He could use that. Convince her he could be a part of it.

An hour later, their guests were all moving toward their coats and the door, laughter still ringing out. No one expected Drake to shuffle along with them, but he at least stood and added his farewells. And, when Lukas De Wilde stepped over to shake his hand while the others were all by the exit, Drake seized the opportunity before it slipped away. Who knew when he’d see her brother again?

“May I ask you a question?” He kept his voice low, though it was doubtful the others would hear him over Dot and Red’s laughter.

Lukas smiled. “Of course.”

The smile likely would shift in a moment. Drake braced himself. “May I court your sister?”

Well, the man didn’t shout in laughter at the absurdity. Or scowl either. He just went very still and held his gaze for a long moment. “Mr. Elton . . . I personally have no objections. But my sister very well may.”

“I know.” His eyes drifted to her. She was standing at the door, between Willa and Dot, buttoning her coat. With them but not one of them. Loving them even if she wasn’t like them. It could be done. She was capable of such attachments. “But I have a plan.”

“Oh?”

He looked back to Lukas and smiled. “It’s a simple matter of mathematics.”

Margot had never had any particular feelings toward the night. It came, it went, at calculable times. She didn’t fear the darkness, and she didn’t love it. It was, and so she moved through it the same way she did the sun or the rain or the fog. Deliberately.

Tonight she strode home along the familiar streets with her birthday gifts tucked in her handbag, rather grateful for the solitude. The dinner party had been nice, all in all. Bout of tears notwithstanding, the night had been pleasant—perhaps even thanks to the ridiculous storm of emotions. She felt strangely better for having vented her anger to somebody.

Why it had to have been to Drake Elton—but it had. And she was . . . all right with that. Her bag thumped against her side, heavy thanks to the book of poetry, and the corners of her lips tugged up. He at least had good taste in poets. And spoke French. Why that should count as a mark in his favor when there were certainly people aplenty in the world who spoke it whom Margot did not like, she didn’t know. Still. The tally marks under his virtues column had increased quite a bit tonight.