“If she finds she cannot ignore it,” she said steadily, “she will be convinced that her life is ruined. Eventually, with luck, she will have a child, and discover that it is not. Shoo, Eustace.” Pushing the somnolent spaniel aside with her foot, she rose, glancing at the small chiming clock on the table as she did so.

“Go and look for your German wine, John. The wretched sempstress is coming round at three, for what I sincerely hope is the antepenultimate fitting for Livy’s dress.”

“Yes. Well . . . yes.” He stood awkwardly for a moment, then turned to take his leave, but halted suddenly at the door of the boudoir, turning as a question struck him.

“Mother?”

“Mm?” The Countess was picking up things at random, peering nearsightedly beneath a heap of embroidery. “Do you see my spectacles, John? I know I had them!”

“They’re on your cap,” he said, smiling despite himself. “Mother—how old were you when you married Captain DeVane?”

She clapped one hand to her head, as though to trap the errant spectacles before they could take flight. Her face was unguarded, taken by surprise by his question. He could see the waves of memory pass across it, tinged with pleasure and ruefulness. Her lips pursed a little, and then widened in a smile.

“Fifteen,” she said. The faint dimple that showed only when she was most deeply amused glimmered in her cheek. “I had a wonderful dress!”

Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Along Came a Spider

There was unfortunately not time to visit Fraser et Cie before his appointment with Quarry, whom he found waiting in front of the church of St. Martin-in-the-Fields, as advertised.

“Are we attending a wedding or a funeral?” he asked, stepping down from the coach that had brought him.

“Must be a wedding—I see you’ve brought a present. Or is that for me?” Quarry nodded at the book beneath his arm.

“You may have it, if you like.” Grey surrendered the presentation copy of Fanny Hill with some relief; he had been obliged to leave the house with it, as Olivia had come upon him as he passed through the hall and then had accompanied him to the door, flourishing further samples of lace beneath his nose while asking his opinion.

Quarry opened the book, blinked, then looked up at Grey, leering.

“Why, Johnny. Didn’t know you cared!”

“What?” Seeing Quarry’s grin, he snatched the book back, discovering only then that there was an inscription on the title page. Evidently the Countess had been in ignorance of it, too—or at least he hoped so.

It was a fairly explicit verse from Catullus, inscribed to the Countess, and signed with the initial “J.”

“Too bad my name’s not Benedicta,” Quarry remarked. “Looks quite an interesting volume!”