Cordelia exchanged a look of interest with Matthew, who gave a tiny shrug. His ears had perked up, though, like a cat’s.

Anna’s posture changed; she had been lounging with her hands in her pockets, but now she straightened up. “No one else is wandering about the ballroom, Ariadne.”

Ariadne worried at a fold of her dress with her fingers. “We could talk,” she said. “It might be nice.”

Cordelia tensed; Ariadne was opening herself up to a cutting riposte. But instead Anna only said, “I don’t think so,” her tone very flat, and walked off without a word.

“She’s a more complicated person than she pretends,” Magnus offered to Ariadne.

Ariadne didn’t seem to welcome the sympathy. Her eyes flashed. “I know that better than almost anyone.” She nodded stiffly at James and at Cordelia. “Again, I wish you all the happiness in the world.”

Cordelia felt an odd urge to wish her luck in battle, but there was no time: she had departed, her head held high in the air.

“Well,” Magnus said, toying idly with the gold flower tucked into his buttonhole. A peony, Cordelia noted, dipped in gold. “It’s hard not to admire her spirit.”

“She is very determined,” said Lucie. “She approaches Anna at every dance and party, always with some sort of request.”

“Has Anna been responsive?”

“Not judging by her social calendar,” James said. “Every time I see her, she’s squiring some new lady about the town.”

“She and Ariadne certainly have a history,” said Thomas. “We just don’t quite know what it was.”

Cordelia thought of Anna kneeling by Ariadne’s sickbed, murmuring softly, Please don’t die. She had never mentioned the moment to anyone. Anna, she felt, would not like her to do so.

Magnus didn’t comment; his attention had been caught by something else. “Ah,” he said. “Mr. Carstairs.”

It was Alastair, determinedly approaching Cordelia and James. Magnus, as if sensing the advent of an awkward situation, excused himself and slipped away smoothly into the crowd.

Cordelia regarded Alastair worriedly—did he really feel obligated to brave the den of Merry Thieves to offer his congratulations? It appeared that he did: spinning toward his sister with a near-military precision, he said sharply, “I’m here to offer my felicitations to both of you.”

James regarded him. “I suppose you at least have enough social grace to know the right things to say,” he said quietly, “even if you can’t bring yourself to sound like you mean them.”

Alastair’s mouth set in a hard line. “No credit for the attempt, then?”