Of all the suspects, Crossings remained the most likely. It was his style: calculated and vindictive.
And although he’d considered the Harcroft brothers, he mostly dismissed them as suspects. Would they have acted so soon after the thorough drubbing Boris had delivered? Most fellows would be licking their wounds for weeks before contemplating revenge.
No, this stank of something more calculated.
Crossings remained at the top of his list—or at least, someone working under his orders.
Whoever it was, their actions today had been suicidally foolish. Because, damages aside, fire wasn’t just destructive—it was lethal. If someone had set it deliberately, they’d risked the lives of his people, and that wasn’t something Malum took lightly.
Distracted as he was by the cleanup efforts and his deliberations, Malum nearly forgot he’d promised Standish he’d attend their formal dinner tonight. A glance at his watch had a curse slipping from his lips, sending him striding to the small chamber where he’d slept that morning.
Scrubbing away soot and smoke at the small basin took more time than he would have liked. A bath? Out of the question. He pulled a relatively fresh white shirt and an old coat from the wardrobe, tying his cravat with brisk precision. And even though a faint trace of smoke likely clung to him, there was nothing to be done.
He adjusted his cuffs, squared his shoulders, and made his way to the private exit.
Dinner at Standish’s had started half an hour ago. He was already fashionably late.
DINNER WITH FAMILY AND FRIENDS
He wasn’t coming.
Melanie sat beside the only empty chair at the long dining table in her brother’s home, trying to mask her disappointment. The last thing she wanted was for her family to look at her with pity, imagining she might be heartbroken. She hated the thought of them thinking she cared so deeply about his absence.
She kept her gaze on her plate, though her appetite had dwindled. The invitation to Malum had been last minute, but why had he bothered to accept it at all if he hadn’t intended to show? It would have been easier—kinder, even—if he’d simply declined.
Because Melanie was, in fact, disappointed.
Furthermore, she was struggling to shake the feeling that a part of her was missing. Which made no sense at all.
Their engagement wasn’t real.Shehad insisted on that.
She’d been the one to demand it be temporary.
For a fleeting moment, a traitorous thought surfaced:Had that been a mistake?But she quickly dismissed it. Surely, Malum had only been so affable, so attentive, because he knewall of this was fleeting. A game they were playing to quiet scandal and save her family. Nothing more.
Still, his absence gnawed at her. Was something wrong? Malum didn’t strike her as the type to skip an invitation without reason. It was unlike him—or at least, unlike the man she thought she knew.
Or was she simply clinging to the version of him she wanted to believe in?
Reed hadn’t said a word about their missing guest, nor had Lord Helton. Perhaps they knew him better than she after all, having known him for so much longer.
When dinner was announced, however, and the guests were led into the dining room, Caroline, of course, had sent her a questioning glance.
Melanie had merely shrugged, trying to convey an air of nonchalance. Everything was fine.
Of course it was!
Melanie glanced up, her gaze skimming the long table adorned with polished silver candlesticks and a pristine white cloth. Family and guests filled the room with lively conversation, their voices overlapping as the meal progressed.
Lord Northwoods had, as Josie’s suitor, been invited, and was sitting beside her sister. Melanie periodically noticed him looking at Josie with an almost unnerving sort of hunger in his eyes. If not for what Malum had told her about the man after their ride through the park, she might have mistaken it for love or adoration, but now she wondered if he merely hungered after her dowry. Meanwhile, Josie was looking flushed and flattered, utterly charmed by Northwoods’ attentiveness.
In addition to the family and Melanie’s siblings and their spouses, Mother had invited one of her friends, Lady Percival, and her husband, Sir Percival Tuttle, an older, portly gentleman—who was apparently a royal knight? Melanie thought that hemust have received the title at a younger age—muchyounger—because she could not imagine someone of his stature fighting off anything more coordinated than a baby deer, currently.
Sir Percival polished off the last of the wine in his cup and then let out a surprisingly loud hiccup before continuing to chatter in Lord Helton’s ear. Melanie’s poor brother-in-law nodded along politely, but his eyes had gone unfocused a while back, as though hoping for someone to rescue him from his misfortune, no doubt. After several minutes of this, Caroline leaned in, joining the conversation with a hint of laughter sparkling in her eyes.
The atmosphere was really quite cheerful, all things considered. Crystal glasses sparkled in the candlelight, and the wine flowed freely.
The first courses had already been served—soup, rich and fragrant, followed by a delicate fish that was accompanied by seasonal vegetables. Now, platters of roasted meats and game were being passed around, each dish more decadent than the last. The aromas of spiced sauces and freshly baked rolls lingered in the air, but Melanie had barely touched her plate.
