Lucie heard Matthew murmur something to Thomas, but she did not stay to hear what: she was already racing after Alastair. He ran like there were wings on his feet, and she bolted after him: through the ballroom doors, down the stone steps, finally catching up to him in the entryway. “Alastair, wait!” she cried.

He spun around to look at her and she realized to her shock that he had been crying. In a strange way, she was reminded of the first time she had ever seen a man cry: the day her father had found out his parents were dead.

Alastair dashed the tears furiously from his eyes. “What do you want?”

Lucie was almost relieved to hear him sound so much himself. “You can’t leave.”

“What?” he sneered. “Don’t you hate me too?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think. This is Cordelia’s engagement party. You are her brother. It will break her heart if you vanish, and so I say you will not go.”

He swallowed hard. “Tell Layla—tell Cordelia that I have a bad headache and am resting in our carriage. There is no need for her to rush or spoil her evening.”

“Alastair—”

But he was gone, out into the night. Lucie turned back toward the stairs, dispirited. At least Alastair wasn’t leaving the Institute, but she would have preferred—

She jumped. Standing in a niche among the shadows was Grace, her pale green dress almost luminous in the dimness. She grimaced when she saw Lucie. “I suppose it looks as if I have been eavesdropping,” she said. “I assure you, however, I had no desire to overhear any of that.”

Lucie put her fists on her hips. “Then why were you here?”

“I was already on the steps,” said Grace. “I heard you galumphing down and decided it would be preferable to hide than to engage in conversation.”

“You were leaving,” said Lucie. “Weren’t you?”

Grace said nothing. She was standing very upright, not leaning against the wall. Lucie recalled something that James had said to her once, about Tatiana forcing Grace to walk back and forth in the parlor of Blackthorn Manor with a book balanced on her head to perfect her posture.

“You know,” Lucie said, feeling very weary, “you don’t have to marry Charles.”

Grace rolled her eyes. “Please don’t worry yourself. I am not impatient to be gone because of some excess of hurt feelings. And don’t bother telling me James doesn’t really want to marry Cordelia; I know that, too.”

Lucie froze. “I would never have said that.”

“No,” said Grace. “I suppose you wouldn’t.”

Lucie blew out an exasperated breath. “I know you think we have nothing in common,” she said. “But I am the only other person in the world who knows about your brother. Who knows the secret you’re protecting.”