“What was that about? Who is Captain Burr?” Elswyth whispered to Venus.
Venus sighed. “Another of Persephone’s admirers. But don’t listen to Hyacinth. She’s a horrible gossip. And Persephone detested Captain Burr. She told me herself.”
Venus continued to march her through the room. As she surveyed the crowd of staring people, her eyes settled on a tall shape lingering by the fireplace: sharp-jawed, broad-shouldered, with locks of silky hair falling perfectly around amber eyes. Silas Blackthorn swirled absinthe in a crystal glass, one arm draped over the mantel, and cast her a sidelong glance. She’d seen him around the Royal Gardens while working for Gall, but had so far successfully avoided speaking to him. Tonight, it seemed, she might not have a choice.
Venus stopped behind a man wearing an evergreen suit and tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around, and Elswyth saw that he was handsome, with a round face and a jaw darkened with a slight stubble, blue eyes hidden behind moonish spectacles. Red-brown hair curled atop his head, and he wore a friendly smile. His suit was fine-spun wool, embroidered with acorns around the cuffs and collar, with a white ruffled shirt and green bow tie. A gold chain dangled from his vest to his coat pocket, and playful floristry traced the lines of his suit. Small, sun-gold scotch broomssprouted from the stitching of his lapel and traced swirling patterns on his arms.
“Florian, darling,” Venus said. “I’d like you to meet that woman I was telling you about. This is Miss Elswyth Elderwood. Elswyth, this is Florian—or I suppose Lord Forrester, now.”
The man smiled. “The title still doesn’t seem to fit, does it?” He turned to Elswyth and bowed. “I’ve heard so much about you. A scholar, is that so?”
Before Elswyth could reply, Venus said: “Lord Forrester is an Oxford man. Always with his nose in a book. What did you study, Florian? Some absurdly obscure word. Enterology?”
Lord Forrester smiled. “Entomology.”
“Insects! How fascinating,” Elswyth said.
Lord Forrester looked surprised. Then he smiled again, his mustache twitching. “Rightly so. What do you make a study of, Miss Elderwood?”
“I was admitted to study botany,” Elswyth said. “The Imperial Botanical Institute.”
“Well, you are far more fascinating than insects, I should think. You’re the first woman I’ve met who’s been admitted. You must be truly exceptional.”
Venus sighed dramatically. “I’m sure you two will have endless boring conversations,” she said, “so I will leave you to it.” She turned to Florian and playfully batted his arm. “Don’t hog her overly, darling. I have more friends I’d like her to meet. And Elswyth, please don’t let my very rich, very available friend bore you to tears. Ta-ta!”
With that, Venus floated across the room, leaving her to speak with Lord Forrester alone. The man smiled at her, and Elswythfelt a flutter within her chest. He was certainly very agreeable-looking. But he seemed kind, modest, and bookish—not at all the type of man her sister fancied. But this was the man whose proposal Persephone had refused. He did not seem like a cruel or violent person at first blush. And yet Elswyth could not be sure.
“Apologies for Venus,” Lord Forrester said. “She can be a touch forward. Especially when the marriage mart is afoot. But she means well. At least, I think she does.”
Elswyth looked over her shoulder to Venus, who had found a group of bachelors and was in the process of charming them thoroughly. “No need to apologize. She reminds me of my sister, I think.”
Lord Forrester paled. “Persephone. Of course.”
“I understand that you knew her,” Elswyth said.
The man picked at his necktie, looking around the room. “Yes, well, we all did, here. It was a tragedy what happened.”
“Yes. I wonder, though, what really did happen. I heard that you fancied her.”
Lord Forrester swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing. “Well, yes, I suppose. I think every man she met did. But she wanted nothing to do with me. In truth, I hardly knew her. She was—and I apologize to speak ill of the dead—rather aloof.”
Elswyth examined the man. Was he nervous?
“It’s funny—it seems all Persephone did was socialize, and yet no one seems to remember a thing about her, when pressed.”
Lord Forrester looked over her shoulder at the rest of the party. Elswyth followed his gaze. Venus laughed nearby, and a servant handed out aperitifs in crystal flutes, lined with edible flowers. “Yes, well, it’s awfully hard to really know someone, isn’tit? Especially during the season, when everyone pretends to be somebody else. And me, I’m not the social type at all. I only do it because it’s expected of me. I would rather be at home, with a book, wouldn’t you? So, tell me of your studies. Will you attend Oxford in the autumn?”
Elswyth noted the subtle change of topic. Perhaps she would need to be more subtle as well. “I’m afraid my plans may be postponed. I am to seek a husband this year.”
Lord Forrester’s face dropped for a moment. His eyes briefly flickered to her scar. “Oh, well—”
Elswyth resisted the urge to turn her cheek. Instead she said, “But I would love to winter in Oxford. Tell me, Lord Forrester, where do you winter?”
His smile returned, and a pang of longing hit her belly at the sight of it. She suppressed the feeling. His handsomeness was starting to distract her, and she needed to remain focused. She was lucky that nobility did love talking about their country homes—Elswyth had quickly learned she could use this to her advantage.
“In Devon, on the coast—crumbling old house, of course, but there’s nothing like the seaside for the health, don’t you think? Have you been?”
“Never. When do you depart?”
