My eyes move to the center of the gathering where much of their amusement and attention is fixed. There, a man with curly blond hair sits on his knees in the grass, his cravat undone, his sleeves rolled sloppily up to his elbows. His head is thrown back, lips parted wide, as a woman pours wine directly into his mouth. The liquid overflows over his cheeks, and he rises unsteadily to his feet, spraying his guests with stray droplets as he attempts to swallow his mouthful. His guests laugh at his antics and join him as he lets out a whoop of a cheer.
Terror strikes my chest. “Please don’t tell me that’s my…my…”
“That’s Monty Phillips,” Thorne says.
At the urging of his guests, he gets back on his knees and opens his mouth for another round of force-fed wine.
My shoulders sink. “But he’s…”
Thorne releases a long-suffering sigh. “An idiot.”
“An idiot,” I echo with a solemn nod.
“You really should wait in the parlor,” Mrs. Donahue says, her voice edged with hysteria.
“No need,” I say. “I’ll meet him now.”
The housekeeper’s face burns beet red as she proceeds to open the door and lead us out to the crowd. The scent of alcohol clashes with the clean breeze and the fresh aroma of cut grass. Monty rises to his feet again, eliciting another cheer from his guests. His expression goes blank as he notices our arrival but quickly breaks into a dimpled grin.
“Thornyyy!” he says, drawing out the last syllable far too long. His gaze slides to me. “And you must be…”
“Her Highness, Princess Rosaline,” announces Mrs. Donahue, head bowed low in either deference or shame.
The guests go quiet as all eyes lock on me.
“Right,” Monty says, the mirth leaving his tone. He gestures toward me with a sloppy wave. “Everyone, meet my fiancée. Or she would be if…” He halts on a hiccup. His lips pull into another wide, dimpled smile, and something sly dances in his glossy gray eyes. “If our engagement hadn’t been broken.”
23
BRIONY
My heart leaps into my throat. I blink at the man who is supposed to be my fiancé. “What do you mean our engagement was broken?”
Monty gives an exaggerated flourish of his hand. “It means…what it means.”
“Monty,” Thorne growls, a sharp warning in his eyes. With a string of muttered curses, Thorne strides over to him, whispering something I can’t hear. After some back and forth between Thorne looking angry and Monty looking like a giddy fool, my fiancé finally has the decency to wipe the shit-eating grin off his face. With a somber nod, he slinks over to an empty chair and drops himself into it. The guests resume chattering, but the mood is much more subdued.
Thorne’s jaw is hard as he leaves his friend. He’s about to brush past me when I stop him with a tug on his sleeve. He freezes in place, his gaze landing on where my gloved fingertips meet the navy linen of his jacket. I release his sleeve and speak through my teeth. “What does he mean our engagement is broken?”
“I’ll take care of this,” he says. “Don’t talk to him until I return.”
With that, he marches away and into the solarium.
Minka puts her hand on my arm. “Your fiancé may not have meant what he said, Miss Rose. Everything might still be all right.”
I purse my lips, unsure of what to say. What to do. Thorne told me not to talk to Monty until he returns, but what am I to do until then? I’ve never been to a garden party before, and I don’t particularly want to talk to any of these strangers. Even if I did, none of them seem partial to speaking with me. Whether it’s due to their own dislike, Monty’s chilly reception of me, or respect of royal protocol, I know not. Some look at me with sideways glances as they sip their wine while others ignore me entirely.
Mrs. Donahue approaches me, wringing her hands. “I deeply apologize for such a chaotic introduction, Highness, and I am sorry to say Lady Phillips is not available to receive you at this time.” She glances to the side, toward a nearby tent. Beneath it stands a table of concessions as well as a divan. Upon the divan, a fine-dressed woman naps with a fluffy brown dog in one arm and an empty wineglass in the other. Lady Phillips, I presume. “Shall I make any other introductions for you, Highness?”
“No, Mrs. Donahue, but thank you. I’m…fine.” The last word nearly refuses to escape my lips, for it’s almost a lie.
She gives me a gracious nod and shuffles away, a grimace tugging her lips with every step. Poor Mrs. Donahue. And poor me!Thisis the family I’m supposed to marry into?Thisis the family that’s supposed to save my own’s reputation? I glance from the snoring Lady Phillips to Monty sunk low in his chair, head tipped back, eyes closed. I’m starting to think the best this family has to offer mine is their wealth. Considering what Father told me about the collectors announcing his debt in a matter of weeks, it makes sense he’d be desperate. And why Lord Phillips might be equally as desperate to marry off his idiot son.
After an uncomfortably long stretch of merely standing, staring at the crowd, and doing nothing, Minka leans into my line of sight, whiskers twitching. “Shall I get you a glass of wine, Miss Rose? I’m not certain they have Moondrop or Midnight Blush like we favor in Lunar, but they likely have the Earthen Court specialty, Oakmead.”
My fragile nerves sayyes please give me wine at once, but as I glance around the party, which is once again growing rather rowdy, I’m not sure I want what they’re having. “I’ll take tea instead.”
She flounces away toward the concessions tent, and I immediately regret having dismissed her. I feel even more awkward standing alone. Before the feeling can grow too strong, a firm touch alights at my elbow. I expect to find Minka, but instead, it’s Thorne. He stands beside me, a heavy clay cup in hand—not one of the delicate porcelain ones from the party. His gloves are gone, as is his jacket, and his shirtsleeves have been rolled to his elbows. His dark hair has been tied back from his face in a style I haven’t seen him wear before. It shows off his widow’s peak more than when he wears his tresses down, but there’s a messiness to it that gives it a roguish air. His spectacles somehow tie the look together in a surprisingly dashing way.
