“Remind me why I agreed to attend this?” I asked as I shrank against an inconvenient gust of icy November wind.
“Because I decided it was time for me to leave the house and you wanted to support my endeavor,” Delia replied as she pulled me closer to her side.
“Oh yes. Right.”
We were on our way to a literary club meeting just a short walk away from my aunt’s home. Delia claimed to be good friends with the organizer, but hadn’t bothered to find out the topic of tonight’s event. As someone who never failed to complete an assignment, I found this oversight rather distressing.
“And because I thought you needed a little cheering up,” Delia added gently.
I grimaced, but I couldn’t exactly deny it. Since the viscount had revealed the truth about Oliver, I had wavered between guilt for ever suspecting him of committing such dastardly acts in the first place and anger that he had left me in the dark for our entire marriage. Adding to my confusion was Mr. Dorian. While I was willing to understand why he had left my parents’ house that night without speaking to me, his continued silence was growing more deafening by the day. But I couldn’t go to him. Not this time. I did havesomepride left.
“Thank you,” I said as we approached our destination: an elegant brick town house on a quiet garden square. “I appreciate that.”
Delia squeezed my arm, and together we were escorted into the home of Lady Burton, who was waiting by the entryway greeting guests. She looked about my age but was rather eccentrically dressed in what I can only describe as a caftan with matching turban and lots of large gold jewelry.
“Delia, darling!” She let out a squeal of delight when she spied my sister. “I’m so glad you were able to come,” she said before turning her infectious smile to me. “And who have you brought?”
“My sister, Mrs. Minnie Harper. She’s terribly clever. Went to Girton, you know.”
“Heavens! Welcome, Mrs. Harper. We are very glad to have you.”
“Thank you, Lady Burton,” I said, but before I could ask the subject of tonight’s discussion, we were waved into the large drawing room.
“Come in, come in,” our hostess said. “Take a seat. The program is just about to begin.”
My eyebrows shot up as we entered the room. Rows of chairs had been arranged before an empty lectern, and nearlyall were filled. This was no small gathering, but a proper event.
“Goodness,” I said to Delia. “Who on earth is speaking tonight?”
My sister did not meet my eyes as she led me over to two empty chairs in the very last row. “Here we are,” she said.
The back of my neck prickled with suspicion. “What’s going on?” I asked as I slid into my seat.
“Nothing,” Delia replied much too quickly.
I frowned and looked to my right, where a young lady was clutching a book to her chest and staring eagerly at the front of the room. She turned to me with wide eyes. “Isn’t this exciting? Do you think he’ll be signing books afterwards? Oh, I do hope so.” She said this all in a great rush, and I didn’t have the chance to respond before a ripple went through the crowd as a side door opened. “It’s beginning!” she said in a thrilled whisper as she moved to the edge of her seat.
I shot Delia a look, but she was still avoiding my gaze. Then I turned to the front, where a man walked to the lectern and addressed the room.
“Good evening and thank you all for being here.” My eyes widened. It was Mr. Howard. “And thank you to Lady Burton for the invitation. I am Arthur Howard, owner of Howard Publishing, and I am delighted to introduce tonight’s speaker. Now, I know many of you are great fans of his mysteries, but tonight he has something different prepared. It is a selection from his forthcoming book on his recent trip to Corfu. Now, without further delay, Mr. Stephen Dorian!”
The room absolutely erupted into thunderous applause, and I watched in shock as the man himself strolled in, shook hands with Mr. Howard, and moved behind the lectern.
“Jack isn’t the only sibling who can do a little meddling,” Delia murmured by my ear.
I turned sharply to her, and she gave me that devious little smile I hadn’t seen in weeks. “You knew this whole time?” I hissed, but she merely shrugged, unrepentant.
“You don’t have to speak to him if you don’t want to,” she said. “But I wanted to give you the opportunity.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but the girl beside me loudly shushed us, so I shut my mouth and faced forward. There was nothing I could do but sit there and listen.
Mr. Dorian was shuffling through his pages and then came to a stop. He cleared his throat and began to speak:
“‘Corfu is often described as an earthly paradise without equal. But I confess that, when I first arrived, it felt like hell on earth.’”
A little gasp rippled through the crowd, to which he glanced up with that all-too-familiar gleam in his eye before continuing: “‘In time, though, I came to appreciate the unique beauty of the island and the hospitality of its inhabitants …’”
He went on to describe our little corner of Corfu in such lyrical detail that I could almost smell the early-spring flowers and feel the salty sea breeze ruffling my hair. My heart swelled with a longing so fierce it nearly stole my breath. Mr. Dorian did not mention the murder, which I was grateful for, but he did include little sketches of people he had met, including myself and Tommy, though he did not use our real names. My son was described as a relentlessly curious boy with a penchant for insects, the more horrifying the better, while I was his endlessly patient mother who indulged his curiosity while also keeping firm boundaries as to what was allowed inside the house. He presented us in such a charming manner that I couldn’t help smiling while the crowd chuckled along accordingly. I glanced at Delia to find her beaming at me. He spoke for about fifteen minutes, and when he stopped, the crowd cheered loudly, eager for more.
