The delicate tones of the piano filledthe sitting room of Swan Walk, London. Uncle Cyrus had purchased the instrument when Mira and Walker were still young, but it hadn’t ever been played properly. A few stray notes here and there when they would play act being musicians, but neither of them had taken much interest in learning the instrument. It was mostly there for show. For propriety.
Byron played it now and for the first time in a long time he wasn’t playing from memory. He’d taken the Austrian’s cipher and used it as inspiration for something entirely new. It was beautiful and haunting, but full of so much hope as he played the final notes.
Warm applause sounded from the other occupants of the room: Uncle Cyrus and Loretta, their children on their laps and at their feet; Mamma and Mary straight-backed but smiling widely; Walker and Liza covertly holding hands; Mr. and Mrs. Renaldi, Aunt Eleanor having stayed behind at Davenguard; and Mira, sitting closest to the piano in a high-backed armchair.
“That was wonderful!” Mrs. Renaldi said. “Just wonderful.”
Byron smiled, moving to stand next to Mira, taking her hand. “I did have some help in arranging it.”
“You never let me listen to the completed piece,” Mira teased. “It was lovely.”
Landon, who had been listening from the doorway, stepped in. “Dinner is served, sir, whenever you are ready.”
“Thank you, Landon,” Cyrus said, standing. “Shall we all adjourn?”
The table had far more people sitting around it than at the beginning of the month, and yet it didn’t feel crowded at all. There was safety and connection in being surrounded by loved ones, old and new. It was one of the best nights of Mira’s life. The whole family celebrating two engagements together—Walker had proposed to Liza the night before they had left Bath.
Or, rather, almost the whole family was present.
Halfway through the first course Castel came in, offering his apologies. “I had a meeting with the Under-Secretary of the Minister of Foreign Affairs.”
“Oh?” Byron raised an eyebrow.
“Yes, and I finally found the right person to hand the documents over to. A Mr. Jonathan Wallace.”
Mira frowned. There was something familiar about that name. Byron’s expression suggested he had a similar recollection.
“Wallace, you say?” Byron pulled out his journal.
“Oh, stop your detective work,” Mary said in jest, for once, instead of her usual scorn. “We’re at dinner.”
Byron stilled.
“What’s wrong?” Mira leaned closer to peer over his shoulder.
“You’re sure it was Jonathan Wallace?” he said, voice shaky.
“I’m certain of it. Why?”
Mira read the line above Byron’s finger and her blood froze. It was the list of names that Selene had sent them. Operatives of the Crescent.
Byron snapped the journal closed and forced a smile. “Oh, nothing. Might someone pass me the mashed potatoes?”
***
After dinner everyone settled into various occupationsand conversations. Mira snuck away to the parlor, trying and failing to not feel nauseated from the revelation. It wasn’t long before Byron found her there.
“And who are you hiding from?” he teased.
“Not who. What.” She sighed. “I can’t believe it. After everything we did...”
He held out a hand. “Why don’t we go for a walk?”
They quietly took their coats from the hall and slipped out the door. The sun was starting to set, bathing everything in golden light.
“What are we going to do?” she asked after a few minutes.
“There’s nothing we can do,” he said. “And even if the documents had reached the right hands, what could the government do about it? The treaty has been signed for a decade. Circe’s plan has already been put in motion.”
