“Buried the aluminum?” he repeated, baffled. “Copper?”
It made her grin at him. “Do you actually want to know how to dye hydrangea blooms, Ambrose?”
He winced. “No.”
The music shifted, drifting from gentle chords to something more spritely as guests continued to trickle in, each in a glimmer of jewel tones or pastels a bit more eye-watering than those who came before.
Voices trailed over the music like accompaniment, Ambrose thought, and the musicians adapted to them as the ballroomcontinued to fill. He wondered if they trained for specific quantities of people and how best to accompany their presence.
“I learned the viola as a boy,” he told Vix. “I preferred the pianoforte, but I was good at the viola as well.”
“Were you?” she said, blinking. “I tried my hand at harp. I was not good at it at all.”
“No, you need an instrument that does not weigh you down,” he said, considering her. “Perhaps the flute. It is all about control and breath and rapid reflexes. Yes, I think flute for you, Vix.”
“Indeed?” she replied, looking entertained by the prospect. “Perhaps I will consider it.”
He was already considering what metal to purchase it in when she turned to regard the crowd again, likely having forgotten the concept of the flute entirely. Gold, he wondered? Silver? He had heard they sometimes made the instrument entirely of crystal as well. And he would have to find an instructor.
Someone talented, but not too handsome. It would be an endeavor.
“Good evening, Asters,” came the voice of Matthew Everly, looking nigh unrecognizable this evening as he strode toward them in tails, his usually chaotic mop of curls defined and tamed into a fashionable tumble. “What a beautiful gathering this is!”
“Matthew!” Vix cried, turning toward him and widening her eyes. “Look at you! Goodness, who knew it was possible?”
“Not I,” Matthew confessed, shrugging. “Tod found the tailor. Roland brought the pomade. I just arrived and let them do things to me.”
“A dangerous endeavor,” Ambrose said, blinking. “That is how I found myself married, you know.”
“Yes,” said the vicar, glancing from Vix to Ambrose and back again. “I know.”
“Speaking of which,” said Vix, a worrying glint in her eye. “I must go greet my own motley array of friends. See them, just there? Ah, how they glow.”
She floated away toward the refreshment table, where Rosalind Murphy in glowing pink satin was engaged in conversation with Mae Casper, in matte gold silk.
When Ambrose turned back to Matthew, he found him watching the journey with narrowed eyes. “She is a wicked little minx, your wife,” he said of Vix, without turning to Ambrose. “I’m terribly fond of her.”
“Yes, I know she is,” Ambrose replied with a fond little sigh. “Though I haven’t a clue what she’s up to just now. Care to enlighten me?”
Matthew sighed, watching as Mae and Rosalind turned to greet Vix. “I would rather not. It would only delight her further.”
“I understand,” said Ambrose, because he did.
“How is your dog?” the vicar asked, eyes still on the trio of women. “Fluent in German yet?”
“Getting there,” said Ambrose. “Did you know the German word for poison isgift?It created a lot of confusion in our house last week when Bear tried to eat a grape. I suppose I should also ask if you knew that grapes are poisonous to dogs. It was a day of education, all around.”
Matthew’s attention slowly drifted to Ambrose during this tirade, his brows rising in slow intervals. “And you’ve taught him thatgiftmeanspoison?”
“I don’t think there is a word in dog language fordo not eat, to tell you the truth,” Ambrose confided. “But Vix and I know now that it is not allowed, and I suppose that will have to be enough. Though the utter confusion of my manservant bounding through the house, announcing,‘Nein, Bear, das ist gift!’as the pup fled with a grape between his teeth will remain with me until my final day on this earth.”
“And you watched them go by and thought the grape had been a lovely present, not a deadly poison?” Matthew guessed, eyes sparkling.
“Of course,” Ambrose returned with a sniff. “Like any Englishman would.”
“One day, the poor pup may learn that he was also a gift,” Matthew cautioned. “Imagine the confusion and heartbreak.”
“You are still angry about that destroyed chair, I see,” Ambrose replied with a smirk. “Shall I have the dog replace it?”
