“It’s Balcovian amaranth!” she squealed, cradling Kuni’s bonnet to her chest as though it were her long-lost infant. “Grown only in the royal gardens! These flowers have one of the rarest hues of pink in existence!” She spun around in dizzying circles. “Do you see what this is, Graham? This ribbon was dyedthirteen timesto reach this hue!”
Kuni barely had the chance to process that “Graham” must be Mr. Wynchester, before the blond will-o’-the-wisp spun away and dashed back up the stairs, vanishing along with Kuni’s bonnet.
“She’ll be back,” Mr. Wynchester said with unconcern. “Probably.”
He handed his hat to the butler. “Mr. Randall, one of the footmen will bring Miss de Heusch’s valise. Please prepare rooms for her, and summon my siblings to the front sitting room.”
The butler inclined his head. “You will find Miss Elizabeth already present, in repose on her sofa.”
“Splendid.” Mr. Wynchester escorted Kuni down a corridor. “My sister either won’t look up from her pile of pillows or she’ll challenge you to a duel out of boredom.”
Kuni stumbled. “What?”
They had already crossed the threshold of an airy, sunny salon filled with sofas and armchairs at one end, and boasting an enormous table covered in books and documents on the other.
Upon one of the sofas, a pale, plump, soft-looking woman indeed lay in repose amongst a veritable mountain of plush cushions, eyes closed. A florid cane rested at her side.
Mr. Wynchester stepped forward. “Elizabeth—”
The woman flew off the sofa, removing a wicked rapier from its deceptively innocuous housing mid-flight. She landed beside her brother in a fighting stance, the blade thrust toward Kuni.
Mr. Wynchester sighed and turned around. “She’s only bam—”
He blanched to see Kuni’s twin daggers already in her hands, deadly sharp and pointed straight at his sister.
“Where did you get daggers?” he asked hoarsely.
His sister grinned at Kuni and sheathed her sword. “I love her. She can stay.”
She flopped back onto her pillows and closed her eyes as if nothing of consequence had interrupted her idle afternoon slumber.
Kuni’s fingers were still clenched around the handles of her daggers.
“Please don’t murder my sister,” Mr. Wynchester whispered.
“I’d like to see her try!” said Miss Elizabeth without opening her eyes.
“I’ll sell tickets,” came an amused voice from right behind Kuni.
Kuni lowered her daggers and returned them to their scabbards through the ingeniously hidden slits sewn into her gown.
Striding into the salon was a slender gentleman the same height as Kuni. He had white skin, short, tousled brown hair, and twinkling brown eyes.
“I see you won the wager.” He slapped a banknote into Mr. Wynchester’s palm. “Ten quid it is.”
At the gentleman’s side stood a pretty, plump, blue-eyed woman with golden ringlets and a gown composed of a truly prodigious quantity of lace.She, at least, had the good sense to glance at Kuni askance, as though ladies drawing blades upon each other in a parlor was not at all the done thing, even in England.
Last to enter was a handsome, broad-shouldered gentleman with soulful brown eyes and gorgeous dark brown skin, whomightbe described as well dressed, were it not for the scuffed leather apron tied over his otherwise fashionable frock coat…and the bright-eyed weasel perched on his shoulder. Its spindly little whiskers twitched as it sniffed in Kuni’s general direction.
“Have you seen Tickletums anywhere?” he asked the man who had lost a wager.
“Is that the peahen or the ocelot?” the slender gentleman queried.
Miss Elizabeth rose from her cushions. “Hedgehog. Tickletums is my very favorite of all the hedgehogs, and I wish you would let me have him.”
“I’mtryingtotrainthem,” the aproned man replied in the tone of someone who has been forced to repeat the same explanation time and again. “But we’ll discuss Tickletums later.” He turned and gave Kuni a curious but welcoming smile. “Do we have a guest or a client?”
“A guest,” Kuni said quickly.
