Cora seizes the opening. “At our balls in Württemberg, young women are encouraged to approach the men.”
She flinches. Her accent came out much too harsh and her proposal far too desperate.
The trio all turn to stare.
Cora swallows. “It is seen as deferential and, ah, honorable, in our country. Perhaps we might all—”
“No suitor is going to want to speak toyou.” Mimi laughs.
Bonnie barks out a chuckle. “Besides my nutter brother, but who wants him?”
Cora’s face must show her confusion plainly as Mimi adds, “I mentioned to Edward Livingston that you practice the occult with your little green gems.” She smiles sweetly. “Perhaps he spread it around?”
Cora grits her teeth.Why, you vicious little twit!Alice’s voice, though, sounds through her mind, drowning out her own thoughts:“A lady always projects quiet decorum.”
Through sheer will, Cora resists the urge to throttle her.
“Forgive me.” Cora forces a smile. “I do not understand why you would say this.”
“Because you’re pretty,” Bonnie drones, “and a beautiful emerald heiress is compet—”
She cuts off when Mimi elbows her in the waist.
“Ladies,” Arabella puts in softly, glancing at Cora. “We would do best towelcomenew friends to our shores—”
“Oh, lighten up, Arabella, it’s harmless fun.” Mimi’s eyes sparkle. “Awelcomejoke between Lady Cora and me. To break the ice.”
“It’s Miss Ritter.”
At Mimi’s arched, challenging eyebrow, Cora amends, in a softer, more Württembergian accent, “I am not titled. But call me Cora, if you please.”
Arabella gently cups her elbow, gracefully diverting her attention. “Cora, then. I, for one, would love to hear more about your nation, the landscape, the culture, the emeralds. About everything concerning your homeland, really. I confess, I’ve come to greatly enjoy the posts from your cousin. The grand prince spoke so hopefully about the fate of Württemberg in his last message.”
“You cannot know what a service you’ve offered him,” Cora says, attempting to reclaim her footing. “In your words, he sees the hope of true support from abroad.”
Arabella smiles. “The pleasure is mine. It has been a long while since I’ve engaged in such frequent correspondence.”
“Ah yes, since sad little Harry Peyton,” Mimi says flatly as she inspects her nails.
Cora’s pulse jumps at his mention, while Arabella blushes.
“I hear his father keeps him chained in the basement now,” Mimi muses. “Only time he’s allowed to leave the house is to watch quacks hack up dead bodies.”
Arabella blurts, “So he has an interest in anatomy. As do many of the greatest minds of our time.”
“Speak of the devil,” Bonnie drones, nodding toward the restaurant’s large doors, and Arabella’s voice gulps into abrupt silence.
Cora follows her gaze toward the restaurant entrance.
“So he’s finally decided to show his face again,” Mimi says. “And my,my, how he has grown.”
Arabella shakes her head, still reeling. “Oh... He’s... You’re right.”
“Harry Peyton just arrived,” Bonnie announces to Cora in a bored monotone. “The one we were just discussing.”
Cora feels upended. Dizzy. As if she’s levitating herself.
Harry Peyton. Son of Harold Peyton the senior, Alice’s white whale, the supposed “worst of them.”
