Page 4 of Marrying Bluebeard

“Exactly.” I chance another glance in his direction. “I'm sure Monsieur de Montragoux is nothing more than a grieving widower looking for a second chance at love. He deserves our kindness, not our gossip.”

“I suppose you're right.” Marguerite sighs. “Just do me a favor, though, and don't go falling in love with him.”

I choke on my wine. “What do you mean by that?”

“Please. I know you better than anyone. A mysterious stranger with a dark past? Not to mention that outrageous beard. I can practically see the drool forming at your lips.”

I blush. “Well, excuse me for appreciating a spot of color among a sea of mundane.”

“Appreciate all you like. Just be sure to leave it at that.” She nods toward one of the card tables where a seat has just opened up. “See that man there in the green vest?”

I eye the youthful gentleman skeptically, his mouth spread wide in a smile that accentuates the dimples in his cheeks. “The one who looks like he escaped the schoolroom to play among the adults? Is he even old enough to be here?”

Marguerite frowns. “He's four-and-twenty, Adelaide, not twelve. And a perfectly charming young man. He was in the same year at Eton as Tristan, and he's in line for a title. Respectable family, comfortable if not huge fortune. And I can personally attest to the fact that he is not a bore. So, do me a favor and give the poor boy a chance before you write him off, all right? He may not have a creepy blue beard, but who knows? Perhaps he reads tarot cards in his free time.”

I roll my eyes. “The beard isn't creepy, it’s dashing. But fine. I suppose a few rounds of Whist won't kill me⁠—”

Marguerite is already pulling me toward the table before the words fully leave my mouth, cutting off another young lady who’s making a beeline for the open spot herself and practically shoving me into the seat. She smiles demurely around the table, as if she hasn't just manhandled her sister and almost trampled another woman.

“Everyone, this is my sister, Adelaide Brindamour. Adelaide, this Sir Edward Allen”—she indicates the older gentleman sitting to my left—“Lady Sarah Moore”—the middle-aged woman to my right—“and Lord Miles Harrison,” she finishes, beaming at the young man seated across from me whom she's clearly set her cap on as my future husband. Really, she’s awfully pushy for someone who made a point of staying true to herself when it comes to her own romances. If only Julia were here now to offer some distraction.

“It's nice to meet you.” I muster up a polite smile.

“Fair warning, she's an absolute shark when it comes to cards,” my sister adds. “So don't go easy on her.”

“A shark, eh?” Sir Edward chuckles, dealing the cards around the table. “Looks like Lady Sarah and I may have to up our game if we're to keep our winning streak.”

“My sister exaggerates, I assure you,” I laugh. “I'm really not that good at all.”

“You can't be worse than me.” Miles chuckles, giving me an apologetic smile. “I'm afraid you've been stuck with a rather dreadful partner. I've lost ten games so far and driven away almost as many partners with my ineptitude.”

“And yet you keep playing.” Amusement colors my voice as I follow Lady Sarah's lead with the queen of hearts.

Miles grins as I take the trick for our team. “Perhaps I was holding out for the right partner. I'm stubborn like that.”

“Well, here's hoping I can turn your luck around and finally get you that win.” I toss down another card.

“I doubt I could get any luckier than I am now.” His eyes shine with admiration as he looks over the top of his cards. “Partnered with the most enchanting young woman in attendance. Winning at cards would be superfluous at this point.”

I lift my cards to hide my face as I flush, Sir Edward's and Lady Sarah's chuckles only adding to the heat stinging my cheeks. “You shouldn't distract me with flattery,” I reply with a shaky laugh. “We're on the same team.” And I doubt you'd be quite so enchanted if you knew all there was to know about me.

A prickling at the back of my neck draws my attention away from the table, turning my head to the corner of the room as if by command. A lone figure studies me over the top of a silver flask. He tips it back, his eyes never breaking contact. I stare boldly back, ignoring the shiver creeping its way up my spine. And what about you, Monsieur de Montragoux? What would you think if you knew?

The flask lowers, disappearing inside his jacket, and he holds my gaze a beat longer before turning his attention to a bespectacled young woman who seems determined to worry a hole in the fabric of her dress. I frown as his face breaks into a smile, the darkness that clung to his presence a moment earlier dissipating as he makes small talk with the mousy girl.

Not mousy, pretty, I correct, instantly ashamed of my petty thoughts. Jealousy doesn't suit you, Adelaide, and besides—he’s just another man, same as the others. Who cares if he smiles your way or not? They all turn away in the end.

4

ADELAIDE

“Isaw you playing cards with Lord Harrison last night. It looked like the two of you were getting on nicely.” Julien peers into the mirror, a comb in his hand as he checks his immaculately groomed hair for the five-hundredth time since arriving in Marguerite's and my room this morning.

I stroke Whisper's fur as I stare out the window, waiting for him to finish. I've been dressed and ready to go for over an hour now, but he insisted on escorting me despite the fact that I can see Marguerite and my two other brothers out on the lawn, mingling among the other guests.

“Well? What did you think of him?”

“Think of whom?” I cast my gaze about the chatting group. Was that a flash of blue? Ah, just a necktie.