Pat jerked away, too violently. Fen’s eyes widened in distress; then the footsteps approached, the door handle rattled, and within a fraction of a second her face slid into the mask of Delightful Young Lady, even as she swiped at Pat’s mouth with a firm thumb to remove powder or paint. She turned smoothly as the door opened, reaching for her brandy glass. “Oh, Mr. Merton, how nice! And Mr. Keynes. We were wondering if we’d be alone all evening.”

“Is Miss Singh not with you?” Mr. Keynes asked.

“She went upstairs with the Countess, who has the headache, as does Lady Anna.”

“I’m sure,” Bill said. “Are you drinking brandy?”

“Yes,” Pat said. She couldn’t recover with anything like Fen’s lightning speed—her lips still felt swollen, her body oddly sensitive considering Fen hadn’t even touched her—but she had her self-control more or less in place, plus a faith born of experience in her brother’s lack of observational skills. “Aren’t you?”

“I already had a post-prandial glass with the gentlemen.” Bill didn’t sound as though that had been the most enjoyable of evenings. “I’d ask what has brought on this debauchery, but...”

“Indeed. Where are our fellow guests?”

“Jack volunteered for a game of billiards with Haworth,” said Mr. Keynes. “Good fellow. Jimmy is with the Earl, I believe. Something to discuss.”

“I imagine he’ll be some time,” Bill said, with a bite in his voice. “Miss Carruth, I hope you’re all right?”

“I’m very well indeed,” Fen assured him. “Did you really go to see Ben-Hur?”

“I did, yes. The first week of June. When did you see it?” He fired the question at her like a prosecutor.

“Er...the week after that, I suppose?” Fen said, sounding not unreasonably startled. “It was early June, I—”

“And that was when you got engaged?”

“Jimmy proposed a few days later. That weekend. Why do you ask, Mr. Merton?”

“Oh, nothing. Wondering if Ben-Hur is the route to a woman’s heart, I suppose. I’d have thought he might have picked something a bit more romantic.”

“You’d have to ask Jimmy about his thought processes, I’m afraid.” Fen spoke with a smile, and Pat couldn’t hear any tension in her voice, but she was positive it was there. She wished Bill would shut up, or pick any other topic. She didn’t want to talk about Jimmy herself, so she couldn’t imagine what Fen felt, and the nerve-scraping atmosphere that seemed to attend every gathering in this atrocious party was back again.

Or perhaps that was just her. Perhaps that was how one felt, and deserved to feel, when one kissed a good friend’s fiancée.

“Well, it’s the first tomorrow,” Mr. Keynes said into the silence. “Start of the season, eh? I might turn in, get a good night’s sleep.”