“Heaven help us.” Mrs. Sherard looked towards the ceiling. “I expect the two of you will be staying on to investigate whatever it is you’re getting into now?”
“Yes, Mamma.”
“Well. Carry on, I suppose.” Mrs. Sherard left the room.
Mira sagged into an armchair.
“Are you all right?” Byron said, moving over to her.
“I-I think so. Everything happened so fast . . .”
“I wish I had come sooner. How long had she been yelling at you before I came?”
“Not very long. How did you know to come?”
He gestured to the open transom window above the door. “I heard her as I came down the hall.”
“Oh no.” Mira felt sick all over. “And I said all those terrible things... Do you think anyone else heard?”
“I don’t think so. Most people are in the ballroom. And she deserved it after what she’s put you through.”
More tears surfaced. “I still shouldn’t have said anything. But I was so angry.”
He crouched in front of her, taking her hands in his. “I was just as bad, if not worse. I never should have brought up her relationship with Mr. Treadway.”
“You wouldn’t have needed to if I had kept my mouth shut.” Mira shook her head. “I so wanted your family to like me. And now I’ve ruined any chance.” She swallowed back a sob. “I don’t want you to have to choose between me and your family.”
He reached up, cupping her face with his hand. “I won’t have to. We’ll make it work.” He brushed a tear away with his thumb.
“How can you say that? Your sister, your mother—how can they respect me after that display?”
He looked towards where his mother had stood moments before. “Well... Castel came around.”
Mira sniffed. “I suppose if he can, then anything is possible.” She laughed a little through the tears.
“We ought to get back to the party before someone thinks the worst of us,” Byron said in jest, smiling and offering her a hand up.
Mira stood, wiping her tears away. “You forget. We’re engaged now. We can be alone in a room together as much as we like.”
“Oh yes! And we no longer have need of a chaperone, do we?”
“Not in this setting. No, I believe we are quite free.”
He took her hand and lifted it to his lips. She forgot her tears as warmth spread from her hand to her heart.
“You know,” he said, “we ought to have gotten engaged a long time ago.”
She ducked her head. “It wouldn’t have been appropriate.”
“And since when do we care about propriety?” He stepped back. “Do you know, this week has been one of the more insufferable experiences of my remembered life?”
“Has it been so bad?”
“I’ve felt as though I’ve been trying to do everything with both hands tied behind my back. We can’t get nearly as much done when we’re always under someone’s eye, dragging our chaperones along to crime scenes. And I’ve had to keep up the ridiculous charade of living up to the Sherard name.”
“I thought you said you didn’t put on a persona with them.”
“I don’t. Or I don’t mean to.” He ran a hand through his hair, pacing as he continued. “It would have been so much easier if I had been Detective Constantine all this time. There would have been no need for elaborate lies about headaches when speaking with the doctor or trying to find a way to search the dead man’s room without appearing unseemly. It’s been unbearable.”
