Wren let her eyes wander to the crimson gemstone swinging from his earlobe and the black cape pinned around his shoulders with a garnet brooch. “Oh, no. Not at all.”

“You’re darling—and far too obliging. I do mean it, though. Take whatever you’d like. I meant to clean out all his things years ago, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Now I fear life has gotten away from me. When I had no energy to fulfill my social obligations, all but my dearest friend abandoned me. The house is falling apart around me. My servants are all dying.” As he sank deeper into his fur-lined collar, he looked like a sad, fluffed-out bird. “And there I go again, unloading my anxieties onto you. I need a drink. Do you?”

“No, thank you.”

With a shrug, Lowry walked to a bar cart beside a gold-trimmed writing desk and poured himself a glass of brandy from a crystal decanter. Although his tone was light and his words almost flippant, Wren could see the despair that swallowed any of his former playfulness. In profile, his eyes dulled to flat black. Perhaps there was more to him than his shallow reputation—maybe even some kindness, if he was eaten up about his servants enough to summon her.

“I imagine it’s been difficult for you lately.”

At that, he snapped back into himself, his smile chasing away the lingering gloom. “My apologies, Ms. Southerland! I’ll be alright. You needn’t let me talk your ear off. Come, sit. We have business to discuss.”

Wren followed him to the writing desk and took a seat across from him. She caught a glimpse of her frazzled reflection in the desk’s polished surface and tore her eyes away.

“Here is my proposal for you.” He curled his hands neatly around his glass of brandy, all his rings glimmering in the dim light. “I’ve grown tired of being tired. Next month, I plan to make my grand return to society and host my annual Midwinter celebration. At the risk of sounding vain, it’s among the most well-attended and well-documented events of the year. And I daresay it will be even more so this year. The people have missed me.”

“Even in Danu, they miss you,” Wren offered. “Last year, I read about nothing but your parties in the gossip columns. Now they have nothing new to talk about.”

“Did you?” He seemed to perk up. “What did they say?”

“I … Well—”

“No, no. Ignore me. I’ll carry us adrift.” He swirled the liquid his glass. “Anyway. As I mentioned in my letter, there are serious debates among the Cernosian nobility about forging an alliance with the Danubian Crown. I intend to present you to my circle as Cernos’s official liaison.”

“Me?” Wren sputtered. “A liaison?”