Mariana was still rather pleased about this. She had chosen to take it as a sign that things might go her way. Poor Mr. Malloy.
Dot had made it across the foyer, and she now crossed the threshold of the room bearing the tea on a tray as though she were edging along the side of a cliff bearing the crown jewels on a satin pillow. The cause of the rattling and clinking was revealed to be the cups and saucers and sugar jostling against spoons and the china pot.
They all watched as she began to lower the tray to the table.
“Which brings me to the second thing I need to tell you,” Mariana said. “Which is...”
It was somewhat gratifying to know that her audience was now on tenterhooks. Her mother had always claimed she’d had a flair for the dramatic.
“. . . my name is Mariana Wylde.”
Dot gasped, dropped the tea tray the final quarter of an inch to the table, and bolted from the room.
The rest of them watched, transfixed, while the single teacup spun and wobbled.
“I feel a bit as though I ought to put a half crown on black six,” Mariana said brightly, finally.
Delilah reached out a hand and touched a finger to the cup. It stilled.
If only a celestial finger would reach down and touch her life just like that, Mariana thought.
“I jest, of course. I don’t know athingabout gaming hells.” She crossed her fingers in her lap.
“My husband thought he wanted to open a gaming hell once,” Mrs. Durand said pleasantly and somewhat startlingly. “It’s indeed a pleasure to meet you in person, Miss Wylde.”
Mrs. Hardy nodded. “Indeed, it truly is.”
Mariana exhaled. “Well, that is very kind of you, as it’s hardly the consensus since the...”
Without warning, the last grains of her bravado trickled away.
She could not force her voice past that word; it was lodged in her throat like a bone.
She brought her hands up and tipped her face into them. She was shocked to find they were like ice, given how scalding the shame was.
She breathed into her hands. She heard only the tiny cracks and pops of the fire.
“...duel?” Mrs. Hardy supplied gently, after a moment.
Mariana nodded slowly, resignedly, painfully.
She sighed, then pulled her hands away from her face.
To find that Mrs. Durand was holding out to her a snifter containing about one gulp of brandy.
Mariana took it. Sniffed it. Then mimed an ironic toast and bolted it.
“Oh, thank you,” she gasped. “That’s better.”
Neither of their faces betrayed a flicker of judgment. Though she wasn’t certain she detected undue sympathy, either.
Angelique poured the tea. “Sugar?”
“Yes, please. You’re too kind,” she said, amazed, near to tears now. “You’re being so kind.” She looked out toward the foyer. “I fear I frightened your maid. Will she be...”
“Oh, I expect Dot is more thrilled than scandalized. She reads the gossip to the maids in the kitchen every morning, and you are a particular favorite,” Angelique said. “We have followed the trajectory of your career since your role alongside Madame LeCroix last year.”
“A bit like the tea tray, the trajectory of my career,” Mariana said ruefully.
