square, and I took the opportunity to settle myself a bit. While I longed for it, the route didn’t take me past any green space, but I was still able to appreciate the gentle rustle of the breeze through the trees dotted along Oxford Street. Soon, I knew those leaves would turn gold, but for now they hung on to the last warm dregs of summer, a mellow green, gorged on sunshine and almost ready to drop.

The day was warm, and I stomped along without my coat, feeling pleased with the violet gown I wore, trimmed with green silk that I had purchased from the Aviary. My hat was a frothy confection to which I had pinned real dahlias, spiky, pink and outrageous in a crown along the brim.

Heads turned as I passed, but I didn’t mind. Busy and scattered as I was, I still felt more like myself than I had in a long time.

Upon reaching Roxton House, I rang the bell and waited for Wheeler, the extremely dignified butler to open the door. It still felt wrong to be using the front door rather than the service entrance, but Izzy insisted. Though he had never said a word about it, I felt Wheeler’s disapproval regarding this decision emanating from him in violent waves.

The ridiculously grand house might currently contain a duke, a duchess and a duke’s sister, but it was Wheeler who left me feeling the most awe-struck.

“Miss Bloom,” the man said now, with the briefest incline of his chin. “Her Grace is expecting you.”

“Thank you, Wheeler,” I said, with all the dignity I could muster.

He escorted me through to the entrance hall, where Max’s seventeen-year-old sister, Felicity, appeared suddenly, barrelling down the staircase. She was dressed carelessly, her sleeves pushed up past her elbows, and her gleaming silver-blonde hair was pulled back in a plait, which fell over her shoulder. I noticed the end of it was blue and surmised that she had accidentally dipped it in her ink pot again.

“Ah, Wheeler,” she puffed, as she straightened her spectacles. “I was wondering if you had seen my Norwegian dictionary? I’m trying to write a letter to Dr Lie and I keep getting lost conjugating the verbs.”

“I believe the Norwegian dictionary was shelved last night in its proper place in the library,” Wheeler said without inflection.

Felicity gave a rumble of frustration. “I told you, Wheeler, what you think of as mess is actually organized chaos.”

Wheeler’s silence on the subject spoke volumes.

“Oh! Hello, Mari.” Felicity finally spotted me and danced down the final stairs. “What an excellent hat. I am a great appreciator of the radial symmetry of dahlias.”

I grinned. “So am I, now that you mention it,” I said. “I’ll make sure we send over plenty this week; there have been some really lovely examples at the markets. You can have some for your study.”

“I would love that.” Felicity beamed. “I suppose you’re here to see Izzy and her visitors. Secrets flying about all over the place. Well, I’ll just grab my dictionary and get back to work. I really do think my life would have been easier if Mother had been more interested in having someone teach me Norwegian and less concerned about deportment.” Felicity snorted. “I conquered walking when I was thirteen months old – I hardly think it required any further instruction.”

With that, she whirled off in the direction of the library – an extremely graceful tempest – and I thought perhaps there was something to be said for deportment classes, after all.

Wheeler cleared his throat. “If you’ll follow me to the drawing room, miss.”

As we made our way down the hall, past various busts on plinths and pieces of priceless artwork, I found myself habitually taking stock of the flowers on show. I had sent over new arrangements only three days ago, so the elegant and sculptural designs of cloud-like blue hydrangeas spiked through with tall white delphiniums and fat, perfumed off-white roses still looked perfect. Perhaps something similar in shades of lilac would be nice next. Just because the displays were something of a ruse didn’t mean I couldn’t take pride in my work.

“Miss Bloom has arrived,” Wheeler intoned, pushing open the door to the drawing room.

All heads turned in my direction, and I was surprised to see so many people here. Maud and Winnie were sitting on a straw-coloured silk sofa, happily examining the three-tier cake stand in front of them, which was laden with sweet treats. Izzy’s husband, Max, already had his fingers wrapped round a delicious-looking petit four, the delicate little cake appearing even smaller in his massive hand. Sylla stood to one side with Mrs Finch and Izzy, clearly deep in conversation.

And standing by the fireplace, as tall and broodingly handsome as the last time we met, was Oliver Lockhart.

“It’s you!” I exclaimed impulsively.

“Oh, good,” Oliver said. “The weeping one is here. Lock up your library books.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“The weeping one?” Winnie looked confused. “Mari?

She’s the most cheerful person I know.”

“Of course, you two already know each other,” Izzy said. “I had actually forgotten that.”