The Countess Conspiracy
Page 26

“I consider it a waste of a good automaton. I would modify your invention,” she said, reaching for some cheese. “I’d dress my version up in my best silk and send it out to pay morning calls. Oh, how I hate making morning calls. It wouldn’t need much of a vocabulary. ‘Yes,’ my automaton would say, ‘this weather is dreadful, isn’t it?’ In fact, I think that’s how I would do it. Whatever the other person says, it would answer, ‘Yes, it most certainly is, isn’t it?’ My automaton would have perfect manners.”
“Yes,” Sebastian said, “it most certainly would, wouldn’t it?”
“I could be known far and wide for my affability,” Violet said. “I’ve never been known for my affability.”
“No,” Sebastian said. “You most certainly haven’t, have you?”
She looked up at him, her eyebrows rising, but she didn’t remark on his word choice. “And I would use my spare time to think about all the things I want to consider. Maybe this time I would hit on an area of research that you’d be willing to present.”
“No,” Sebastian said, more slowly this time. “You most likely wouldn’t, would you? It’s not the nature of the work, Violet, but the person who does it.”
She looked up at him. “Really? There’s nothing I could choose? No subject at all?”
You, Sebastian thought. You. Everything about you. “I told you earlier. I’m thinking about shipping.”
She made a face. “Ugh. Shipping. That sounds messy. A collection of general principles, true only in aggregate, which any person can flout with impunity just because he feels like it.”
“Yes,” he said mockingly, “it most certainly is awful, isn’t it?”
She rolled her eyes. “God, that is annoying. As much as I hate to admit it, you’re right. I need a cleverer automaton. This one will have me hurled bodily from the houses I visit.”
“No,” Sebastian said. “They’ll have your automaton hurled from the houses you visit—and think of the advantages.” He winked at her and leaned in, gesturing her closer.
She leaned forward.
“You’ll never have to visit those houses again,” he whispered.
She smiled. “God, don’t make me laugh, Sebastian.”
“Why not?”
“Because. You’re going to make me forget—make me comfortable—”
He smiled. “That is the entire point. Get your back up all you wish. Rage at me for hours. Feel uncomfortable. At the end of the day, I’ll still bring you apples and make you laugh.”
She sniffed suspiciously. “Why?”
“Because.” He lowered his voice. “I love that I can make you laugh.”
She stared at him, frowning in consternation. She looked away and chose a biscuit from the tray. “Don’t try for stupid things.”
Someone else would think her rude. Someone else might imagine her unfeeling. Someone else might think she was all thorns, no soft, sweet petals. Sebastian knew her better than that.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Violet,” he finally said. “I’m too clever for that.”
Chapter Eight
FOUR BAGS OF MARBLES. Three decks of cards. A bottle of brandy, two of burgundy, a quantity of oranges—Sebastian checked the last item off his list and looked up, making a survey of the private dining room.
Blue bunting decorated the walls and festive trays of food covered the tables. They spilled over with grapes, cheeses, little sandwiches, large cuts of meat, cakes, pies, biscuits, pastries…it all added up to a regular feast of celebration indeed.
There was only one thing missing from Sebastian’s little party: guests. And by the clock, they’d be here—
The door opened.
“Oh, good Lord.” Oliver, his cousin, stopped in the doorway. He ran one hand through his ginger hair and adjusted the spectacles on his nose in disbelief.
Yes, the effect was rather impressive, if Sebastian said so himself. He folded his arms and tried not to preen too obviously.
“Are we really expected to eat all of that?” Oliver asked in hushed tones.
“Not we,” Sebastian said grandly. “You.”
“There is an entire pig on that table. I have to stand up tomorrow morning.” Oliver shook his head. “Also, I would prefer not to vomit during my wedding ceremony. Jane might get the wrong idea.”
“Robert and I will hold you upright. It was his job to bring the bucket tonight. We’ll see if he… Oh, there you are, Robert. Nice of you to join us.”
“Bucketless,” Oliver muttered.
“Bucketless?” Robert shook his head. “What are you two nattering on about?”
“Oh, nothing.” Sebastian smiled. “Come in, then. Come and gawk at the magnificence I have provided.” He stepped aside and let his friends enter the room. Oliver looked all around, impressed despite himself.
Sebastian and Robert had made the sign hanging over the table. “Congratulations* Oliver!” it read in bright, multihued letters. The asterisk after the congratulations led to a footnote, spelled out in tiny black letters along the bottom of the banner.
Oliver stepped close and peered up at the canvas. “On managing to bamboozle an otherwise intelligent, lovely young woman into marrying you, which is quite possibly your greatest accomplishment to date,” he read aloud. But he was smiling as he did. “You’re right. Completely right. I still can’t quite wrap my head around my good fortune.”
“You should have been there when they first met,” Sebastian told Robert. “It was quite an event.”
“You weren’t there when we first met.” Oliver frowned. “Were you?”
“When they second met,” Sebastian corrected himself with a shrug. “She talked him in circles and afterward, he kept glancing over his shoulder and refusing to talk about her. It was love at second meeting. It was obvious to everyone except him; he took months to figure it out.”
Robert snickered. “God, you should have seen him mope about her. It was catastrophic. I thought something awful had happened, and he never even mentioned her name.”
“I am right here,” Oliver announced. “Standing in front of you two.”
A casual glance across the room would not instantly make one think that Robert and Oliver were related. Robert’s hair was blond; Oliver’s was almost orange, and he had a smattering of freckles dotting his nose in contrast to Robert’s pale skin. But beyond those superficial details, they looked so much alike. The same ice-blue eyes; the same sharp nose. They shared many of the same mannerisms. The two were practically inseparable, and had been since they’d discovered they were half-brothers years before.