The sun set. The stars were beginning to smolder in the sky when Olivette and Nura arrived. I sat on the bench across from them, rocking with the sway of the cab, and listened to them talk. A low, pleasant stream of conversation, one that I failed to join, because my thoughts were distant, roaming.

“My father will be so delighted to finally meet you tonight, Anna,” Olivette said.

I blinked, returning to the cab. “Your father will be at dinner tonight?”

“Yes.”

“How many people will be here, do you think?” I asked nonchalantly, but my dread rose. Something was going to happen tonight, and it wasn’t going to be pleasant.

“I’m not sure,” Olivette said, glancing at Nura. “This is the first time we’ve been invited to one of the countess’s dinners. They are selective affairs, though. Many of the upper class hope to win an invitation.”

That did nothing to ease my sense of foreboding.

All too soon, the carriage arrived at the countess’s mansion.

It was a grand estate, out of reach from the street by a long, private driveway. The house was built of creamy stone and a gray shingled roof, three storied with large mullioned windows, creeping ivy and multiple chimneys. The front doors were on the second story, and two curved staircases blossomed from the courtyard up to the entrance. Through the dusky light, I could see a long stretch of shallow water to our left—a reflection pool—and the hedges of a garden.

I followed Nura and Olivette out of the coach and up the stairs.

A butler took our cloaks and led us deeper into the mansion, to a spacious ballroom, where the floors were blue-veined marble, the ceilings arched and coffered. Hanging chandeliers burgeoned with silver wrought leaves and candles.

Music haunted the air, and servants milled about with flutes of sparkling champagne. I expected to see a crowded room, a night full of people I could lose myself among. But it was a small, intimate party.

Nura and Olivette drifted toward the musicians, but I remained standing, soaking in the grandeur of the room. And I couldn’t help myself; I looked for Phelan among the black jackets and top hats.

He was nowhere to be seen, and I buried my disappointment just as the countess caught sight of me.

“Miss Neven,” she said, and I sank into a deep curtsy. “I am honored you have accepted my invitation.”

“Thank you, lady. The honor is mine.”

“Come, take a turn around the room with me,” she invited. “We are still waiting on a few more guests to arrive, but let me introduce you to an old friend of mine in the meantime.”

I fell into a stilted stride beside her and soon realized she was taking me directly to the duke, who was standing beside a man I recognized—the smith who had created the shields for me and Phelan.