“She does not,” Delmare replied.
“Ido,” Fee insisted.
“I trust we will have time to...discuss the children, Mrs. Montrose?” the Duchess of Ashbey asked.
“Dinner has already been set for an hour hence,” Hurtheven intervened. “Cook, I’m sure, will be able to expand the menu. After, you ladies will have all the time as you wish.”
“Later, then.” The duchess smiled reassuringly.
As the duke, the duchess, and their children disappeared into the hall, Hera read all she could into that smile. Surely, the cheerful expression meant the duchess had nobadnews to impart. Hera turned to Penelope with a questioning expression.
“All is well,” Penelope answered. “Much better than expected, actually.”
Hurtheven snorted. “Of course, all is well. Did you doubt?”
“I’d never doubt you,” Penelope laughed—just a touch too brightly.
Hera purposefully changed the subject. “I cannotimaginethe explanation Fee will devise to excuse the absence of her own frog.”
“Don’t be too sure she won’t find one before they reach the nursery,” Hurtheven replied. “The world has a way of supporting those with unquestioning faith in themselves.”
“And you’ve some experience with self-assurance, haven’t you?” Ithwick clapped a hand on Hurtheven’s shoulder. “You wouldn’t be our Zeus if you did not.”
“Zeus?” Hera repeated faintly.
“The name we’ve given him,” Ithwick answered. “Did he not tell you?”
Wasthatwhy he’d been so startled byhername?Good Lord.
“Off with you both,” Hurtheven said, coloring slightly. “I’m sure you wish to shake off the dust—and Mrs. Montrose and I have a kite to collect.”
Hera waited for the duke and duchess to enter the castle. She turned to him and with lowered voice, said, “Zeus?”
He cleared his throat. “A longstanding joke. From childhood. Nothing to do with you.”
“Ah,” she replied, not feeling any better about the coincidence. “Their arrival, I suppose, will put an end to our midnights?”
His expression blanked. “Is that your wish?”
No.She glanced at the open doors. “There is a greater risk we’ll be caught.”
“There is,” he agreed. “But I’m not willing to give this up.”
Neither was she, though she must. A haunting gloom passed through her spirit. In fact, depending on what news the duchess had to impart, this next meeting could be their very last one.
She swallowed roughly. “Midnight, it is.”
* * *
Hurtheven rolled the stem of his wine glass between his fingers. From his vantage at the head of his dining table, he could observe every one of his guests as Delmare—with occasional interjections from Fee—regaled them with the tale of the lion at the inn.
And he could studiously avoid meeting the gaze of the one seated directly across from him—Ashbey.
He’d no doubt Ash had, on arrival, immediately and correctly assessed the situation between himself and Hera. However, by Hurtheven’s encouragement and design, the sartorial preparations for the evening meal—among other demands for Ash’s attention—had left Ash without the opportunity to give Hurtheven a private excoriation.
Hurtheven could not yet answer Ash's inevitable question. Hera had cut Hurtheven off on every occasion he’d attempted to revisit the prospect of their marriage.
His gaze settled on the lady whom he still hoped to make his duchess. Her posture was one of a woman on pins and needles awaiting some dire revelation. She angled toward Delmare, listening intently to the boy’s version of the events, her features clouded with apprehension carefully masked as interest.
