Smiling, her lips curling upward in an appreciative smirk, Cynthia leaned across the table as the servants entered, a crystal bowl cradled between them, sparkling under the light of the chandeliers.
“A game,” Cynthia said, her voice light, almost innocent. “To get us in the mood for the days ahead.”
Kitty’s hand clasped the silk of her dress more firmly. She had come to know Cynthia well enough to suspect any suggestion she made with that particular slant of amusement.
A glance at Norman, at the table’s end, revealed no reaction beyond habitual cool reserve which he wore so effortlessly.
“Fortunes,” Cynthia continued, waving her hand toward the bowl, which was being placed in the center of the table. “Each guest will draw a slip of paper, read aloud their fortune, and let fate decide their meaning. We might find ourselves enlightened, shocked, or perhaps entertained.”
There was a murmur of interest among the guests, and Kitty drew a soft breath, bracing herself to remain calm.
Beside Norman, Andrew leaned forward with a grin that promised mischief. “Ah, fortunes! Will they tell us who’s secretly in love with whom? Or which of us will die tragically in a duel? Do hope it’s me—I’d hate to miss the drama.”
Eleanor giggled, swatting his arm with her fan. “Don’t be morbid, Andrew! I’m sure they’ll all be ever so romantic.” She clasped her hands, eyes sparkling. “Perhaps mine will say I’ll meet a dashing prince!”
Kitty had no choice but to play along; to back down now would be to yield an advantage to Cynthia before the game had even begun.
The first fortunes were harmless, bringing laughter and teasing remarks.
Andrew received a slip that warned that, “The one who boasts of his conquests soon finds himself conquered.” He raised his glass. “To my inevitable downfall! May it at least be entertaining.”
Another woman drew one that read, “Love is like a garden—neglect it, and it shall wither.”
Eleanor sighed dreamily. “How poetic! Though I’d rather mine say, ‘Love is like a cake—best enjoyed with both hands.’” The table chuckled as Andrew mimed licking frosting from his fingers.
Then it was Lady Mulberry’s turn. She pulled a slip from the bowl with a flourish, clearing her throat before reading: “Some birds that fly from the nest find no limb willing to receive them when they come back.”
There was an uncomfortable silence, brief but tense, over the room.
Kitty felt the heat of several glances flashing her way, some questioning, others knowing. Lady Mulberry’s face contortedinto a mockery of a smile when her eyes met Kitty’s, feigning not to know the meaning of the message.
“How sad a fate,” she mused, “for any unfortunate creature to be cast adrift.”
The shame tried to creep into her face, but she only tilted her head in a gesture of bored amusement. “How sad indeed,” she said. “I would rather think a bird who possesses wings is never quite at the mercy of any one branch.”
Andrew came to Kitty’s rescue, snorting into his wine. “Quite right. And if all else fails, peck out the eyes of anyone who doubts you. There was a snicker of laughter after that, but Cynthia was already reaching into the bowl.
Her long, graceful fingers fished out a slip, which she held delicately between flawlessly manicured nails.
She extended it to Kitty, curling her lip into a sly smile. “It’s the future duchess’s turn now,” she said, her voice dripping with feigned sweetness. “Do go ahead and read it, darling?”
Kitty’s stomach tightened, but her face remained tranquil, her demeanor as perfect as she could muster.
She took the slip with a steady hand, her fingers brushing Cynthia’s for a moment. She opened it and read it in a quiet, controlled voice that hid the mortification within, “A woman’sreputation is like fine porcelain—once cracked, it is never quite intact again.”
The room fell silent, the stillness hanging heavy after the words.
Kitty’s smile never wavered, although her chest felt as if it was going to collapse from the tension.
She carefully folded the slip and placed it down, her gaze meeting Cynthia’s in a calm, unflinching stare. “How very true,” she said lightly, as if the barb had bounced right off her. “Although I believe it would hinge on who is doing the gluing.”
The words she had just read sliced like a sharp knife along Kitty’s ribs.
There was a calculated pause, just long enough for the room to feel their heaviness before Cynthia turned to her with a wide, ingenuous smile. “What a cautionary thought. Don’t you agree, Miss McGowan?”
Kitty felt the slow boil of something hot and dark in her chest, but she would not give Cynthia the satisfaction of a visible reaction. Instead, she breathed a soft, measured sigh and pulled a fortune of her own from the bowl.
She unrolled the strip of paper and read, “Beware of false friends who smile in the light and sharpen their knives in the dark.”
